Promised in Blood: Chapter 35

The faculty meeting has devolved into a catastrophe of muttered accusations, murmured anxieties, and suspicious looks.

Osiris addressed the room first, briefly outlining the circumstances of Esme’s death earlier this evening—a version of events as akin to the truth as we can allow that was agreed upon before we left Silver Vale. Under the watchful eye of my boys, Ophelia stayed behind with her friends. I am grateful for the two young women who have shown Ophelia unwavering loyalty even in the face of their own fears.

“So it was two vampires from Onyx who killed the girl?” Professor Yakon rubs a weary hand over his face. The werewolf is nearing retirement, and he tends to lack patience for anything outside of the biochemistry curriculum he pioneered at Montridge. “And where are they now?”

More mutters and glares are directed at Nicholas Ashe. As much as I enjoy seeing my counterpart as the object of our colleagues’ disdain, I feel obliged to speak up on behalf of the Onyx pledges. “They were physically responsible for committing the act, yes, but they cannot be held responsible.”

“What?” Yakon barks, and many other faculty members voice their own disapproval.

Eugene Jackson casts me an anxious look from where he sits a few feet in front of me. Perhaps I should have alerted him as to what was going on before this meeting, but despite our kinship and his role as sire to many of the Ruby Dragon pledges, he has never been a man I particularly trust or admire. “What the hell is this, Alexandros?” he mutters.

My attention remains fixed on the crowd of professors that grows more agitated by the moment. There is no reason to respond. I do not have an answer that would be satisfactory in any case. Everything he needs to know will be revealed to everyone in this room before we all leave.

Arrogant asshole. Eugene’s voice is as clear as if he spoke those words aloud, but I know he did not. He would not dare. He remains staring directly ahead, lips pressed tightly together and his jaw ticking.

His insolence makes me want to teach him a lesson, but this is not the time. I have never bitten Eugene, and we are distant cousins at best; therefore we have no connection that would allow me to so easily read his mind.

“Professor Drakos!” Jerome shouts, and I realize they are awaiting an answer from me.

I roll my neck and suppress a growl. Keeping my frustration in check is becoming increasingly tiresome.

Don’t mind me. I’m just the president of this entire goddamn university, Jerome says, but his lips do not move. Any time today would be good. His tone drips with sarcasm, but outwardly he simply repeats my name again. I can read his mind; I can read all their minds. When did that happen?

I work my way through the minds in the room, picking out the pertinent points. Most of them are simply waiting for me to explain the statement I just made about the Onyx pledges. Some of them are wondering why I would cover for House Onyx, and the humanities professor is wishing this meeting would end so he can go back to the young witch currently keeping his bed warm.

Aware I currently lack the time necessary to unravel this curious new development, I set it aside and return to the conversation. “The Onyx Dragon pledges were acting under someone else’s orders.”

“But they still killed that girl, even if someone else told them to do it,” someone yells.

I shake my head. “They were under the spell of dark magic.”

A round of gasps and accusations rumbles throughout the room. I hear Nicholas Ashe’s silent words of relief.

“You’re just protecting Onyx,” a witch accuses me.

“Do not be ridiculous,” Nicholas shouts. “Why would he do that?”

“Because if your kind is going around murdering students, it doesn’t look good for any of you, does it?” the witch retorts.

The meeting descends into chaos. Wolves and vampires and witches all hurl insults and accusations at one another.

Ollenshaw remains frozen at the front of the room, silently pleading for this to all be tied up as quickly and cleanly as possible so he will be saved from having to deal with any fallout. Looks like it might be too late for that.

I work my way through the minds of the Crescent Society heads. Two are loyal to Osiris, and knowing that he has my support is enough for them. The fourth, however, is angry and suspicious. All the witches, with the exception of Enora, do not believe me, but that is to be expected given my history with them.

Osiris catches my eye and throws his hands in the air. For the love of fuck, get a grip on this lot, Alexandros. I am astounded that I hear his thoughts as clearly as all the rest after the decades he has spent building a wall against me. But he is not wrong, and his words are what I need to hear to pull myself together.

“Enough!” My bellow reverberates from the walls, causing the noise level to drop first to a hushed murmur and finally silence. I take a moment to shove back my instinct to tell them all to get the fuck out of my way and go rot in the netherworld before standing and addressing the room. “I have no desire to cover up wrongdoings at this university. If the two vampires of Onyx had killed the wolf girl in cold blood, then I would not hesitate to ensure they met with swift justice. And whilst Nicholas and I have had our differences”—I glance at him—“I know that he would demand the same.” He nods his agreement. As much as we disagree on a lot of matters, vampire law is not one of them. “I read one of the vampires’ minds, and I can assure you that he was under the influence of dark magic.”

A new professor, a witch I believe, raises her hand. “But who would do such a thing?”

“We believe it was the Skotádi,” Enora says, her tone soft yet full of gravitas.

Again, audible disbelief trickles through the room, this time more hushed than before. However, I also hear the society heads voicing their relief to themselves that they no longer have to keep this secret.

“But Skotádi? Here on campus? Why, Alexandros?”

“I have no idea, Jerome,” I say, lying with ease. “Probably a random attack. The Onyx vampires and the young wolf from Amalthea were in the woods. It is possible that the Skotádi realized their proximity and chose to cross onto campus grounds.”

“But I thought the campus was protected?” another witch asks.

“It is, Indigo,” Enora replies. “But the Skotádi are powerful enough to breach such protective spells.”

“Then we must bolster our defenses,” Nicholas Ashe declares. “Prevent this from happening again.”

“Whatever we do, we must do it quietly and without fuss,” I remind them. “We do not want to cause unnecessary panic across the student body.”

Jerome grimaces. “How do we keep this from them? A girl was murdered in the woods.”

Osiris steps forward. “I am speaking with Esme’s family tonight and will deliver the news myself. They are long-standing patrons of Montridge and do not care for human interference. They will wish to deal with their daughter’s death privately and will likely seek assurance that her killers are dealt with.” He glares at Nicholas Ashe.

Nicholas licks his lips. “They will be expelled and transferred to their posts within the day. But if they were not of sound mind, that is all the action I am prepared to take.”

Osiris glances at me. It is the best course of action, I tell him.

He nods his understanding, and we spend the next twenty minutes fielding a barrage of questions from the faculty, giving and repeating all the information we agreed to disclose.

Finally, I hold up a hand and silence the room. “There is nothing more to add. All of you know what must be done.”

“If that is all, I must go make arrangements to meet with Esme’s parents,” Osiris announces. He strides from the room, and I follow, ignoring the pleas from Jerome to stay and assist him in assuaging the concerns of the staff.

I have much more pressing matters to deal with.

I walk down the hallway with Osiris, and Enora scurries up beside us. “All four, Alexandros,” she whispers.

“I know, Enora.”

“Do you not wonder if she could be …?”

“No.” I spin to face her, and she finishes the question in her mind. “I do not believe in fairytales.”

She hisses out a breath. “Then you are a fool.”

Realization dawns on Osiris’s face. “The child borne of fire and blood. You read her admission essay, Alexandros. What if she is?” He glances up and down around the empty hallway as if suddenly aware he is being indiscreet.

Enora places her hand on my arm. “I saw it too, file mou.” She lowers her voice. “And now she has powers that would rival those of only Azezal himself.”

“And did they not make such claims about him? Except that he was not the chosen one because the Prophecies of Fiere are nothing more than the ramblings of an ancient sage, probably high on some sort of mushroom.”

Enora gasps like I have committed the most heinous of crimes, but Osiris, much younger than either of us, rolls his eyes.

“She is incredible, Enora. And unique.” And she is mine. There is no need to voice the last part. “But she is not some chosen one from an archaic prophecy.”

“But if you knew the entirety of the prophecy, Alexandros, if you⁠—”

“I will have no more talk of prophecies.” I inject my voice with all the authority and ice I can muster and bring my face closer to hers. “She is in danger enough without you adding to that burden with such preposterous notions.”

She swallows nervously, her gray eyes narrowed. “As you wish.”

Yes, I do wish. But more than that, I wish I could take Ophelia and my boys away from here, someplace nobody would ever find us. And with each passing day, the desire to do exactly that grows ever stronger.