his groin. His entire body folds in on itself, releasing the pressure from my head and allowing me to dart back several meters. Surprisingly, though he writhes on the ground, he makes no sound. His squinted eyes look up at me with one question in them: Why?

I shrug. “I never said I’d play fair.”

I allow him a minute to recover, also giving myself the opportunity to catch my breath. When he rises, I realign myself, and he does too. Finally being able to let go, knowing my opponent can take what I give and dish it out just as well, has left me in the best mood I’ve been in, in months.

“Play ball,” I say with a grin.

He attacks again—and again and again, the sound of his sword clacking against my staff echoing around the entire stadium. We circle each other, sweating, exhausted, and watching for the other to make a move. Beyond him, I notice the other pairs have paused in their sparring to watch us.

Paxton lunges forward again, and I meet him in the middle, only to force my staff into the ground, aiming for another leap over his head. But a hand yanks on my ankle mid-air, sending me colliding into the dirt at speed.

I spit mud and grass from my mouth and spin onto my back, quick to grab my fallen staff from beside me, only to find Paxton gone from sight. I leap to my feet, waiting in a crouch, my head swiveling left and right—but he’s nowhere to be seen.

I spin around, gazing through the trees. My heart is racing; I can’t hear past my own pulse. The darkness is pressing against my eyes, morphing, and shifting.

A rustle behind me.

A glint of light bouncing from steel.

I stab my staff into the ground, sending a shock wave through the earth and air around me. Paxton’s eyes widen as he’s flung backwards; he somersaults through the air to land a good fifty meters away, but not on his feet.

He doesn’t move.

“Oh, shit.” I run toward him and skid across the ground to rest beside his prone body. I drop my staff next to him. “Paxton, can you hear me? Are you okay?” He remains still.

They lie among the mulch of the clearing floor. I crouch next to their bodies. I want to stop. I want to mourn them. But I can’t. It is not proper.

Paxton’s head shifts, and his eyes meet mine, their blueness solid and grounding. I cling onto them with mine, drawing myself from the darkness—and he laughs. The first sound I’ve ever heard from him. The warmth in it sends chills across my skin and rockets my mind back into my body; I’m shocked at the deepness of it.

“I think she broke him,” Rory whispers behind me, and I turn in my crouch to glare up at him. “No really,” he turns to Dane, who is next to him, “when was the last time he laughed?”

“I didn’t break him, asshole. I think I just hit him too hard.” I wince and turn back to Paxton, worry gnawing at my insides. “I didn’t break you, Pax, did I?”

He grins at me and shakes his head, his eyes still dancing with laughter as he sits up, brushing the dirt out of his shaggy hair. But as he moves, I notice the wince he attempts to conceal, and I’m instantly hovering over him.

“Where does it hurt?” My eyes lands on the hand he instinctively brought up to his abdomen. He puts it back on the ground to conceal his pain, but I tut and go to lift his shirt to inspect the damage I—

My mouth goes dry.

Abs. So many abs.

I should look away. I’m supposed to be examining the poor guy’s wounds, but all I can think is how far the muscle continues under his shorts…

A familiar snort comes from behind me, and the color drains from my face as I crane my neck around to see Dane’s smirk. I narrow my eyes on him and jab at his shin with my elbow. He hisses and hops back on one foot.

“One word, Dane,” I growl at him. “Say one word, and I’ll let Lore turn you into a worm to play with.”

His eyes twinkle as he pretends to zip his lips; Rory and Declan glance between us, their faces blank. Lore descends onto the ground by Paxton’s head. “I’d rather you let me dispose of the devil cat.”

“Ssh.” I glare at her.

“Paxton, son, are you okay?”

All five of us turn to see Professor Worgren hurrying over, his glare ice cold as he stops at Paxton’s side. “And what the hell were you thinking?” He directs all of his attention to me as he bellows loud enough for the entire school to hear. “This isn’t the Academy of the Dark! We do not kill our classmates here.”

Gasps echo around us at his words, everyone only now remembering who I am, apparently. I take in the glares and the hatred filling their eyes, and I shut down all of my emotions, locking them away as I push up from the ground, taking my staff with me. The people closest jump out of my way as I turn to face them.

My eyes track over my team, their faces serious. I frown at the doubt in Declan and Rory’s eyes as they glance between Paxton and me.

“Mistress, you must remember why it is you are here,” Lore reminds me.

With an acknowledging grunt, I throw on the mask I’ve grown to know and love as I shrug, smiling down at Professor Worgren. “Oh, dang it! My superiors won’t be happy I failed. There’s always tomorrow, I guess?” When I turn to walk back to the changing rooms, the crowd around me parts like magnets of the same pole.

I make quick work of changing out of my clothes and am out of the arena before the rest of the class have the chance to catch another glimpse of me.

As I walk away

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