Page 6 of Of Bone and Ash

The remaining four men strip down, tucking their clothes into satchels as they spread out, trying to find a spot large enough for them to shift. I wait as they take flight, a mixture of gray and blue wings propelling them to the safety of the skies above before I move to the clearing I landed in previously. It's the only one large enough to fit my Dragon, and even then, it was a tight fit. The shadows of the forest dance around me as my steps sound like thunder on the dirt below. Darkness creeps in, and I can't help the shiver of dread that races down my spine as I glare at the twisted silver trees around me.

Something in this forest is unnatural, something that sets my Dragon on edge—something much stronger than I am. That thought alone terrifies me, and I growl as I spin in a slow circle. This forest has always felt off to me, but the darkness is growing alarmingly fast, and the magic in the air thickens each time I step into its shadowy depths.

I snarl and swipe a hand through the air, letting my magic curl around me, melting the threads of the fabric straining against my flesh as bright gold scales erupt down my arms and legs. In the next moment, my Dragon shoots up into the air, and I release some of my control of him, letting him have a moment before I chain him back to my will once more, allowing myself a brief moment to figure out what to do next.

As I fly through the night sky toward the castle I now call home, I know my time to handle this on my own is up. Girls under my care are dying, and I can't allow my pride and failures to stand in the way of their lives. A family lost their daughter tonight, and I can't help but wonder if she would still be alive if I’d had more help.

The university is in danger, and despite Boris’ warnings about allowing students back onto school grounds, the board overruled him, and a whole new batch of students will start showing up tomorrow. New blood to be hunted by our resident serial killer, and I have no doubt there will be another death within a month's time.

Silverwood University needs help, and there is only one man I can call to get it. I only hope it will be enough to save them all.

TWO

Serafina

“We’re nearly there, Miss Covington,” my driver murmurs, drawing my attention from the phone clutched in my hands with his low, clipped voice as he looks into the rearview mirror.

Hesitant gray-blue eyes watch me for the quickest of moments before he tears them away, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he turns his attention back to the twisted gravel road in front of us.

The magic drifting from his skin is weak, almost non-existent, and I wonder if he’s a shifter of some kind. Shifters make up more than half of the Fae world, with Witches and Mages taking up another quarter. The last twenty-five percent is made up of more unique and powerful magic users.

I nod and glance down at my outfit, from my sharp, black Louis Vuitton heels to my Gianni Versace monotone black pantsuit, making sure nothing is out of place before crossing one leg over the other and smoothing the fabric of my slacks over my thighs. I don't bother answering the driver, whose fear runs over my tongue, making me shiver in dark delight.

Swallowing hard, I ignore the rush of desire that courses through my veins and the way my magic surges, prompting me to reach out and devour the man's soul. I shove away the thought, as I always do, and take a deep breath, counting to thirteen like my therapist taught me, then release the breath.

It doesn’t help.

Instead, the urge to reach out and collect the man's soul hits with the intensity of a thousand suns, making me grind my teeth as pain courses through my body. My magic flares, and I shove it down, hating my Fae form more than ever. It's a curse I will bear for the rest of my life.

Out of all the Fae forms that exist in this world, I had to be a damn Reaper.

Technically speaking, I should have taken after my mother, a pure-blooded Siren my father took and made his wife, secretly hoping she would be strong enough to bear him a Reaper son. When two Fae of different orientations reproduce, the child will typically take after the mother’s Fae form because she would need to hold enough magic to sustain whatever child she carries in her womb. Ninety-five percent of the time, the child will come out as whatever Fae is lower on the magic spectrum. And since there is only one Fae species stronger than a Reaper, which was thought to be extinct at the time of my birth, my father hunted down strong female magic users in a desperate attempt to create an heir he could control.

Much to his dismay, I was born, and he killed my mother for gifting him a worthless daughter. There hadn't been a female Reaper born in the Fae world in centuries, so he saw me as nothing but a mouth to feed, a possession that got in the way.

Thinking of the man I hate most in this world only adds fuel to my already burning rage, and I immediately drop all thoughts of him from my spinning mind. Focusing instead on my magic’s need to devour the bright light inside the man whose fear I can still taste, my eyes fall on the fluttering pulse in his neck.

Don’t kill him, I mentally tell the spiraling black abyss in my chest as I force myself to look at the hauntingly beautiful scenery flying past my window.

The darkness settles at my command, and I stare at the trees of the infamous Hoia Baciu forest, taking in the gray-brown bark and spindly branches that twist up into the cloudy charcoal, almost black skies. It’s late afternoon, but you would never guess that given how dark it is outside. The storm rolling in from the north is carrying threatening thunderclouds and gusty winds. Tiny drops of rain fall from the sky, running down my window as thunder rumbles overhead. Mist floats over the yellowing grass as we speed down the road. My attention is pulled away from the oddly beautiful view when my phone buzzes on the gray leather seat next to me.

Pursing my lips, I flick my eyes to the lit-up screen and try to smother my wince when I see the name Gabriel in bold letters.

Shit. He shouldn't know I’m gone yet. It's too soon.

I ignore the call, waiting until it falls silent and the notification pops up on my phone.

Twenty-Eight Missed Calls. Thirteen Messages.

A burst of anxious energy washes through me, stirring my previously murderous thoughts and making me huff a sigh of frustration.

When I overheard Gabriel talking to our oldest brother, Atlas, in his office two weeks ago, I thought I had lost my mind. Atlas doesn't leave his townhouse, instead choosing to lock himself away from the world ever since a horrible attack resulted in the loss of mobility in his legs. It's something I have always held an immense amount of guilt over, because I’m the one Atlas was trying to save when he got hurt.

When Gabe informed our brother that he was sending him to Silverwood University in Transylvania to help figure out what was going on with some missing female students, I knew this would be the perfect opportunity for me to join and help Atlas. I want to be there for him the way he’s always been there for me, and selfishly, I'm hoping that my presence will force him to talk to me like he used to. I want my oldest brother back so damn badly. Not this shell of a broken man who has been haunting his house for over a decade.

Besides, Atlas is wheelchair bound, only able to use his crutches for a short period of time when he's on a hard, flat surface. He will need help figuring out what’s happening at this school. And I'm not going to lie; my magic is begging for release. I need to feel another soul in my hands, to rip the light from a body and devour its very existence. It will undoubtedly make my life and my tattered conscience feel better if it's a soul that should be eradicated. If someone is targeting students at the school, I’m more than willing to help handle them.

My lips quirk at the thought of death, and I almost giggle in delight but quickly school myself. My delight melts to horror as I realize that I’m once again getting excited over the thought of murdering someone. Fuck! I need to get a handle on myself.

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