Page 104 of Savage Hope

The wind whips wildly around me as I dart over the bridge, the grip on my hood tightening. All it does is fuel the excitement coursing through me, hurrying my steps before I barge into the courtyard.

I find a small nook along the wall and tuck myself away as I take a moment to stare up at my future.

Heir Academy.

Gulping, I let those two words repeat in my mind as I absorb my new reality, manifesting everything that will follow. With every breath, I solidify the fact that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

“Entrants, please make your way onto the grounds; proceedings are about to begin.”

A buzz zings down my spine, encouraging me to put one foot in front of the other as I follow the other attendants. Guards stand between the pillars, keeping a watchful eye on the bodies, and I think I’ve managed to slip past unnoticed until a hand clasps around my upper arm, halting me in place.

“No hoods,” he grunts, yanking mine down before I can even consider a response, and I glare up at him. His eyes narrow, his grip tightening around my arm, bringing me so close to the brink of responding rashly before someone else gains his attention.

“Gray, come and look at this.”

He dismisses me without a second glance, shoving me through the passage before offering me his back.

My lips purse as I clench my fists at my sides, counting down from ten as I take deep breaths. Once my mood seems a little more under control, I run my fingers through my hair, tucking the loose curls behind my ear before turning to rejoin everyone.

I feel exposed without my hood up. I’ve never walked a step in the City of Harrows without it, and although I knew it was coming, I wasn’t ready for the rawness of it. It’s a safety blanket I’ve grown accustomed to; a fact that instantly irritates me and only confirms that I won’t be wearing it any longer.

The space grows wide, filled with bodies, and I instantly acknowledge the groups. It’s not purposeful, but we’re drawn to our own kind. Always. I keep to the side of the large squareenclosure, opting to stand in the spot where the sun beats down as I take everyone in.

The gathered attendants to the far right stand tall and proud. A level of righteousness seeps from them, exposing the natural superiority that oozes from them effortlessly, making my lip curl in distaste. They’re draped in luxury, dressed in designer clothes, with flashy gadgets and an air of regalness.

Vampires.

I peer to their right and find myself a little stunned to see the group standing so close to them. A different vibe emanates from them altogether. Everyone’s shoulders rub as they all stand closer than necessary, an air of familiarity and family pouring from them. They’re the second largest group here, but instead of designer clothes and the latest tech clinging to their every limb, they’re mostly in ripped jeans and open checkered shirts with tanks underneath. Males and females included. They laugh loudly, a bubble of excitement enveloping them.

Wolves.

Pressing my lips together, I move to the group standing in the center of the space, a quaint, almost solemn vibe coming from them. They’re all-knowing, studious, and proper. Draped in cloaks similar to my own, they talk in quiet, hushed tones, always carrying some kind of book with them. It’s almost cute and nerdy until they open their mouths to express how wrong you are and how right they are.

Mages.

My gaze travels to those in the far left area, their group smaller than the others, and although you get the sense they aren’t as close as some of the other groups, there’s still an air of serenity and adventure that bubbles around them. No one looks the same; no one acts the same. They’re all individual and unique, and they own it.

Shifters.

Similar to the wolves, but completely different all at once. They’re not packs, they’re not a family, and they don’t shift into wolves. They shift into whatever the fates decide they are.

Nerves bubble from the group near them, with a sense of wonder and panic twisting in the air. Ordinary. Mundane. Giftless.

Humans.

With gadgets tucked in their hands and a need to prove themselves drifting from them, they’re desperate to belong, to fit in—as they rightfully should. It’s just a shame that the actions they take don’t mirror it. They should be the most frowned upon group, but they’re not.

Which leaves the smallest group standing closest to the podium. The group that makes my heart sink. Everyone affords them a wide berth as the members shuffle nervously from foot to foot. It’s the uncertainty that comes from them that confirms what they are without you having to look for the most obvious point. Pun intended.

Fae.

Once the leaders of the kingdom, now the remnants of a nightmare. Simply an afterthought of atrocities that brought the kingdom down and left ruin in its place.

“Which group are you?”

I startle at the interruption, glancing up at a man dressed in a perfectly pressed navy suit. The black framed glasses on his nose somehow make him seem approachable, but the tightness of his jaw and squint to his eyes tell a different story.

“Why?”

---