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There was a long pause. I could almost feel Nyxaris pondering. You did not listen to me, back in the hall. You did not stay put.

I couldn’t! I had to see if they were …

Hmm. Another weighty silence. Perhaps you are not as hopeless as we both believe you are. If you are willing, I can teach you.

Oh, I don’t think I could … The words rushed out.

Silence! Nyxaris said with the force of a roar. It was the second time he’d told me to shut up that night—not that I really blamed him. For one supposedly quite clever, you do not give nearly enough consideration to your words before they leave your mouth.

I closed my eyes, wondering if that might be true. I’d never had that problem before, but I supposed there was a first time for everything.

I cannot teach someone who believes themselves unworthy, Nyxaris said coldly. Who recoils not just from me but from her own essence. Another silence. You must choose, fledgling. Continue to fall to pieces and hide away in the safety of your mother’s home if that is what you wish. I could hear the derision in his voice. The weight of the challenge. Or …

He was silent so long I thought he’d disappeared.

Or? I ventured.

His voice came out of the darkness like a shadowy blade. Or you rise.

CHAPTER 9

BLAKE

I slouched on one of the hard wooden benches in the lecture hall for Sanguine Rites. Professor Vane was already hard at work at the blackboard, scratching away at the slate with a white piece of chalk. I scowled at his back, the scritch-scratch of the chalk gnawing at my already limited patience. At the top of the board the lecture topic was written neatly: Sanguine Rites: The Art and Ethics of Blood Invocation in Modern Sangratha.

Ethics? Now, that was a laugh.

That fucking bastard. Just how much information had Vane given Marcus? What had he told him? For all we knew, he’d been the oblivious key to everything that had happened, passing on to Marcus everything he and Catherine had needed to enthrall Lunaya and awaken Molindra.

I kept up my glare, clenching my fists, willing Vane to feel my hatred. Vane was one of the oldest professors at Bloodwing. Not as old as my dear old uncle Viktor, though. I shifted on the bench, barely suppressing a growl. My skin itched—didn’t take a lot of thought to know why.

It’d been happening more and more lately, the feeling of my blood boiling beneath my skin. Of a darkness stirring.

All vampires craved blood: It was our nature. But this? This wasn’t the same kind of craving. It was rage in its purest, most savage form. The desire to kill simply for the sake of it. To shred, to rip, to tear. It had nothing to do with feeding. Everything to do with the desire for destruction. And it fucking terrified me. Because the last time I’d been with Pendragon? I’d felt … different. Everything had been incredible, of course. She’d been incredible. But I’d been … rougher. I’d felt myself come close to losing control. I’d felt my dragon trying to reach towards the surface. At one point, I’d touched her and even now … I wasn’t sure if at that moment it had been me or my dragon. It was as if there were two parts to me now, two selves that were irreconcilable in some fundamental way. And the idea that one with scales could take over, even for a moment …

I flexed my hands, trying to release some of the tension. Red scales shimmered across my forearms, crawling up from my wrists to my elbows like a disease. A warning. I yanked my jacket off the back of the bench and shrugged it on quickly, pulling down the sleeves to hide the evidence. I kept my head low but scanned the rows around me. Students were still trickling into the hall. No one seemed to have noticed. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone slide into the seat beside me. Visha.

I blinked. I hadn’t had a chance to speak to her since …

She didn’t look at me. She tossed a battered-looking notebook on the desk and flipped it open.

“Good to see you,” I said under my breath. “Missed you in class last week.”

She kept her eyes on the notebook but nodded briefly. “I’m still enrolled. Or so they tell me.”

I inhaled. “We should talk.” I leaned back, trying to relax, studying her. I wasn’t used to seeing Visha like this. She was usually fierce and full of life. Now there was something muted about her. Hollowed out. But I recognized one thing simmering beneath the sorrow: rage.

Stop being a fucking coward, I told myself. Get it done.

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry about Lace. I’ve been wanting to say that to you … since it happened.”

She looked up at me, violet eyes narrowing. She’d razored the sides of her hair recently but was growing the top part out. The silver strands were getting longer. She’d tied them in intricate knots at the nape of her neck. “I see your eye is healing.”

I touched a hand to my face a little self-consciously.

“It’ll probably grow back,” she said, still staring at me. “Fucking highbloods. We lose an eye, we get it back again. But …” She stopped.

“It’s not fair,” I said softly, knowing what she was thinking. “Not fucking fair at all. I agree. And the fact that it was Aenia, my own sister, who did that to Lace.” I met her gaze. “The way I see it, and probably you do, too, is I owe you a debt of vengeance.”