Page 73 of Into the Isle

I had a feeling my lack of emotion—my calm temperament and slack face—unnerved him. I wasn’t scared of him, unlike others. I was not like other initiates here, and I had a feeling Ravinica wasn’t, either. I could sense it.

I didn’t feel emotions like other people did. Never had. But seeing Sven heading for Ravinica, after his ploy to bring her down using his pawn Astrid failed, made something shift inside me. It was only a slight shift—a twinge of my cold heartstrings—and I couldn’t pinpoint more than that. I’d been drawn to Sven like a moth to flame.

I had a feeling Ravinica had something to do with this startling sensation, this change. The feelings of togetherness and possessiveness I felt next to her, without even knowing who the hell she was.

Sven readjusted his shirt, flattening it on his body, and eyed Ulf next to him, then me. “Your name, initiate?”

I remembered my place as a first-year, and his seniority. “Magnus Feldraug.”

Sven grunted, trying not to look surprised. It was always interesting watching their faces, to see how they’d react to my name and appearance.

“No wonder you’re so fucking pale,” he muttered.

His response was better than most. Many others simply veered away from me once they learned I was draug-blooded.

“I suppose it would be strange for me to say I’m not like other undead?” I quipped.

Sven’s lip twitched. “Was that . . . a joke?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure, honestly.

“I didn’t see you spar anyone, initiate,” he said.

“That’s because I haven’t yet.”

Sven patted his brother on the shoulder and sneered. “Then I have the perfect candidate. Ulf?”

“W-Wait, brother,” the big wolf shifter said. “You want me to fight this creepy asshole?”

“Good luck,” Sven said to his brother, and then stomped off onto the meadow after Ravinica.

Ulf frowned at me.

I said, “If I have to get through you to get to the girl, so be it.” I walked to the table holding the wooden weapons. Blithely, I chose one at random—a sword.

Ulf took a sword as well, mirroring my choice.

He didn’t mirror me when I broke the wooden sword in half on my knee, though.

He just stared at me incredulously. “What the hell?” he spouted. “You trying to stab me and make me bleed, demon-boy?”

I stared down at the jagged point. I rubbed it against the table until it was whittled down a bit rounder. “Better? It’s not your blood I want, Ulf Torfen.”

We stood away from the table, the young man shaking his head. I could already tell he was slow. Inexperienced compared to his brother, and not half as vicious. A bit dumb. Part of me wondered how he had even gotten accepted into Vikingrune Academy in the first place.

Nepotism, my mind told me. His father was a famous pack leader. I also knew Sven was weaker without his siblings around, so dispatching this one would aid me.

I held out the half-blade. “Well?”

Ulf charged at me, clumsily as I imagined.

I stayed unmoving, narrowing my eyes and then closing them. I breathed deeply, felt the weight of my longcoat on my shoulders, and felt the rumble of the earth beneath his trampling boots.

I kept my eyes closed behind my sunglasses when he reached me, felt the wind shift when he swung, and I ducked and spun away from him.

I jabbed the rounded dagger-point of my half-sword into his side and he grunted and staggered.

My eyes opened as he backpedaled, grabbing at his rib. I dashed forward with my back foot and slammed the hilt of the wooden sword against his shoulder, hitting a pressure point he likely didn’t know existed.

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