Page 12 of Blood Legacy (Eternal Descent (MistHallow Academy) #1)

12

FELIX

I sense the shift in magickal energy before anyone else does. It’s like a ripple in the fabric of reality. Subtle enough that most would miss it, but to me, it’s as obvious as a scream in a silent room. Someone powerful has arrived at MistHallow, someone who doesn’t belong.

Closing my grimoire, I focus on the sensation, letting my consciousness expand beyond the confines of the lecture hall. Dark magick has always come naturally to me, much to the concern of every professor I’ve ever come across in the three academies I’ve attended before I ended up here. They don’t understand that power isn’t inherently good or evil—it’s a tool, shaped by the one who wields it.

The foreign magickal signature pulses again, stronger this time. Whoever this visitor is, they’re not bothering to mask their presence. Either they’re arrogant or they simply don’t care who knows they’re here. It’s not just a violation of the academy wards, it’s a violation of reality itself. A stranger to this realm. From where? Who knows? I knew parallel universes, alternate realities, whatever you want to call them exist, but I’ve never been confronted with it quite so brazenly before. Glancing around the lecture hall, no one else seems to have noticed it.

My gaze lands on Gaida Aragon. I’ve been watching her for weeks now, ever since I was sent here as a somewhat misfit after being expelled from my previous academy as being “too dark”. A term I find quite insulting.

Her gaze snaps up to mine and holds it briefly before she dismisses me. I find that quite insulting as well. I never fail to get what I want, and I want her. She, however, is too busy being won over by Dante DuLoc, pureblood vampire prince to pay much attention to anything else.

Birds of a feather and all that shit.

But there’s something about her that intrigues me beyond her rare pureblood status. The way she carries herself, the flashes of power she tries to hide, the darkness that lurks beneath her perfect exterior. She’s not what she seems, and neither am I.

The foreign magickal signature abruptly disappears, like someone slammed a door shut. Whoever was here, has departed.

“Mr Davenport,” Professor Blackwell’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Since you find my lecture on Eldritch containment symbols so boring, perhaps you’d like to demonstrate how to properly stabilise a Vornhiem pentagram?”

I stand, smoothly transitioning back to the present moment. “Of course, Professor.”

Moving to the front of the class, I take the chalk from his outstretched hand. I draw the complex pattern from memory, adding the precise angles and curves skilfully.

“The key to stabilising any containment symbol,” I explain as I work, “is understanding that the energy must flow continuously. Most failures occur at the junction points.” I mark five specific intersections on the diagram. “If the power hits a barrier, it rebounds and shatters the entire working.”

Professor Blackwell nods as I complete the perfect pentagram. I add the final flourish. A subtle modification I discovered in an ancient text that makes the whole structure twenty per cent more efficient. It’s not in any curriculum.

“Smart arse, aren’t you?” Blackwell says with an amused smirk. “Not many students can make improvements on already solid spells. Impressive.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I reply, feeling Gaida’s intense vampire gaze on me. “To absorb the teachings of Dark Magick by the very best.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sycophant. Get back to your chair and try to at least look like I’m not boring the shit out of you.”

“I can do that,” I reply, liking this professor. He is immensely powerful despite being our age and sarcastic as fuck. My kind of guy.

I return to my seat, feeling the weight of attention on me. Not just Gaida’s, but several others in the class. I’ve made an impression. Good. That’s always step one.

As I slide into my chair, I glance at Gaida again. She’s pretending to focus on her notes, but I can tell she’s distracted. The slight furrow between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows and the tension in her shoulders screams that something is off.

Class ends moments later, and I gather my books unhurriedly, watching as Dante leans over to whisper something in Gaida’s ear. She gives him a tight smile and shakes her head slightly.

I wait until Dante reluctantly leaves before approaching her. “That was quite the outfit change from this morning,” I say, nodding at her funeral-appropriate attire.

She looks up, those blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Pentagram guy. Impressive work on the fly.”

“I’m an impressive guy.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Felix Davenport.”

“Gaida Aragon.”

“I’m aware.”

“What do you want, Felix?” Her directness is refreshing after the games most students play.

“To offer my assistance,” I reply smoothly. “You’re struggling with something. I can sense it.”

Her eyebrows rise slightly. “And what makes you think I need your help?”

“Need? Perhaps not. But want?” I smile, letting a hint of my power brush against her senses.

She gathers her books, sliding them into her bag. “You have no idea what I want.”

“So tell me.”

She studies me for a long moment, and I can almost see the calculations running behind those blue eyes. “Power,” she finally says. “I want power.”

“Now that is something I understand completely.”

“Do you?” She shoulders her bag, standing up. She’s shorter than me by a good few inches, even in those heels. “Everyone thinks they understand power until they’re faced with the real thing.”

“And what is the real thing, Gaida?”

“Ancient, immovable, stubborn fucking power.”

I frown. “That sounds like you are talking about someone, not something.”

“Maybe I am.”

“DuLoc?”

She scoffs and turns to walk away from me. Like an idiot, I hurry to catch up. I don’t think I’ve ever chased after a woman before now. “Not Dante. He’s not ancient.”

“Fair point. His bloodline, though? That must intrigue you.”

“Not really. Do you know who I am?”

“Aragon princess. Dad’s all-powerful Vampire Council dude. Yeah, I know who you are.”

She giggles, a genuine sound that I miss when it stops. “Dude. You are probably the only being in the history of beings to ever call my dad a dude.”

I shrug. “He doesn’t scare me.”

“He should.”

“Is that why you push people away? Because of your dad?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she growls.

I raise my hands in mock surrender, but I don’t back off. Something about this woman draws me in. Her anger, her power, the way she seems to be fighting invisible battles. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

“You don’t know me,” she says, stopping to face me. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“I know you’re running from something. Or someone.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “I know that right now, you’re radiating enough magickal disturbance to set off alarms in three counties. Most people can’t sense it, but I can. And you have serious Daddy issues.”

Her eyes widen slightly before narrowing again. “What are you talking about?”

“I see things others don’t. Some call me a freak. Others a seer. Depends on which side of the spectrum they fall on.”

“Spectrum?”

“Good or evil.”

“Which are you?”

“Neither. I don’t believe in good vs evil. I believe in power vs power.”

“Kings to kings,” she murmurs,

“Something like that.”

“I believe that too. Power can corrupt. I’ve seen it enough in my short life to know that it’s what you do with it that counts.”

“Exactly.” I grin. “See, I knew we’d have things in common.”

“What? You foresaw it?” she laughs.

“Maybe.” I study her face, the mask she puts on for everyone else. “But I’m definitely seeing something right now.”

“And what’s that?” she challenges, crossing her arms.

“Someone who’s tired of playing by other people’s rules.” I take a calculated risk. “Someone who’s just had her heart broken.”

Her face transforms instantly, a cold mask replacing any trace of amusement. “You know nothing.”

“I know enough,” I say softly. “And I know what it’s like to want something you’re not supposed to have.”

For a moment, her mask slips, revealing a vulnerability that makes her even more beautiful. Then it’s gone, replaced by steel.

“Everyone wants things they can’t have,” she says dismissively. “That’s life.”

“Not for people like us.”

“People like us?”

“The ones who refuse to accept limitations. The ones who know that rules are just suggestions wrapped in fear.”

Something flickers in her eyes. Interest. Or recognition.

“What exactly are you offering, Felix?”

“A way out of the limitations.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It could mean anything you want.” I watch her carefully, gauging her reaction. She’s intrigued, I can tell, but there’s wariness there too. Good. I’d be disappointed if she trusted me too easily.

“You’re the first man to promise me the world,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Why should I trust you?”

I lean in closer, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of blood and power that clings to her skin. “Because I don’t want anything from you except to see what happens when you break free.”

She scoffs, but there’s less conviction behind it. “And why would you care about that?”

“Call it scientific curiosity. Or maybe I just enjoy watching beautiful things destroy their cages.”

We’ve reached the entrance to the residence building and she pauses, her hand on the heavy wooden door. “You’re strange, Felix Davenport.”

“I prefer unique.”

“I’ll bet you do.” She pushes the door open, then hesitates. “Do you really know who my dad is?”

I nod. “Aurelius Aragon. Quite the father you have there. His reputation precedes him.”

“And you aren’t afraid?”

“Of what?”

“His wrath?”

“Would he get wrathful over a man trying to befriend his daughter?”

“He’s been known to.”

“I have no ulterior motive.”

“I don’t believe you. Everyone has ulterior motives.”

“Mine is simple,” I say with a shrug. “I want to see what happens when someone with your level of power stops holding back.”

Her eyes narrow. “You make dangerous assumptions.”

“Do I? Even now you’re restraining yourself. I can feel it.” I tap my temple. “The way your aura fluctuates when you’re angry or excited—it’s like watching a star trying to contain a supernova.”

“Poetic,” she says dryly, but I can see I’ve hit another nerve.

“Truth often is.” I hold out my hand. “Let me show you something. A gesture of good faith.”

She eyes my hand warily. “What is it?”

“A glimpse. Of what I can sense. Of what you could be.”

For a long moment, she simply stares at my outstretched hand. I wait, patient. This isn’t something that can be rushed.

Finally, with obvious reluctance, she places her cool fingers against mine.

The connection is immediate and electric. I channel a small portion of my power, just enough to open her senses to what I can already see. Her aura, a swirling mass of midnight blue shot through with silver, extends far beyond what most vampires possess. There’s something else… a shadowy connection stretching away from her, tethering her to someone.

Her eyes widen as she experiences what I’m showing her, and she yanks her hand away.

“What the hell was that?” she demands, her voice shaking slightly.

I smile, savouring her reaction. “That’s a taste of how I see the world. How I see you.”

“That connection...” She glances down at her hand, still tingling from our contact. “What was that?”

“You tell me,” I challenge softly. “You felt it, didn’t you? The tether?”

Her face pales slightly, confirming my suspicions. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it? Bonds form whether we want them to or not. Especially between powerful beings.”

“I don’t have any bonds,” she insists, but there’s a tremor in her voice that betrays her.

“We all have bonds, Gaida. The question is whether we acknowledge them or not. Think about my offer. When you’re ready to stop pretending you’re less than you are, come find me.”

Before she can respond, I turn and walk away, feeling her eyes on my back. I’ve planted the seed. Now I just need to wait for it to grow.

The foreign magickal signature I sensed earlier is still troubling me. I make my way to the eastern wing of the Academy, where the veil between realities is thinnest. It’s a little-known fact about MistHallow, one I discovered during my first week here by mapping the ley lines that run beneath the campus.

As I approach the junction where three corridors meet, there is an unmistakable ripple in reality. Someone powerful has been here, and recently.

Placing my palm against the stone wall, I close my eyes and focus. The residual energy signature is complex, layered with power that’s both ancient and distinctly non-human. Vampire, but not like any I’ve encountered before.

“Interesting place for meditation, Mr Davenport.”

I open my eyes to find Professor Blackthorn standing a few feet away, his expression carefully neutral. How long has he been watching me?

“Just exploring the architecture, Professor,” I reply smoothly, dropping my hand. “The eastern wing has fascinating energy patterns.”

His blue eyes narrow slightly. “Does it? I wasn’t aware you were studying architectural magick.”

“I have varied interests.”

“Clearly.” He steps closer, and I feel the weight of his power pressing against my senses. It’s immense, controlled with an accuracy that speaks of centuries of practice. “The eastern wing is restricted to students without special permission.”

“Is it?” I feign surprise. “There were no signs.”

“There wouldn’t be, for someone who can sense the wards.” His gaze is penetrating, searching for something. “Which makes me wonder how you managed to pass through them unscathed.”

I shrug casually. “Perhaps they need strengthening.”

“Perhaps,” his voice is deceptively mild, which makes it slightly more scary than you’d expect. “Come with me, Mr Davenport.”

I follow him, maintaining a respectful distance. There’s something off about Professor Blackthorn, something I’ve sensed since I arrived at MistHallow. The power signature I detected earlier, and his aura have subtle similarities. Not identical but related somehow.

We walk in silence until we reach his office. He gestures for me to enter first, a move that allows him to keep me in his sights. Smart. I wouldn’t trust me either.

“Sit,” he commands, closing the door behind us.

I take the seat across from his desk, making a show of relaxing into it while keeping my senses alert.

“Your file makes for fascinating reading,” Blackthorn says, seating himself behind the desk. “Expelled from Greystone Academy for unauthorised blood rituals. Dismissed from the Franklin Institute, a remarkably impressive university, for, and I quote, ‘dangerous exploration of forbidden magicks.’ And now here you are at MistHallow, admitted due to your special circumstances.”

“You can call a spade a spade, here Professor. I’m an orphan with nowhere to go.”

“You are twenty-one years old. I’m sure you would manage out there in the world on your own. You have talents. That is what I’m talking about.”

“Oh, you mean my ability to see things outside the normal perspective? Those special circumstances?”

“No, the ones where you are an extremely powerful sorcerer with inclinations that lean slightly too much towards the dark side.”

“Like you aren’t?” I say with a smile.

A flicker of surprise crosses his face before he can hide it. “What makes you think I have dark tendencies, Mr Davenport?”

“Your aura,” I reply simply. “It’s like looking at the event horizon of a black hole. Ancient. Powerful. And containing something that would destroy worlds if it ever broke free.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “You see auras.”

“Among other things.”

“And what else do you see?”

I consider my options carefully. This is probably a trick question, but when did that ever stop me? Revealing too much could be dangerous but revealing nothing would miss an opportunity to establish myself as valuable.

“Connections,” I say finally. “Bonds between beings. Tears in reality. The occasional visitor who doesn’t belong in this world…”

The temperature in the room drops several degrees. Not metaphorically, but literally. Ice crystals form on the edges of the desk between us.

“Careful, Mr Davenport,” Blackthorn says softly. “Some observations are best kept to oneself.”

“I’ve never been good at keeping quiet about interesting things,” I reply, maintaining my relaxed posture despite the chill. “It’s one of my many character flaws.”

“It’s the flaw that will get you killed.”

The threat hangs in the air between us, but I’ve been threatened by masters before. I smile. “Is that concern for my wellbeing, Professor? I’m touched.”

“It’s a statement of fact.” He leans forward, his mesmerising blue eyes capturing mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, and not in a good way. “There are forces at work here that you cannot begin to comprehend, Mr Davenport. Forces that would crush you without a second thought if they knew what you can see.”

“Then perhaps I could be useful,” I counter, leaning forward to mirror his posture. “Knowledge is power, after all. And I have knowledge that others don’t.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “You remind me of someone I knew a very long time ago. He, too, believed his sight made him indispensable.”

“And did it?”

“For a while.” His expression darkens. “Until he saw too much.”

I absorb this, reading between the lines. “What happened to him?”

“He died.” Blackthorn says it so matter-of-factly that I know it’s a lie. Or at least, not the whole truth.

“I don’t plan on dying anytime soon,” I reply.

“Few do.” He sits back, studying me with renewed interest. “Dismissed.”

I nod and rise, taking it all in my stride. I’ve seen the inside of Headmasters’ offices more times than I can count. It’s nothing new, nor nothing to be overly concerned about. Except in this case, as I leave and sense the prickle of the gargoyles outside his door, I have a lot to be concerned about. But for the first time in recorded history, I have zero clue what that is.

And that just pisses me off.