Page 6 of Blood Legacy (Eternal Descent (MistHallow Academy) #1)

6

GAIDA

Sleep is a luxury that eludes me. I toss and turn, my mind replaying the night’s events on a torturous loop. The feel of Dante’s hands on my skin. The way he looked at me, knowing exactly what I was doing and playing along anyway. The intensity of his gaze when he made me scream his name.

And beneath it all, like a persistent undercurrent, thoughts of Luke. Always thoughts of Luke.

I throw off the covers with a frustrated groan and walk to the bathroom. The cool tiles beneath my feet ground me somewhat as I splash water on my face and stare at my reflection. My hair is a wild tangle, my eyes are slightly bloodshot from having my whole internal clock fucked with. I’m meant to be going to bed now, instead of getting up. This sucks a pile of shit.

I trace the side of my neck with my fingertips, remembering the shocking intimacy of the moment when Dante bit me. Vampires of my calibre don’t share blood casually. It’s an act loaded with meaning, with power, not to mention I’m addictive. I don’t mean that in the vain sense, but my blood can be like a drug. It makes lesser vamps high on power and they want more. It’s why I’m so skittish. It’s why I don’t let other vampires feed from me. But I let Dante feed from me without hesitation, caught up in the moment and the exquisite pleasure. He is like me. That thought lingers in my mind and I can’t push it aside. He is like me. He knows me better than anyone ever could. It sits uneasily on me.

What the fuck am I doing?

Turning from the mirror, I flick on the shower, discard my robe and step under it. It’s freezing at first, which is what I wanted to wake me up a bit before it turns hotter. I need to clean up and then head out to find Eldra to give me my new timetable. Part of me wants to rebel against it and continue as normal, but I saw a side of Luke last night I haven’t seen before. For reasons unknown it makes me want to tread lightly for a while. Forcing his hand might force me out of this Academy and away from him. Making sure to scrub the scent of Dante off me before I climb out, I wonder what Luke would do if he caught another vampire’s scent all over me. Would he go crazy, or would he not care? The latter is not something I want to think about. It hurts. I know I’m being a pain in his arse right now. I know I shouldn’t be pursuing him so brazenly, but I can’t get him out of my head. He is exactly what I need. He isn’t afraid of my father or me, for that matter. He doesn’t skirt around me or kiss my arse.

But neither did Dante.

I scowl, annoyed that Dante keeps popping up in my thoughts when I should be focusing on Luke. Wrapping a towel around my wet body, I pad back into my bedroom and check the time. It’s nearly time to meet Eldra.

This punishment is ridiculous. Yes, I can tolerate sunlight better than turned vampires, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. It’s like forcing a night owl to function at nine in the morning. Possible, but thoroughly unpleasant.

Staring into the wardrobe, I discard item after item. Luke responded the most to red. Is that like a bull to a red flag, or because I’m a red flag? I don’t know but black, white, rainbow, beige, pink… nothing. Red, the colour of passion and heat brought out that other side of him. I only have one other red dress. It’s sexy as fuck. Strapless and tight, dropping to my knee but with a slash up the left side to my hip.

I shrug and pull it out, slipping it on, along with high black heels, and admiring myself in the full-length mirror. I give my damp hair a quick blow-dry and then scoop it up into a messy bun. Grabbing my black tote bag which serves as my book bag, I head out of the door of my room and down the hallway to the stairs at the far end. Taking them slowly as I ponder what this day will bring. Will Luke be waiting for me to make sure I show up?

The anticipation of seeing him makes my stomach tingle and I hurry my pace to reach the main foyer where I’ll find Eldra, the blue-skinned merfolk who administrates this place with admirable efficiency.

Disappointment hits me when I step inside the foyer to see only Eldra waiting for me. She smiles. “Gaida. Let’s get you sorted.”

I take the timetable from her, my eyes scanning the new schedule. My classes have indeed been flipped to daylight hours. I scowl at the paper, noting with dismay that my first lesson starts in fifteen minutes.

“Is there a problem?” Eldra asks, her melodic voice carrying a hint of warning. She might look delicate with her translucent blue skin and flowing sea-green hair, but I’ve seen her reduce students to quivering messes with just a look.

“I wonder if you could swap out Advanced Air Magick for Advanced Dark Magick,” I say boldly.

Eldra frowns. “That wasn’t on the email Professor Blackthorn sent over.”

“I know, but it really interests me and having it here so new and only one of two academies that teach it, it makes it so exclusive and exciting.”

She smiles proudly, almost as if I was complimenting her. “I wish I could, but it is invitation only and Professor Blackthorn didn’t specify you could attend.”

“Would you mind asking him if it’s possible?” I want to be in that class, where Dante is. Don’t ask me why, but suddenly, I find the dark arts intriguing as fuck.

“I can ask,” she says primly.

“Thank you. That would mean so much to me.” I place my hand over my heart and give her a sincere look.

“Off you go now. I’ll check in with you later.”

“Thank you, Eldra. I really appreciate it.”

She waves me off and I turn, but then she calls out, “Gaida, one more thing.”

I face her again. “Oh?”

“The Headmaster suggested you might want to reconsider your wardrobe choices for daytime classes.”

I glance down at my red dress, fighting a smile. So he noticed already. How? Where is he? I look around but I don’t see or sense him anywhere.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I reply, knowing full well I won’t. If I’m being forced to function during daylight hours, I’m going to do it dressed to annoy the shit out of him.

Eldra sighs and watches me leave with a shake of her head. I stride through the main hall, feeling eyes on me from all directions. Daytime students are a different breed—more preppy, more conventional, less interesting. They stare at me like I’m an exotic animal that’s wandered into their territory.

Which, I suppose, I am.

My first class is Theoretical Applications of Blood Magick, taught by Professor Birch, a witch who specialises in cross- species magickal theory. Under normal circumstances, I’d be fascinated by the subject. Today, I’m just irritated to be awake.

The classroom is on the third floor of the west wing, a bright space with large windows that let in far too much sunlight for my comfort. I slide into a seat at the back, pulling out my notebook and trying to ignore the burning sensation on my skin. It’s not painful exactly, more like an annoying prickling that reminds me I should be sleeping right now.

Students filter in, most of them giving me curious glances. I recognise a few faces, but none of them sit anywhere near me. I’m like a pariah, which is ironic seeing as I’m practically vampire royalty and should be sought after.

As Professor Birch begins her lecture, my mind wanders. I catch myself sketching Dante in the margins of my notebook. It’s a rough outline of his profile, focusing on the sharp angle of his jaw and those clear blue eyes that seem to see right through me. I scowl and scratch it out violently with my pen.

“Miss Aragon,” Professor Birch calls, her voice cutting through my distraction. “Since you seem so engaged with your notes, perhaps you’d like to explain the difference between consensual and non-consensual blood magick bonds?”

All eyes turn to me. I straighten in my seat, fighting the urge to bare my fangs at the curious stares.

“Consensual blood magick bonds form a symbiotic relationship between participants. Energy flows both ways, creating a balanced exchange that enhances the spell’s potency without draining either party. Non-consensual bonds are parasitic. The caster siphons power without reciprocity, often leaving the unwilling donor physically and magickally depleted.”

Professor Birch raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised I could answer so thoroughly.

“Correct, Miss Aragon. And what are the ethical implications of non-consensual blood magick in modern magickal theory?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Non-consensual blood magick violates the Accords of 1878, which established universal ethical standards across magickal communities. Beyond legal ramifications, it creates unstable power dynamics that can lead to the corruption of the spell itself. The magick becomes tainted by the violation, often manifesting in unexpected and dangerous ways.”

She nods, seemingly impressed. “You’ve clearly done your reading, Miss Aragon.”

“My family wrote the books on Blood Magick,” I reply, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

A murmur ripples through the classroom.

Professor Birch’s expression tightens slightly at my tone. “Of course. The Aragon family’s contributions to blood magick theory are well-documented,” she says diplomatically. “However, I’d remind you that theoretical understanding and ethical practice are equally important in this classroom.”

I incline my head in acknowledgement, though inwardly I’m seething. As if I need a lecture on blood magick ethics from a witch.

The class continues, and I force myself to focus on the lecture rather than my irritation. Professor Birch is actually quite knowledgeable for someone not born to blood magick, and despite my mood, I engage with the rest of her lecture.

When class ends, I gather my things quickly and check my timetable. My blood runs slightly hotter when I see the lecture. Saliva floods my mouth and I almost trip over my own feet in my hurry to head to Blood Magick Ethics with none other than Professor Luke Blackthorn. Was that by design, or is it simply the only lecture available in Blood Magick Ethics that fit in with my new timetable?

I hate that he makes everything into a question now. Nothing is clear, everything has multiple answers. Damn him.

Walking swiftly through the halls of MistHallow, weaving between day students who move with the languid pace of those who’ve never had to rush through sunlight. The Blood Magick Ethics classroom is miles away in the east wing.

The classroom door is already closed when I arrive, and I curse. I’m late. Taking a deep breath, I smooth down my red dress, adjust my bag on my shoulder, and push the door open without knocking.

The lecture hall falls silent as I enter. It’s larger than Professor Birch’s classroom, with stadium-style seating that faces a raised platform where Luke stands, mid-sentence, his eyes finding mine immediately.

“Miss Aragon,” he says, his voice cool and controlled. “How kind of you to join us.”

I feel the weight of thirty pairs of eyes on me as I make my way down the central aisle. There are several empty seats, but I choose one in the front row, directly in his line of sight.

“My apologies, Professor Blackthorn,” I say, making no effort to sound sincere. “Someone decided to give me a new timetable with classes miles apart.”

His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “You are a vampire, are you not?”

“You expect me to run in these heels?” I ask, sitting down and crossing my legs.

The gasps from the students around me at my gall to speak to the Headmaster that way, makes me smile slowly.

I meet those sparkling blue eyes and nearly swoon. He is dressed impeccably as always in a black suit with his black Professor robes billowing majestically around him.

His expression is unreadable as he studies me for a moment too long, making my skin tingle with awareness.

“I expect punctuality from all my students, regardless of footwear choices,” he says finally. “Now, as I was explaining before we were interrupted, blood magick ethics evolved significantly during the Reformation period...”

I settle into my seat, watching him intently as he resumes his lecture. There’s something different about him today—a tightness around his eyes, a slight tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before. Is he still angry about last night? Or is it something else? I’ve never had a class with him as the lecturer before. He is mesmerising. Every student is hanging on his words, practically drooling. Males and females alike. He carries on as if he hasn’t noticed but he can’t be that unobservant. He must see it.

His voice washes over me as he paces the platform, gesturing elegantly as he explains complex ethical theories. Despite my exhaustion and irritation at being forced into daylight hours, I’m completely entranced.

He avoids looking directly at me as the lecture continues, his gaze sweeping over the class but skipping the space I occupy. The deliberate avoidance sends a thrill through me. I’m affecting him. He’s not as indifferent as he pretends to be.

When he finally does look at me, it’s to call on me unexpectedly.

“Miss Aragon, perhaps you can explain to the class why the Council of Vienna determined that blood bonds between professors and students constitute an ethical breach, even with consent?”

The question catches me off guard, and I see now that this was a deliberate positioning. He wanted me here for this. It just makes me even more determined to show him I don’t give a flying fuck about ethics when it comes to him. I will be gone from this academy in under six months. I can wait if that’s what he wants. Better yet, if he admitted today that’s the only thing stopping him, I’d leave now.

“The Council of Vienna ruling of 1721 determined that the inherent power imbalance between professor and student creates an environment where true consent becomes questionable,” I reply, keeping my voice steady despite the heat rising to my cheeks. “A blood bond magnifies this imbalance exponentially, potentially binding the student to the professor’s will in ways that extend beyond the academic relationship.” I pause, holding his gaze before adding, “However, the ruling specifically addresses institutional relationships, not personal ones that might exist outside the academic context. The distinction lies in the intent and nature of the bond formed.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “An interesting interpretation, Miss Aragon. And what of the amendment added in 1892?”

“The amendment clarified that even bonds formed with explicit consent still constitute an ethical breach due to the psychological influence professors may exert over impressionable students,” I counter smoothly. “But it also acknowledged that ancient beings with centuries of life experience might be considered exceptions to this rule, as they possess sufficient perspective to make informed decisions regardless of academic status.”

Luke’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “The exception clause you reference was removed in the Council’s revision of 1923,” he says, his voice controlled but with an edge that sends shivers down my spine. “After several studies found that the perspective of age did not mitigate the psychological effects of academic power dynamics.” He pauses, his eyes locked with mine. “The council concluded that all beings, regardless of age or experience, remain vulnerable to influence when placed in subordinate academic positions.”

I feel the weight of his words, the subtle warning beneath them. He’s drawing a line, setting boundaries. But I’ve never been good with boundaries.

“With respect, Professor Blackthorn,” I say, leaning forward slightly, “those studies focused primarily on turned vampires and humans. I don’t recall any pureblood subjects in the research pool.”

The tension in the room thickens. Students shift uncomfortably in their seats, sensing the charged undercurrent of our exchange.

“An excellent point for further discussion,” Luke says after a moment, his voice neutral but his eyes blazing. “Perhaps in your essay on the evolution of blood ethics, you might explore whether bloodline purity creates ethical exceptions. Two thousand words, on my desk by tomorrow morning.”

I smile sweetly even though I’m fuming inside. Two thousand words by tomorrow? Fucker. “I look forward to it, Professor.”

He turns away, addressing another student with a question, effectively dismissing me. But I’ve seen what I wanted to see. That flash of something dangerous behind his perfect composure means I’ve gotten under his skin.

For the remainder of the lecture, I take meticulous notes, partly because the subject genuinely interests me, but mostly because I want him to see me engaged, focused, hanging on his every word like the rest of the class, but mostly so that he can see that I’m taking my punishment like a good girl.