Page 52 of Validus Vale Academy 1
I hadn’t slept, my mind churning over everything I’d learned. Every time I shut my eyes, it was like someone hit rewind on the last two decades—images of me and the twins, our whole messed-up history from pre-teen brawling to now, flashing back and forth in a dizzying, condensed reel.
The morning rapidly improves, though. Finally giving up on the futile pursuit of unconsciousness, I get up to make coffeeand find Manu wrestling with several oversized bags near the penthouse door.
“Going somewhere?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says in the tone that always made me want to punch him. “I got a much better offer than this dump.” He turns to face me. The smug little twist of his lips is overshadowed by the remnants of two black eyes and a broken nose, like the healers did their best but couldn’t quite clean up the mess.
His face hadn’t been like that last night. It’s both interesting and gratifying.
“Yeah, Drakeward. Enjoy your little schoolboy life. Where I’m going requires real men.” He’s practically vibrating with the desire for me to ask what this ‘better offer that requires real men’ entails, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction.
He’s moving out, that’s all I need to know.
I turn and head back to my room to get dressed in workout clothes.
When I arrive at the gymnasium, I stride in, faking an energy I’m far from feeling. Surprisingly, the little dud is there, slumped on an exercise mat, going through some half-hearted stretches. She looks like shit. Pale as bleached bone, with huge, bruised circles under her eyes. Wilson didn’t get much sleep either.
Her tongue is clenched between her teeth as she widens her knees, keeping her ankles together. My gaze flicks down, taking in the prime view of her brown leggings' cameltoe. She looks up, sees me, and snaps her legs shut faster than a Venus flytrap.
I turn my back on her and start my own stretches, the familiar pull in my muscles welcome. I keep with my routine until the energy in the room changes when Feniks enters. It’s interesting, where I let my power pulse out of me—intimidating everyone around me—Feniks seems to be repressing his. I wonder why?
“Wilson?” The professor’s voice cuts through the quiet. “I didn’t think you’d…” he trails off, his tone carrying an undercurrent of something… odd. His gaze flicks over to me. I offer him a scowl in return. “Drakeward,” he says, as he drops a heavy-looking gym bag onto the floor with a solid thud. “Come get your weights.”
I’ve really got to get that fucker in line.
Wilson scurries over quickly, but I deliberately take my sweet time, my gaze never leaving Feniks’. He pulls out ankle weights and tosses a ridiculously light pair at the dud. To me, he hands a pair that feel a good ten pounds each. “Running non-stop for thirty minutes, then you’re done, Drakeward. Wilson, to me.”
Feniks drops to his knees, talking in an undertone to the dud as he straps the weights on for her. “Slow and steady, Wilson,” he says. “Don’t push yourself too much.”
A sneer curls my lip as I start to run. The added weight is a surprisingly grounding sensation and actually relaxes me. This is what I need. My feet find a steady rhythm, almost uncomfortably fast, pushing the edge of my endurance. Thirty minutes of this is going to burn, but at least it’s something to focus on, something to keep my frustration at bay.
Half an hour later, my muscles are screaming, and sweat plasters my shirt to my back. I’d deliberately blanked out the dud during my run, but now I hear a series of ragged, stumbling footfalls behind me. She pitches forward onto her knees, her hands splayed on the hardwood for support.
I lightly jog on the spot. The last thing I need is a build-up of lactic acid turning my legs into lead. The little dud is still sprawled on the floor, looking like she was about to cough up a lung.
“Cool down,” Feniks calls from the side where he’s repping lunges with a couple of dumbbells. I can see a slight wince in hisface, not surprising—that fucked up left arm of his is currently lifting one hundred pounds.
The clang of metal echoes as Feniks returns the weights to the rack. “Come on, Wilson,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’ve got this.” She lets out a pathetic groan, but somehow manages to drag herself back onto her knees.
“I can’t move,” she croaks. Feniks simply takes her by the arm and hauls her to her feet. “Why does a witch need to be fit and strong, Wilson?” he asks.
“Because… using your magic… is taxing…” she gasps, her face flushed tomato red.
“And why does a woman need to be fit and strong?”
A beat of silence. Then, a hesitant, “To fight off trouble.”
“And are you fit and strong, Wilson?”
I let out a snort, then head to the corner, pulling a bottle of ice-cold water from the cooler. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes are drawn to Feniks as he looms over the trembling girl. Without really considering why, I grab another bottle and walk back to where she’s a sweaty mess. “Here,” I say, the word clipped as I thrust it in her direction.
Feniks raises a single eyebrow. “You two are bosom pals now?” he asks, then turns back to the dud. “Fit and strong, Wilson. How do you expect to awaken your spark if you’re this weak? We do this again tomorrow, six sharp.”
He’s not wrong; she is weak. And this brutal training? I’d agree it’s probably the best thing for her.
If I gave a fuck about her well-being and potential, which I most definitely do not.
Downing the water in a few long gulps, I toss the empty bottle into the trash and head back to the tower, the image of Theodora Wilson, pathetic and gasping for air, already fading from my mind.
