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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ISOLDE

I stare at the journal in my hands, the weight of a century-old mystery settling over me like a shroud. William Harrington, ghost of SilverGate Academy, has vanished before my eyes, leaving me with nothing but this leather-bound tome and more questions than answers.

“This is crazy,” I whisper to the empty room, though I now know it isn’t truly empty. William is still here somewhere, watching, waiting, just invisible to me again.

The realisation sends a chill down to my bones.

He’s seen me naked.

I gulp and look over my shoulder.

If I didn’t know better, I swear I hear chuckling coming from over by the bed.

Refocusing, I trace the embossed initials on the cover, feeling the indentations beneath my fingertips. A connection to the past, to a time before I was born. This William Harrington is a mystery that needs solving before I even contemplate trying to dig into the events that led to his death.

But there is no time to delve into century-old mysteries now. A glance at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece reminds me that my first class is due to start in less than an hour. Dusk approaches, bringing with it my debut as an actual student among other supernatural beings.

I tuck the journal into my bookbag, deciding to examine it later when I have more time and privacy. It feels almost like stealing, but William wanted me to read it. Besides, he is hardly in a position to take it from me.

Standing, I survey the remnants of my spell, the ingredients now spent, their magic infused into my system. The sight of a ghost had been alarming at first but compared to the threat I’d imagined lurking in my room; William Harrington seems positively benign. Sardonic, mysterious, and frustratingly cryptic, yes, but not threatening.

And now I need to figure out how to see him again without needing Cassiel’s blood. Now that I know he is a ghost, one assumes a standard variety, there has to be an easier spell for that.

I hope .

There is something about him that makes me want to see him again, talk to him again, and it’s not just because of his good looks, with his short brown hair and green eyes. Although that helps. If my resident ghost had been a creepy ancient being, I’d be hightailing it out of here to Blackridge’s office to request a new room.

I try to organise my thoughts, which dart between William’s revelations, Cassiel’s blood still warming my insides, and CJ’s possessive fury in the dining hall. Three men, three wildly different interactions, all in my first twenty-four hours of freedom.

For twenty-one years, my only male interaction has been with my father, Isaac, and, of course, CJ through the scrying mirror. Now I have a fallen angel willingly offering his blood, a possessive vampire declaring me as his, and the ghost of a man who desperately needs me to help him.

But my first priority is to attend class, blend in, and try not to draw any more attention than CJ’s public displays have already guaranteed.

I glance at his jacket, draped across my bed. Deciding against wearing it to class, I fold it carefully and place it on my pillow. It’s sending the entirely wrong signal to CJ, and that has to stop.

But why?

The annoying, horny bitch inside my head is pissed off. She wants to lose her virginity to the sexy, arrogant, scary vampire who is her twin brother’s best friend.

But she is me and I… I can’t go there.

The schedule on my desk indicates my first class is Defensive Combat Training in something called the Obsidian Arena. I have no idea where that is, and the thought of asking for directions makes my stomach clench. So much for blending in.

I grab my bookbag, check my appearance in the mirror one last time, and take a deep breath. “Right then,” I say to my reflection, and perhaps to the invisible William as well. “Into battle.”

The corridor outside my room is busier now, with students hurrying to their dusk classes. I slip into the flow, keeping my head down, trying to follow where others are heading. SilverGate’s labyrinthine layout is bewildering, with Gothic archways and identical-looking stone corridors that seem to double back on themselves.

After ten minutes of wandering, I’m hopelessly lost and glad I headed out early, so I don’t turn up late to a class that is going to kick my arse in more ways than one. The corridors twist and turn, each looking identical to the last. Students rush past, some giving me curious glances, others deliberately widening their path to avoid me. CJ’s warning has clearly spread. When I finally appear to have reached the Obsidian Arena, going off sight alone, I pause, taking a deep breath.

“Isolde, right?” A female voice comes from behind me.

I turn to find a girl, fae, I think, standing nearby dressed in an outfit that screams she is going to the same class as me. I look down and grimace. I am not dressed in hot pink yoga pants and a matching top and running shoes.

“Yes. And I appear to be woefully overdressed for Defensive Combat Training.”

She giggles and snaps her fingers.

I look down to discover I’m dressed in a similar outfit to hers, but all in black.

“I’m Cordelia. Magic clothes are a speciality, if I say so myself.”

“Well, thank fuck for you,” I say with a shy smile.

She beams and looks around, almost theatrically. “Just checking for ballistic boyfriends,” she says in a stage whisper, but I can tell from the gleam in her eye that she’s joking.

“Oh, don’t,” I groan. “He has serious issues.”

“Don’t complain. He is hot as fuck.”

He really is.

“Hot, but scary,” I mutter, following Cordelia into the arena.

The Obsidian Arena lives up to its name with polished black stone stretching from wall to wall, the ceiling soaring so high it disappears into shadow. Weapons of every imaginable type line the walls, from traditional swords and daggers to items I can’t even name.

“All the best ones are,” Cordelia says with a smirk. “Besides, scary is just SilverGate’s version of normal.”

Students filter in, their bodies already tensed for combat. I notice how they glance at me, then quickly look away.

“Scaredy-cats,” Cordelia snorts.

I giggle at her attitude. She is precisely the kind of woman I want to be. Confident, a little bit arrogant, powerful and doesn’t give a shit.

She dumps her books and bags in a corner, and I follow, sticking to her like glue. I hope she doesn’t mind, but I need a friendly face right now. My nerves are shot, and I’m on the verge of a panic attack.

Luckily, the class starts almost immediately, and the professor instructs us to pair up.

Cordelia grins at me, and we move over to give ourselves some room.

“Okay, listen up,” the professor bellows. “Today, we are focused on defensive holds and counters. Remember, in a real combat situation, your enemy won’t play fair, so neither should you.”

I glance at Cordelia nervously. “I’ve never done this before. ”

“Seriously?” she whispers, her eyebrows shooting up. “Like, never-never?”

I shake my head, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I was... homeschooled.”

“Well, shit.” She grins, showing those unnervingly sharp teeth. “This should be fun.”

The professor, a broad-shouldered man with steel-grey hair and eyes that seem to change colour depending on how the light hits them, walks between the pairs, demonstrating the first hold.

He stops at us, glaring down at me in particular. “Place your hands here and here,” he instructs, grabbing me around the throat and waist in a loose hold that still makes me nearly wet myself. “The key is to immobilise without expending unnecessary energy.” He lets me go and moves on.

I try to memorise the moves, but my stomach churns with anxiety.

Cordelia steps behind me. “Don’t worry,” she murmurs. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Her grip is firm but not painful as she demonstrates the hold. I try to follow the instructions for breaking free, but my movements are clumsy, unpractised.

“Twist your body weight, then use your opponent’s momentum against them,” the professor calls out, moving among the students.

I attempt the countermove, but Cordelia barely budges. Frustration builds in me as my inexperience becomes painfully obvious. All around us, other students are executing perfect defensive manoeuvres, some even adding flourishes that make my attempts look even more pathetic.

“Come on, vampire girl,” Cordelia coaxes. “You’ve got this. Use your strength.”

“I’m trying,” I mutter, attempting the countermove again. This time, I manage to loosen her grip slightly before she readjusts.

“Better,” she says encouragingly. “Now use your hips more. Pivot and?—”

The professor’s voice cuts through our conversation. “Miss Morvoren. Perhaps you’d benefit from a different partner.” He surveys the room. “Mr Benz, would you mind demonstrating?”

My heart plummets as a guy twice my size, quite good-looking in a brutish kind of way, walks over to us.

As he gets closer, I sense his werewolf power, but there is something else added to it that makes my insides wither slightly. His white eyes lock on mine, and he gives me a slow, almost threatening smile, and I gulp. I guess he is either not afraid of CJ or he hasn’t got the so-called memo.

Neither bodes well for him or me.

Cordelia shoots me a sympathetic look before stepping aside. “Good luck,” she whispers. “Try not to die.”

“Gee, thanks a fuckload,” I hiss.

She presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. Easy for her. Her new partner is the poor sod who just got saved from being pulverised by this Benz beast.

My defensive magic rears up automatically, instinctually, but if I use it, I’ll be reprimanded. This isn’t Defensive Spellwork class. It’s physical combat. But how in the hell am I supposed to defend against a seven-foot werewolf with extra special powers that I know nothing about, who looks like he wants to eat me?

And not in the good way.

Benz circles me like I’m prey, his movements fluid and predatory.

“Come on, little vampire,” he taunts, voice low enough that only I can hear. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I’ve got nothing,” I mutter. “I’m new at this.”

His smile widens. “I know. That’s why this is going to be so fun.”

Before I can process his words, he lunges, his arms iron bands around me.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers against my ear. “Boyfriend not here to protect you?”

Anger flashes through me, hot and sudden. I’m so sick of being treated like I’m someone’s property, someone’s prey.

Something inside me shifts. My defensive magic surges, not outward as usual, but inward, reinforcing my muscles, sharpening my instincts. Without thinking, I drop my weight, twisting as the professor demonstrated. My elbow connects with Benz’s solar plexus, and he grunts in surprise.

His grip loosens just enough for me to slip free. I pivot, facing him, hands raised defensively.

“Lucky shot,” he snarls, eyes flashing dangerously. His hand darts out to grab me again, but I dance backwards, suddenly aware of the silence that’s fallen over the arena. Everyone is watching us now.

Even the professor is watching… and not interfering.

Benz smiles, a predatory baring of teeth.

He moves with supernatural speed, aiming for my throat. This time, my body reacts without conscious thought. I duck under his arm, using his momentum to send him stumbling past me. Before he can recover, I sweep my leg, connecting with his ankles. He staggers but doesn’t fall.

“Better,” the professor acknowledges. “But still too hesitant, Miss Morvoren. In a real fight, hesitation means death.”

Benz doesn’t wait for further instruction. He charges again, this time feinting left before grabbing my right arm and twisting it behind my back. Pain shoots up to my shoulder as he applies pressure.

“Tap out,” he whispers, his breath hot against my neck. “Or I’ll break it.”

Weirdly, this isn’t a decision I take lightly. If he breaks it, it will heal, and I’ll be fine after a few seconds of pain. If I surrender, I’ll be a target for every bully here who wants to teach me a lesson. I loosen my muscles, which eases the sharp bite of pain, and then a rush of air ruffles my hair and Benz’s hold on me is released with a snap of bones and a growl that infuriates me more than Benz’s unwarranted attack on me.

Spinning around, I see CJ has him in a chokehold, and I hiss.

“For fuck’s sake!” I explode, my voice echoing through the suddenly silent arena. “What is wrong with you?”

CJ’s grip on Benz tightens, the werewolf’s face turning an alarming shade of purple. The professor stands back, watching with clinical interest rather than intervening. This place is… there are no words for the level of violence that the staff seems to tolerate.

CJ’s eyes never leave Benz’s, even though he says to me, “He was hurting you.”

“It’s combat training,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

The entire class watches, frozen with fascination and horror. Cordelia catches my eye from across the room, her expression amused as she tries not to laugh.

“You’re not even in this class,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “Are you following me now?”

“Consider this a practical demonstration from an Upper Classman,” CJ says, addressing the room at large. “On what happens when you touch what isn’t yours.”

Heat floods my cheeks. Embarrassment, anger, and something else I refuse to name. “When will you get it through your thick head that I am not yours?”

CJ’s eyes flash amber and black as he finally turns to look at me. “When hell freezes over, my sweet.”

His voice is soft, almost gentle, but the threat beneath it could cut diamonds. Benz makes a choking sound as CJ’s grip tightens.

“Let him go,” I demand, taking a step forward. “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?” CJ tilts his head, studying me with that predatory intensity that makes my stomach flip despite my anger. “Because it seems to me that some lessons need repeating.”

The professor finally decides to intervene, though his expression suggests he’s more annoyed at the interruption than concerned about Benz’s well-being.

“Mr Aquila,” he drawls, “while your enthusiasm for Miss Morvoren’s safety is noted, perhaps you could continue your demonstration without actually killing Mr. Benz? Paperwork for student deaths is particularly tedious this term.”

“If he says sorry,” CJ says with a smile that makes my pussy damp.

Benz growls, causing CJ to flip him over and slam him to the ground as easily as if the seven-foot werewolf were simply a cotton cloth.

CJ crouches down, placing his hand on Benz’s chest. “Say sorry to Isolde for hurting her.”

Benz wheezes. It’s clear that CJ’s touch is like a ton of bricks on his chest.

“Sorry,” Benz rasps.

CJ lifts his hand and rises, looking mighty pleased with himself.

The message has been delivered, loud and clear. Again.

“Class dismissed,” the professor announces, and students scatter like startled birds, eager to be away from the epicentre of CJ’s wrath.

Cordelia gives me a wicked grin when she passes to collect her belongings. “Have fun,” she coos.

“Fuck off,” I growl, making her laugh.

When the arena is empty, I face off with CJ. He is looking altogether too smug, and I want to wipe it off his face, once and for all.

“Do not ever do that again. This is my life, my classes, my body. You do not have any say over anything I say or do. Are we fucking clear? ”

“No.”

His simple syllable takes me aback. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t expect him to just say no in a tone that defies any comeback.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” I sputter, rage building inside me like a gathering storm. “You can’t just?—”

“I can,” CJ interrupts, his voice silky and dangerous. He steps closer, and I refuse to back away despite every instinct screaming at me to put distance between us. “And I will. Every. Single. Time.”

“You’re insane,” I whisper, shaking my head.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew my dad,” he says with a slow smile that chills me, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. He curls his finger around it, moving in even closer.

“I have to get to my next class,” I say, changing the subject abruptly. “So if you’re done with your caveman routine, I’d like to go.”

“Nowhere near done,” he murmurs and grasps my wrist. He pulls me closer, untangling his other hand from my hair to wrap around my throat. “Kiss me,” he says, staring at my lips. “You know you want to.”

My mind goes totally blank. The warmth of his hand on my throat sends electric currents down my spine, and I can feel my pulse hammering against his palm. Every logical thought evaporates like morning mist under a burning sun .

“I—” My voice fails me. His eyes are hypnotic, those amber flecks dancing in the obsidian depths.

“Say no and I’ll take what I want anyway, Isolde,” he challenges softly, his thumb tracing my jawline.

“And what is it that you want?” I gulp as his meaning sets in.

“Everything,” CJ whispers, his breath hot against my lips. “But I’ll start with your mouth.”

He moves in even closer, trailing his hand down from my throat over my breasts, over my stomach, before he slips it between my legs.

“Then I’ll take your pussy,” he whispers close to my ear, giving my pussy a squeeze before he removes it and runs his hand over my arse crack. “And then here. Every hole you have will belong to me, Isolde. Do you understand that?”

My entire body flushes with heat, desire flooding my knickers. I should be outraged, should slap him, should run. Instead, I’m rooted to the spot, my heart hammering like it’s trying to escape.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

His smile is slow, predatory. “I’m sure of what I want.”

“And what if I say no?” The question comes out laced with fear.

CJ’s hand slides back up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “Then I’ll take it anyway and make sure every other creature in this academy knows you’re mine, one way or the other.”

For a moment, I’m frozen in place, my body betraying me with a rush of desire even as my mind reels from the audacity of his threat. I’ve never been spoken to like this, never felt this combination of fear and arousal, never been so utterly consumed by someone’s presence.

“That’s not how consent works,” I finally manage, finding my voice despite the thundering of my pulse.

His eyes darken further. “Consent is complicated at SilverGate. But I’ll play your game.” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “For now.”

My mind is screaming at me to kiss him. His lips are practically touching mine. I want it. But part of me, the part that has never had a man, a relationship, is afraid of what he will do if I cross that line. I will then be telling him with my actions that I belong to him. That’s not how I want my first taste of freedom to be. One cage to another. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that his possessiveness will be constricting, suffocating.

But isn’t it already?

Without conscious thought, I run my hand up his chest. He stiffens at my touch, his eyes going darker. He grips my wrist and pushes my hand the opposite way until it brushes over his cock, bulging against his pants .

“This is what you do to me, my sweet.”

I gasp, feeling the hard length of him beneath my palm. His grip tightens, guiding my hand in a slow stroke over his erection. The heat of him burns through the fabric, making my head swim.

“Feel that,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “That’s what happens every time I see you, every time I smell you, every time I think about you.”

My fingers tremble against him, and my inexperience makes me hesitant. I’ve never touched a man like this before, never felt the weight and heat of desire so tangibly. It’s terrifying, yet thrilling.

“CJ,” I breathe, not knowing if I’m warning him off or encouraging him.

With his other hand he unzips his pants and his cock springs free. My mouth floods with saliva as my gaze drops. I can’t help it. He is thick, long, and hard as iron when he closes my hand over his length.

“Touch me, Issy,” he murmurs. “Feel how much I want you.”

I tighten my grip a fraction, making him close his eyes and groan. “That’s it. Perfect.”

His hand covers mine, guiding my movements, showing me how to stroke him from base to tip, how to apply just the right pressure. Each pump of my hand draws a soft growl from his throat, the sound vibrating through me like a physical touch.

The sound of a scuffling by the door, makes me loosen my hold on his dick, but his grip on my hand makes it impossible to draw away.

Whispers and snickers reach my ears, cutting through the haze of lust.

Mortified, I wrench my hand away and glance over my shoulder to see several students peering in through the arena doors. Their eyes are wide, mouths twisted into smirks of approval at the live sex scene they’ve stumbled upon.

“Fuck,” I hiss, stepping back from CJ, who takes his sweet time stashing his dick away. The lusty gazes of some of the first-year females infuriate me to the point where I go a bit dizzy. Shooting my gaze back to his, his knowing smile hits me in the chest. “You bastard,” I seethe, my voice quivering with humiliation. “You knew they were there.”

“I knew someone would come eventually,” he admits. “It’s a public arena, after all.”

“So this was another display? Another way to mark your territory?” The realisation stings that this was a set-up. “You’re a complete arsehole.”

“I’m effective,” he corrects.

“And you will never have my hands on your cock again,” I say and seeing the damage that does to him, I give him a twisted smile.

He growls, his eyes dark. “Oh, but you will, my sweet. Or have you forgotten my promise already?”

My eyes flash dangerously. “ Fuck you.”

“Remember how it felt to have your hand on me, because next time, it will be my fingers buried deep inside you, making you come all over my hand, Issy.”

A shiver runs through me at his words, but I force myself to walk away from him, collect my belongings and move past the gawking students who part like the Red Sea as I approach. Their eyes follow me, some curious, some envious, some outright hostile.

My knees tremble as I make my way to my next class, unable to get the image he planted out of my head.