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CHAPTER TEN

CASSIEL

SilverGate Academy looms like a shadow-soaked fortress as I stand at my window, watching the crowds disperse after the fight in the courtyard. There are two creatures, one clearly dominant and one with a casual brutality that fascinates me. It’s the same creature from last night that watched me from the tree. He saw me fall, so he knows what I am, but I have no idea what he is. A creature with lethal beauty and a penchant for violence that he revels in because he is always the successor. He is strong, powerful, arrogant. I’m curious.

I can feel my wings shift beneath my skin, itching to unfurl as I watch him stalk away from the scene of his victory. There’s something about him. A darkness that calls to my own newly acquired shadows. The way he moved, precise and deadly, each blow calculated for maximum effect. Not just a show of strength, but a message.

He has much to teach me about this act of aggression.

Leaning my forehead against the window frame, I take in the sprawling academy grounds. My first day as a fallen angel, and already I’ve witnessed more raw emotion than my entire existence in heaven. Up there, everything was muted, controlled. Here? It’s all fire and ice and primal needs being met without apology.

A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. I turn, still unused to the weight of being fallen on my bones. Heaven was lighter somehow, as if gravity had less hold on celestial beings. Now I feel tethered to the earth, bound by rules I don’t yet understand.

“Enter,” I call, curious who would seek me out.

The door swings open to reveal Professor Blackridge, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Mr Cassiel. I trust you’ve settled in?”

“As much as one can after being ejected from paradise,” I reply.

Blackridge’s lips quirk in what might be amusement. “Paradise is overrated. Too many rules, not enough opportunities.” He steps into the room, his gaze sweeping over my accommodations. “I’ve come to provide your class schedule and some basic supplies.”

“In person? No minion to do your bidding? ”

“I have plenty of minions,” he replies with a sinister smile. “But you, Mr Cassiel, are intriguing to me.”

Why do I get the feeling that is not a good thing?

He hands me a sheet of paper. The schedule lists subjects I’ve never heard of: Dimensional Shift Theory, Defensive Combat Tactics, Offensive Combat Tactics, Dark Energy Manipulation.

“I don’t know the first thing about any of this,” I admit, scanning the unfamiliar terms.

“That’s rather the point of education, isn’t it?” Blackridge replies dryly. “But this is as much an education for us as it is for you. Fallen angels don’t drop out of heaven every day.”

“Have you ever had a fallen here before?” I ask, my innate curiosity roaring. This is precisely what got me kicked out in the first place. I think of my wings, now scorched black instead of pristine white. The price paid for having a mind of my own.

“Never,” he says. “You are unique.”

“Unique enough to warrant special attention from the Headmaster himself? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” Blackridge says, his voice flat. “Uniqueness at SilverGate can be both a blessing and a curse. Some students would kill to possess something rare. Others would simply kill the rare thing.”

I laugh, a sound that feels strange in my throat. Laughter in heaven was frowned upon. “Are you warning me or threatening me?”

“Merely stating facts.” His dark eyes study me with clinical interest. “Your first class is Dimensional Shift Theory with Professor Tate. I suggest you don’t be late.” He turns to leave, then pauses.

“Is that all you have to tell me?” I challenge, stepping away from the window. “No tips on how to navigate this academy of monsters?”

Blackridge regards me with those fathomless eyes. “You survived a fall from heaven, Mr Cassiel. I daresay you’ll figure it out. Though I would advise caution regarding whom you reveal your true nature to. Some here would consider fallen angel wings quite the trophy.”

A chill runs through me at his casual mention of dismemberment. “Noted.”

With that disturbing statement, Blackridge slips out, leaving me alone with more questions than answers.

I glance at my schedule again. Dimensional Shift Theory starts in a few hours. I have no books, no knowledge base, and absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Perfect.

But I can take advantage of the dining hall in the meantime. I’ve never consumed food before, but the hunger pangs currently clenching my stomach are hard to ignore. I’ve borne witness to famine, disease, plight, war and all the good things too, growth, birth, nurturing, love. I know what food is, but I’ve never had the pleasure of tasting it. Angels don’t need sustenance—we exist on divine energy alone, or we did. Now my stomach growls with very un-celestial demands.

My wings twitch beneath my skin as I make my way through the winding corridors of SilverGate. The architecture is oppressive, stone and shadow, with occasional splashes of stained glass that cast coloured light across the floor. Students move through these halls like predators, their gazes lingering on me with undisguised curiosity.

I sense their power, their darkness.

Finding the dining hall, simply by following my nose, the delicious smells coming from it make my mouth water. It’s a cavernous space with high ceilings and long tables. The air is thick with the scent of food and something metallic.

I approach a buffet-style serving area, overwhelmed by the options. A tall, pale creature with pointed ears watches me with amusement.

“First time?” she asks, her voice like wind through dry leaves.

“That obvious?”

“You’re staring at the food like it might attack you.” She gestures to the spread .

“The pasta is safe. The blood pudding is questionable. And whatever you do, don’t touch the green stuff unless you can metabolise arsenic.”

I eye the spread with wariness. “Thanks for the warning.”

“New students are always entertaining,” she says with a sharp-toothed smile. “Especially the pretty ones.”

I load a plate with pasta and what I hope is normal bread, ignoring the green substance that bubbles ominously at the end of the buffet. My stomach growls louder.

“You smell different,” she continues, leaning closer. Her nostrils flare. “Like ozone and burnt feathers.”

I stiffen. Blackridge’s warning about keeping my nature secret echoes in my mind. “Hmm.”

“I’m Cordelia,” she offers, extending a hand with nails that look more like talons.

“Cassiel,” I reply, taking her hand briefly. Her skin is cool and dry.

“Welcome to the feeding frenzy.” She gestures to the crowded hall. “Try not to become someone’s dessert. There are plenty of monsters around that would like a taste of you.”

“Are you one of them?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. I’ve seen this dance between creatures. I know how it goes. I’ve never experienced it firsthand, so I’m intrigued .

Cordelia’s smile widens, revealing more of those unnervingly sharp teeth. “I might be. I haven’t decided yet.” She leans closer, her silvery eyes gleaming. “Though I suspect you’re more dangerous than you appear, Cassiel.”

I return her smile with one of my own. She seems nice enough. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

She laughs. “I think we’ll get along splendidly.” Her gaze shifts suddenly, focusing on something behind me. “Oh, look. The prince approaches.”

I turn to see the creature from the courtyard striding through the dining hall. Students part before him like water around a stone. Up close, he’s even more impressive—tall, with an elegant brutality to his movements and tattoos visible at his collar and wrists. His eyes scan the room with predatory focus, clearly looking for someone.

“Constantine Aquila Junior,” Cordelia murmurs. “CJ to his friends, of which there is precisely one. He’s practically royalty here, not that he cares.”

“The one who was fighting in the courtyard,” I observe, watching as he moves to a table where a dark-haired creature sits, looking annoyed.

“That wasn’t a fight,” Cordelia corrects.

“No? Looked like one to me.”

“Oh, you are cute and innocent, aren’t you? Well, Cassiel, let me get you up to speed on SilverGate politics. That, my friend, was a statement. Apparently, he’s claimed the new girl. Isolde Morvoren. Isaac’s younger sister. Made quite the spectacle of it, too. Anyone who touches her is going to find out just how dangerous CJ can be.”

I follow Cordelia’s gaze to where CJ sits with another creature who resonates the same energy. This must be his friend Isaac Morvoren, Isolde’s older brother. I find these connections compelling. They’re engaged in what appears to be a tense conversation, their heads bent close together.

“What makes him so special?” I ask, genuinely curious. His power is different from the other creatures I’ve encountered so far.

Cordelia gives me a sideways glance. “No one knows exactly. He transferred here a few months ago, and within an hour, he was top of the food chain. There are rumours, of course.”

“What kind of rumours?”

She leans closer, lowering her voice. “Some think he’s some kind of hybrid. Something that shouldn’t exist but does anyway. All anyone knows for sure is that you don’t cross him unless you’re tired of living.”

I watch as CJ’s gaze suddenly lifts, scanning the dining hall until it lands directly on me. There’s a moment of recognition. He remembers me from last night. Something passes between us, an acknowledgement, before his attention shifts back to Isaac.

“Great,” Cordelia mutters. “Now you’ve caught his attention.”

“Is that bad?”

“Depends on whether you want to mess with Isolde or not,” she barks out a laugh.

Isolde. The name is like a lullaby. I wonder who this creature is that is causing such a visceral reaction in a primal beast, such as CJ. She is either as violent as he is, or worse, or the exact opposite. Innocent incarnate. Both would appeal to his masculine arrogance, from what I have observed from on high.

I’m oddly intrigued by this volatile dynamic. In heaven, relationships were theoretical concepts we observed from afar, clinical and detached. Here, they’re raw, possessive, dangerous.

“I have no interest in this Isolde,” I say truthfully. “But I am interested in how power works in this place.”

Cordelia snorts. “Bluntly and brutally. The strong dominate, the weak submit or die.” She gestures toward my untouched plate. “You should eat before it gets cold.”

“Well, thanks for the intro. It’s been interesting.”

“Anytime, gorgeous,” she replies and waves before disappearing to a table nearby full of creatures similar to her .

I go in the opposite direction and find an empty table.

Sitting down, I prepare to take my first bite of pasta. The sensation is overwhelming, salt, herbs, richness, texture, all hitting my tongue at once. I close my eyes involuntarily, savouring the experience.

Opening my eyes again, I nearly groan with satisfaction. No wonder humans and other creatures are so obsessed with food. This is incredible.

I take another bite, letting the flavours dance across my tongue. Each sensation is new and vibrant. The bread is crusty outside and soft inside. The pasta has a slight bite and is coated in a rich sauce that makes me understand gluttony in a way lectures on sin never could.

As I eat, I observe the dynamics of the dining hall with interest. It’s a microcosm of power, territory, and desire. Students cluster in hierarchical groups, the stronger ones commanding prime positions while weaker creatures huddle at the edges. Some eat alone, either by choice or necessity.

I notice CJ watching me again, his gaze calculating.

My attention shifts as the dining hall doors open and a girl enters. The reaction is immediate and provocative. Conversations falter, heads turn. She’s beautiful in a wild, untamed way. Dark hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and her blue eyes scan the room warily. She’s wearing a black jacket that’s slightly too large for her frame.

This must be Isolde Morvoren. The cause of the courtyard spectacle.

She moves with a strange combination of confidence and uncertainty, as if she knows exactly who she is but has no idea how to navigate this space. It’s captivating.

She aims straight for the table with CJ and Isaac, her face turning dark when she approaches.

Her expression is a storm cloud, different to the wary uncertainty she displayed upon entering. As she reaches their table, she doesn’t sit but leans in. Her voice is too low for me to hear, but her body language speaks volumes. It’s an accusation, a demand. Isaac looks exasperated. CJ, however, leans back, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face, the kind that acknowledges a challenge and relishes it. He says something that makes Isolde’s cheeks flush a vibrant crimson, and she glares at him, a fire in her blue eyes that matches his dark intensity.

This is far more entertaining than any celestial choir. The air around their table crackles with unspoken things, a volatile mix of anger, attraction, and something fiercely protective emanating from both males. CJ’s gaze, even when not directly on Isolde, seems tethered to her, a possessive claim that’s as obvious as a physical touch. He is a creature of base instincts, but it would appear that she is too, even if she is fighting it.

Isolde gestures sharply, then turns on her heel and stalks towards the blood dispenser, her back straight, her every movement radiating defiance. She’s magnificent. It’s a far cry from the serene, passionless existence I once knew. This is infinitely more interesting.

Isolde must feel my gaze on her as she turns slightly with a fierce frown. When she sees me, she hesitates.

I smile.

She returns it.

The hiss from across the room is unmistakable.

In an instant, CJ is at her side, glaring at me, fangs bared.

He moves with an unnatural speed, a blur of dark clothing and coiled fury. One moment, he’s at the table, the next, he’s a physical barrier between Isolde and me, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His eyes are almost entirely black with a primal rage.

“Problem?” I ask, my voice calm, a deliberate counterpoint to his overt aggression. I keep the smile on my face, a placid mask of angelic curiosity. Let him wonder what I’m thinking.

Isolde looks from CJ to me, her blue eyes wide, a flicker of alarm and annoyance crossing her face.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” he snarls, his voice a venomous whisper that carries across the sudden silence of the dining hall. Every eye is on us now. The air is thick with anticipation, the scent of potential violence. “Or didn’t you get the memo?”

“Memo?” I tilt my head, genuinely interested. This concept of ownership, of claims staked with such ferocity, is mesmerising.

“He means the arse-kicking he gave Rayne!” Cordelia calls out, giving me a thumbs-up signal.

CJ takes a step closer, and I rise swiftly.

He acknowledges the challenge with a cold smirk before crowding me. He’s the same height as me—six feet, two inches—broader, radiating a heat that’s almost suffocating.

“Is this how disputes are settled here?” I ask, my voice even, almost conversational. “With displays of territorial aggression?” I don’t flinch from his heat, from the undisguised threat in his eyes. It’s invigorating. The exact opposite of the polite, veiled power plays of heaven.

His eyes narrow. He clearly expected fear, or at least submission. My lack of either seems to infuriate him more. “You learn fast.”

“I’m a quick study,” I agree, meeting his gaze without wavering. I can feel the weight of every stare, the collective breath held. This is a test, not just from CJ, but from SilverGate itself.

Isolde makes a small, frustrated sound, her hands clenched at her sides. She looks like she wants to intervene, to tell CJ to back off, but something holds her back. Perhaps the sheer force of his possessiveness, or maybe she’s as curious as I am to see how this plays out.

“Last chance,” CJ growls, his body humming with barely leashed power. “Walk away.”

I consider his offer, not out of fear, but out of academic interest. What would happen if I did? What would happen if I didn’t? This world, with its raw, unfiltered emotions, is a far more compelling subject of study than any celestial tome.

His ultimatum hangs in the air, a challenge I find myself surprisingly unwilling to decline. “Walk away?” I echo, a faint smile touching my lips of genuine academic interest. “But why would I do that when the lesson is just becoming interesting?”

My gaze flicks to Isolde, who looks as though she’d rather the ground swallow her whole, then back to the incandescent fury that is CJ. “You see,” I continue, my voice maintaining a calm, almost conversational tone, “in my previous residence, such overt displays of possessiveness were frowned upon. Discouraged, even. Here, they seem to be a primary form of communication. It’s quite illuminating.”

CJ’s aura flares, a dark, amber-flecked inferno.

“Is that right?” he says, the flaming anger now pushed down under a blanket of ice. He has a shifting temperament .

“Yes,” I reply, undeterred by the still simmering violence in his eyes. “I’m curious. What exactly are the consequences of not adhering to such demands? I’m eager to understand the nuances of SilverGate’s social hierarchy.” This, I think, is what it means to truly learn. To push boundaries not just in thought, but in action. To feel the pulse of a world so unlike the one I knew, a world where even danger holds a certain allure.

CJ’s hand shoots out to grip the front of my tight black tee, yanking me forward until our faces are inches apart. The scent of ozone and something wild, like a storm about to break, fills my nostrils. His eyes are vortexes, pulling me into a rage so profound it’s almost beautiful.

“Nuances?” he snarls, his voice a low, guttural vibration that resonates in my chest. “Let me give you a practical demonstration.”

His grip tightens, lifting me slightly off my feet. For a moment, the dining hall, the staring students, even Isolde’s horrified gasp, fade. There’s only the primal power, a force that makes my fallen senses sing with exhilaration. This is it. This is the untamed energy I was denied, the primal dance I only ever observed from afar. And now I wonder what powers I have in this non-celestial realm.

“CJ, stop it!” Isolde’s voice cuts through, sharp and surprisingly commanding .

“Too late, my sweet. This isn’t about you anymore.”

He flings me across the room with a force that should shatter bones. My body slams into a stone pillar, the impact jarring through every part of me. For a moment, the world whites out, then refocuses with painful clarity. My wings instinctively flare out, black and widespread, causing gasps to resonate around the otherwise silent dining hall.

“There he is,” CJ says with a smile that chills my soul.

The taste of blood, metallic and strangely sweet, fills my mouth. Pain, real and visceral, is another new sensation. In heaven, discomfort was a theoretical concept. Here, it’s a sharp, undeniable reality.

Pushing myself up, I meet CJ’s gaze. The amusement there tells me all I need to know.

He didn’t expect me to stay down. He wants the fight. He knows I’ll give him one.

I smile, a genuine, blood-stained grin. “The practical application is potent.”

Isolde rushes to my side, her face pale, her blue eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

“Never better,” I reply, wiping a trickle of blood from my lip with the back of my hand. This is what it means to be alive, isn’t it? To feel, to bleed, to face down a storm and still stand .

CJ stalks towards us, his expression unreadable. Isaac is beside him, looking torn between boredom and loyalty.

“Next time,” CJ says, his voice a low growl, “I’ll put you down and you’ll stay down.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I reply. “You see, up there…” I point upwards, and every single set of eyes in the room looks up before their gazes drop back to me. “… I had no powers. Down here, I’m learning that fallen angels have a whole bagful of tricks hidden in their wings, and I’m dying to find out what they are.”

“Dying would be the operative word there, oh fallen one. If you come across me again, move out of my way.”

I shrug, a gesture that feels surprisingly nonchalant given the circumstances. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ll find I enjoy the view from your path.” My black wings give a small, insolent flutter, a silent counterpoint to his aggression. I flick my gaze to Isolde. She has moved back a fraction, her hands shaking.

“Don’t count on it,” CJ counters. “I wouldn’t mind an eye gouging, and yours are looking at my woman again. I’d suggest that if you truly want to learn what it’s like to be in this realm, you will pay attention when I speak.”

“Noted,” I say, and then snap my wings back when Blackridge marches into the dining hall, his face a mask of fury as he takes in the stand-off .

Instantly, everyone goes back to doing whatever they were doing, trying to look innocent and pretending they didn’t see anything.

Everyone. Not a single creature snitches or points fingers.

And that right there is SilverGate’s core.

It’s perfectly, disturbingly remarkable.