Page 29 of Of Bone and Ash

“What she deserves? Serafina tried to kill my son!” Teagan snaps as her perfectly manicured, pointed cream nails dig into her palms. She moves her glare from me to Atlas, while I examine her designer pantsuit. It's fitted, giving the Headmistress a timeless yet professional look, and the soft cream and peach colors compliment her darker golden skin tone, making her look like some island goddess. Damn, she’s as beautiful as I remember. Her curly, shoulder-length chocolate brown hair is down, framing her youthful face, giving her the appearance of a woman closer to my age than one in her seventies.

“And as acting Headmistress,” she corrects Atlas. “I should have been made aware of her attending my school!”

“I was unaware it was your school, Teagan,” I admit, cutting off Atlas before he insults the woman more. If she really is the Headmistress of Silverwood, it will be easier for her not to hate one of us, and since she already hates me, I need Atlas to shut up. Moving my hand away from Atlas’ shoulder, I lean a hip against his desk, ignoring the golden eyes that haven't shifted from me since the moment I walked into this room. My magic is honed on him, watching with bated breath for a chance to launch itself at him, only it's not feeling quite as murderous as I want it to, which is confusing.

“Would it have made a difference if you had?” she asks, tilting her head to the side as she studies me.

“No.”

My clipped response has her jaw clenching, and I can hear Boris chuckle, his big shoulders shaking as he watches us. “I had an email correspondence with the Silverwood school board. Maybe take up your complaints with them since they approved my transfer from Black Veil,” I suggest, keeping my voice flat as her bright, glimmering eyes narrow on me, a challenge lit within.

The air simmers with Teagan's magic, and I smirk as my own responds, smothering the warmth in seconds, chilling the air and making the flames in the fireplace flicker as the room darkens. Teagan grimaces, her eyes still firmly locked with mine, refusing to back down, so I add just a sliver more, only a drop in the bucket of my magic that I know will make her fold. I used to respect this woman, and even though I understand her hatred of me, I won't let her push me around.

Teagan stumbles back, her eyes falling from me as she curses and I shake my head, tsking under my breath. One day, we will have to talk. One day, I will apologize since she wouldn't let me all those years ago. It's something she deserves and something I will gladly give, but until then, she will keep herself in check and stop challenging me.

My magic twists over Teagan before dancing across the room in a deadly wave toward the golden-haired Angel. I feel it prod his barriers and wince. The recoil from his bright magic is immediate. The golden strands latch onto me like water to a sponge as I attempt to control my wild magic and yank it away from him. It takes a moment to shake off his magic, but once I do, I make sure I have everything well out of his reach.

“Serafina,” Atlas rasps, startling me from my magic standoff with Teagan. Looking down, I see him shift uncomfortably in his seat, eyeing the dark magic floating in the air around us. Shit. I call it back to me, finally moving my gaze to the Angel, who somehow moved closer without me noticing, his stance guarded as he watches me closely.

My magic feels a little lighter, not as black as it had been before, and I shudder, not liking the feeling at all. Damn Angel better not have fucked up my magic. “Gross,” I mutter under my breath as I study it, hating the almost gray color it has become, then blink in surprise when a growl comes from the side of the room where Professor Ambrose stands.

My eyes fly back to him, noting how tense he looks. Normally, I chalk that up to Angels being tight-asses. I was taught from a young age that most Angels hate Fae and Humans, considering them lesser than themselves. The two I grew up with are different from the others, no longer living amongst their kind. Angels don’t allow emotions to sway them… and they believe love is a weakness that cannot be afforded no matter who or what the situation is. Something I tend to agree with after my run-in with it.

Love can go ahead and fuck itself. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I allow a man to have that much control over me again. I tilt my head to the side in a challenge, wondering what his deal is. He keeps watching me, and it's fucking creepy as hell. When he doesn't move or say anything, I dismiss him with a roll of my eyes.

“Well, as entertaining as this has all been,” Boris pipes up, shifting from one giant foot to the other, his brown eyes scanning the four of us as he runs a hand through his brown hair. His thick corded arms cross over a broad chest as he narrows his eyes on Teagan before he looks at me, his gaze softening just a bit. “We had another death today, and I would like to know how you found her. The victim hadn’t even been reported missing yet. According to her roommates, she left for classes this morning like always, and then Professor Hawkins, here”—Boris points at Atlas—“called me with a report of a murdered student in my forest. Does that all sound correct to you?”

I nod, noting the timeline of the girl's disappearance. “That's right. What do you need to know?” I ask, looking at the Dragon as he studies me.

“I already know where she was found. I have a Balaur Patrol team there clearing the scene. But…” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “The girl was still warm. She had just been killed. According to one of my men, he thinks she had only been dead for an hour at most. It took them ten minutes to find the scene after it was reported, which means you stumbled upon it less than half an hour after the murder happened,” Boris explains, and I nod.

“Yes. I suspected as much when I found her. There were still air bubbles coming from her mouth with the blood, but the soul had been forcibly removed. Whoever did it did a messy job. She looked like she had just barely been killed, and there were symbols I’d never seen carved on her face. When I found her, it was already too late. There wasn't enough soul to salvage. Not even he could have done something about it,” I say, nodding over to the Angel. “Not that he would,” I add, voice cracking a little from the strain of using it so much. The Angel scowls at me while Atlas somehow produces a water bottle out of thin air, thrusting it into my hands and glaring at me until I take a drink.

I roll my eyes at Atlas’ frown of concern flickering in his eyes as I set the water bottle back on his desk. Teagan inhales sharply at my description of the scene, her golden brown skin paling as she slowly sits in a chair across from Atlas’ desk.

“You shouldn’t have been out there by yourself. What were you thinking?” Atlas murmurs, concern thick in his voice.

“It was a good thing I was, or who knows what else that girl would have endured. At least it ended her suffering,” I volley back, making Atlas scowl at me. “Besides, this is why I’m here—so that I can help figure out what's going on with these girls. You are supposed to use me,” I remind him. This time, it's the golden-haired prick who scoffs, eyes flashing as he shakes his head and steps forward.

“You are a child. No,” he snaps, causing Teagan to look at the professor shocked.

“A child?” I laugh just as Atlas growls, eyes narrowing on the Angel.

“Amell, you weren't invited. Why are you here?”

Amell Ambrose? Hmm, that’s an odd name. I study the pompous prick and nod. Yeah, it fits him—a prissy name for a prissy Angel.

“How did you know about the murder?” Boris asks, glaring at the Angel as he steps closer, eyeing me with his lips pressed in a firm line.

“Not much happens in this school without me knowing,” Amell responds, and Boris snorts.

“Except for the deaths of nineteen girls!”

“Twenty,” Amell corrects. “You’re not counting the one from tonight. And I already told you there is only one creature that can escape my notice. I gave you a lead, which is more than I should have,” he murmurs, his smooth voice coursing over me as he watches him. His hands twist the gold silk of his tie between his long fingers, and I can see a glimpse of swirling gold tattoos peeking out from his shirt sleeves and collar.

“My second-in-command already knew it was a Demon!” Boris snarls, and Amell's lips draw back in a sneer.

“That's right… the Frankenstein Demonic Dragon.” Disgust fills Amell's face as my heart lodges itself so far up my throat that I’m pretty sure I make a weird choking sound that earns me some odd looks.

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