Page 67 of Shattered & Returned

Then the air changed. A tangible energy rolled through the hall, pressing down on us all. Someone powerful had arrived.

Every movement froze.Blades hung suspended mid-swing. Conversations and shouts died. Toby’s head whipped toward the entrance, mine following.

Ravencrux dominated the doorway, his powerful frame clad in close-fitting black. The sheer force of his presence made the air hum, his masculine beauty more lethal than any blade in the room. A ripple went through the students, the men straightening instinctively, the women catching their breath.

His glacial gaze swept across the training hall, past the rigid students, past Dante, and landed on me.

Shit,I squirmed inwardly. Of course he’d arrived just in time to witness my humiliation.

“Toby,” I called sharply, wrenching her attention back from the professor. “Let’s give the next pairs their turn. What do you say?”

“Sure,” she said. The moment my dagger clattered to the mat, she lunged like a flash.

I’d miscalculated. Of course she’d want to impress Ravencrux, the academy’s most forbidden obsession, instead of letting someone else shine.

I scrambled for my weapon, grasping the hilt and rolling aside, but I was two seconds too late. Her blade sliced across my thigh. Piercing pain lanced through muscle to bone. I staggered back, clutching my torn pants where they’d split open, revealing an angry red welt. Yet despite the angry-looking mark, only a single bead of blood welled up. Dante hadn’t lied about the protective spell.

“Second point to Carrot’s opponent,” Dante announced, circling our mat.

“It’s Toby, sir,” she corrected, preening under Ravencrux’s shadow.

I risked a glance toward Ravencrux while Dante droned on about challenge protocols.

Those glacial green eyes pinned me in place, his face an impassive mask, yet his attention burned like a brand.

Toby’s triumphant smirk flashed as she advanced, broadsword glinting. When her next strike came, a blunt jab aiming at my midsection, I wrenched my focus back, shoving aside thoughts of Ravencrux’s scrutiny.

Our blades danced across the mat. Shockingly, I began matching her, my body moving with lithe precision, as if remembering battles fought a long time ago. The black dagger became an extension of my arm, meeting each strike with reflexes I shouldn’t possess.

The crowd’s murmurs died. Only our ragged breaths and the shriek of clashing steel remained.

Then a new presence arrived at the scene. The atmosphere twisted, rival predators circling. I kept my eyes locked on Toby, but the energy prickled along my skin. Movements flowed through me as if guided by echoes, executing maneuvers I’d never studied.

Toby’s eyes flew wide as my blade slid past her defenses, coming to rest against her throat. The training hall fell silent.

“Three points—Carrot. One point—opponent.” Dante’s voice carried an odd lilt, as if he were savoring a private joke.

The crowd erupted in hissed protests:

“How did she score three points?”

“She was toying with her from the start.”

“That’s no beginner’s stance.”

I shifted from defense to offense with confidence, yet I wasn’t too aggressive, as violence wasn’t in my nature. I only fought to survive.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kingsley?” Ravencrux’s voice carved through the clang of steel, dark with warning. “This is my class.”

My breath caught. The second presence was Kingsley—another immortal. I’d established that the redhead’s killer was an immortal.

Against my better judgment, I stole a glance. Where Ravencrux was all darkness and blade’s edges, Kingsley radiated oceanic light.

“Open training means open observation,” Kingsley countered, smirk sharp. “Though I wonder what’s suddenly caught your…academic interest.”

“I’m here to evaluate student progress, as I happened to have a free morning,” Ravencrux snapped. “I don’t owe you an explanation, so fuck off.”

The space between them crackled with barely restrained power. Students shrank against the walls, giving the professors a wide berth. Dante’s gaze darted between his master, Kingsley, and, alarmingly, me. He looked like a man contemplating stepping between two drawn swords.

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