Page 310 of Sigils & Spells

I trusted my Da and his investigative skills as a former Enforcer led him to believe my mother was murdered. His obsession with finding her killers caused him to be fired. Gran was worried about her son. He was so caught up in trying to find the who and why, he’d lost track of the now.

Really, those responsible for my maternal grandmother’s death had taken both parents from me. So, here I was. At Westwood Academy, trying to learn to hone my skills and talents. Fire magic was temperamental and the best of us could only pretend at controlling the wild and independent nature that was fire and flame.

Truth was, I was not getting any better. In fact, I was worse at controlling my magic than ever. I did not know what to do. Even worse, there was no one to confide in. I refused to be a burden, and besides, it was my business.

I shivered and tugged my black, hooded sweatshirt tighter around my body. It was spring, and I should have been fine, especially with my naturally higher than normal body temperatures.

Damn. This was bad. I never felt cold. Frowning, I pretended to still be reading the article on magical safety for children five and under and waited for my food.

“You smell strange,” a deep voice said from behind me.

I turned around, annoyed, and deservedly so. Bad enough that I smelled, but the fact he’d said I smelledstrangerankled. Like I was some kind of freak.

Well, who the hell was he to make such a statement?

I’d already decided to give the jerk a piece of my mind and turned to confront him. Another little factoid about me, my Irish temper had not been diluted despite being third generation American.

Anger coursed through my veins as I prepared to give this stranger a piece of my mind. I should have paid more attention to the deep timber of his voice, and the honest curiosity hidden behind the words. I had to tilt my head back to get a look at the enormous man’s face.

Christ, he was big.

Immediately, I felt ashamed of using the Lord’s name in vain. Yeah, I was raised by an Irish Catholic grandmother who also happened to be a witch. It was a strange blend of opposing beliefs, but I highly doubted I was the only witch in the world whose family was complicated—so yeah, whatever.

As I leaned back to give the stranger a piece of my mind, I found myself stunned into silence. Back, back, back I leaned and still I could barely see his face. What I saw rendered me mute.

Holy fuck.

The man was enormous. And hot. Like, turn me into a puddle of melted goo hot. Chiseled features, glittery gray eyes that seemed not from this world, and coal black hair hanging down to his chin. He had tattoos circling his arms and wore the telltale black uniform of the Westwood Academy sentinels.

Shifter, my brain whispered, filling in one detail of who this stranger was.

My gaze flicked down to where his hands hung down by his sides, not relaxed, but not tightly fisted either. He remained ready, as if never really letting his guard down. The W on his hand signified his vow, taken by all who walked the boundaries of Westwood Academy for its protection. Shifters worked for witches for as far back as history remembered. Their strength, cunning, and superhuman abilities proved useful, though many witches and wizards treated them like second-class citizens.

I was embarrassed to admit I’d never questioned the terrible truth of that statement until Rio had been claimed and marked by her mate, kraken shifter and sentinel, Magnus Knut. I did now, though. No one deserved to be treated like that.

“Why do you smell strange, Tana McKenna?” the stranger repeated.

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve seen you before, fire witch.”

“Are you a friend of Mag’s?”

“Magnus Knut is in my unit,” he replied.

For the first time, I noticed he had the slightest accent when he spoke. It reminded me of Gran, and I wondered if he wasn’t Irish, too.

“What’s your name?” I asked, wondering why I sounded so breathless.

“Brandon Flint.”

“You’re the dragon!”

I gasped as recognition filled me. Rumor of a dragon sentinel had spread like wildfire on campus at the start of the academic year. Some students even reported seeing his beast flying overhead at night. I paid little attention to the rumor mill, but this had caught my ear.

A dragon on campus was big news. Terrifying creatures, all of them, with ancient power that transcended the regular shifter bloodlines. I wondered why the headmistress agreed to his being here.

“Hybrid, actually. My mother is a Druid priestess. My father is a dragon,” he corrected me.

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