So, apparently, boredom exists even in the monster world. But I think my boredom is justifiable, considering I’ve been sitting in my dorm for … well, I’m not sure exactly how much time has gone by since Roman dropped me off here. I’m still trying to figure out how time even works here! Regardless, it feels like a long time has passed.
I haven’t really done much since I don’t really own anything here. I’m hungry; that much I know. But the idea of eating Harper’s food without her permission seems weird. I’m not sure if that’s a normal feeling or not. All I know is that, in most of the foster homes I grew up in, I always had to ask permission to eat.
Blowing out a breath, I get up from the sofa and wander into my room to grab my handheld to look at the time app and see if I can figure out how the concept of time works here. But I barely get the screen unlocked when someone bangs on the door.
Figuring it’s Roman, I stick my handheld device into a backpack where my key that unlocks my bank account is, sling the strap over my shoulder, and head to answer the door. Halfway across the living room, though, the door opens on its own.
“Oh my gods, did you see what that driver was wearing!” a high-pitched voice exclaims. “She looked like she let a goblin dress her.”
“For real,” another feminine voice agrees. “We really do need to start taking a more high-end driving service.”
“That one was supposed to be the best,” the first creature who spoke says. “Clearly, the rating system is off.”
I freeze in the middle of the room as two girls—female creatures enter the room. One is extremely tall, like even taller than me, with long, bright blue hair, pointy ears, and lips like a sun. She’s wearing pink heels and a dress that matches the shade of her hair so perfectly it has to be due to magic.
The other creature is much shorter with heart-shaped lips—like, literally heart-shaped—and sparkly pink hair that runs to her shoulders. Her dress is equally as sparkly and kind of reminds me of a disco ball. She has on heels, too, platform ones that are so high I have no clue how she’s walking in them.
“We should rate them with a low one …” The shorter creature trails off as she spots me. “Who in the creepy trolls are you?” she asks, giving me a disgusted look.
Her taller friend turns around then, and her gaze immediately sweeps up and down me, her face pinching in disgust, as well. “Are you the new maid? Why aren’t you wearing your uniform?”
So, here’s the thing. I don’t want to be judgmental—I don’t—but I’ve gone through this whole meeting-your-new-roommate process a lot over the years. Not like at an academy or anything, but whenever I moved into a new foster home, I usually had to share a room with more than one person. And that always came with introductions.
In the beginning, I was pretty clueless when it came to reading people—I couldn’t tell who was fake, who was mean, and who was nice. Eventually, I got to the point where I could judge within minutes who was going to be a bitch and who would be nice, even after they discovered how weird I am.
Right now, I’m picking up bitch vibes from both of them. Maybe I’m wrong. I mean, Harper did say her friends were nice. Or maybe these aren’t Harper’s friends. Maybe they wandered into the wrong dorm?
Please let that be it.
“Um … I’m Haven,” I tell her. “This is my dorm.”
“You’re Haven.” The creature with blue hair shakes her head. “Oh, hells no. I am not sharing a room with a charity case.” She puts her hands up in front of her. “I cannot believe Harper didn’t mention this. She should have at least given us a warning so we could fix the situation before we got here.”
“Wait …” The other one is a little slower to catch on, but the way she keeps blinking makes me question how much, or I guess I should say how little, she has going on upstairs. “This is our roommate Harper told us about?” She blinks at me again, looking so confused I almost feel bad for her.
“Yep,” Blue Hair says with a pop of her lips then crosses her arms. “But don’t worry; we’ll get that changed because, unlike Charity Case, our parents donate money to this academy.” She smirks at me, like she’s so damn proud of herself.
Great. She’s already given me a nickname, too, so that’s awesome.
I wish I could say that, after years of being bullied, I learned how to put bullies in their place. Unfortunately, the only thing I learned is that a lot of bullies have cold, icy hearts that are really hard to break. Not that I’m not going to try to stand up to her. I will. It’s just … well, I don’t know what she is or if she has powers that can turn me into a rat or something.
“What are you even?” Blue Hair continues then lifts a hand. “No, wait. Let me guess. You’re a troll. Or, well, you look like one, but I know they don’t let trolls in here, so that can’t be right.” She taps her finger against her lips. “My bet is you’re some sort of witch.”
Pressing my lips together, I resist the urge to shout what I really am because, with how everyone has acted so far about this whole maddening/death angel thing, I have a feeling she might piss herself if I did, which would be super funny, though sort of messy since she’s wearing dress. But I’ve also been told how dangerous it is for me if the wrong creature finds out about me. And Blue Hair definitely seems like the wrong kind of creature.
I’m still confused how she can be friends with Harper, one of the nicest creatures I’ve ever met.
“Um … I’m a firelight witch,” I say, though it sounds more like a question.
“Of course you are,” she sneers, giving an exaggerated glance at my outfit. “Basic look for a basic witch.”
Dear baby gremlins, can I bitch slap her yet?
“Wow, Sophie, and here I thought your attempt at insults couldn’t get any more pathetic.”
As Roman’s voice floats across the room, Blue Hair—or Sophie, apparently—tenses. Then she hastily collects herself and turns around to look at Roman, who’s leaning against the doorframe, looking as calm as can be. Or, well, calm might be a stretch. With his inky black hair, equally black eyes, and dark outfit decorated with chains and studs, he looks dangerously calm.
“Is that supposed to be an insult, Roman?” she sneers. “If so, you might be the one who’s getting pathetic.”
“Don’t listen to her, Roman,” Heart Lips chimes in, twirling a strand of hair around her finger while batting her eyelashes at him. “I think your insults are a-ma-zing.”
My brows rise. Is this girl for reals?
Roman notices the move, and his lips quirk ever-so-slightly, a trace of amusement flashing across his face. Or maybe I can just feel it since, according to him, us being wing-matches makes us more in tune with each other’s feelings.
He only looks at me briefly before focusing back on Sophie and Heart Lips.
“You think so, Janie?” he asks with a dark look shadowing his eyes.
Janie must not catch on to the eerie taunt in Roman’s tone, because she plasters on a flirty smile and nods. “Definitely. You’re like the best insulter ever.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He pauses, staring at them for long enough before pushing away from the doorframe and crossing the room. Every step he takes is even and radiates confidence, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“You don’t scare me, Roman,” Sophie says as he approaches her.
“Then why do I smell fear pouring off you more potent than that shitty perfume you’re wearing?” he mocks, stopping just in front of her.
“My perfume is designer,” she argues with an attitude. “If you smell shit, it’s probably from Charity Case over there.”
I want to say something—anything—but while Roman may not suck at insults, I definitely do.
He leans in, his voice lowing tauntingly. “Careful, Sophie, if you keep insulting her, the truth about why you really don’t like her might slip out.”
“There’s nothing to slip out,” Sophie snaps at him. “I don’t like her because she’s a charity case, and I don’t want one of those living with me.”
“We both know that’s not the only reason, so either you can play nice or I’ll make sure everyone knows the truth. About everything.” Roman smiles, but it’s not a friendly one. Then he leans back. “And she doesn’t smell like shit. She smells delicious.” Smirking cruelly at her, he tears his gaze off her and looks at me, extending his hand in my direction.
At first, I’m confused over what he’s doing. But as he urges his hand at me, it clicks.
He wants me to take his hand? Seriously? Why?
I’m not sure what to make of it and part of me doesn’t want to, but then Roman gives me this pressing look, as if silently begging me to do so. So, even though I’m not thrilled about holding hands with a guy I’m still deciding if I can even trust, I place my hand in his.
He gives my hand a soft squeeze before threading his fingers through mine and pulling me toward the door.
Janie starts to do that rapid blinking thing again as she glances between Roman and me and our interlocked fingers. “Wait … Why are they holding hands?” she asks with a stupidly confused look on her face.
“Because, apparently, Roman is sinking …” Sophie trails off as Roman throws her a warning look.
“Remember what secrets I know about you, Sophie,” he warns.
Her lips twitch. “Whatever. I know secrets about you, too.” She puts her hands on her hips and bobs her head sassily. “Why are you even standing up for her? Seriously, you never stand up for anyone except for Ollie and Phoenix.”
“Things change,” he replies vaguely. While no sign of tension is evident in his tone, I can feel it flowing through him. “But if you really want to know, Ollie, Phoenix, and I have decided to bring Haven into our group. So, when you gossip about this—which we both know you will since you have nothing better to do—you can tell everyone that The Deadly Three are now The Deadly Four.” With that, he tows me out of the room, leaving the door open.
As we start down the hallway, my lips part with questions, but he gives me a discreet shake of his head, urging me to be quiet. So, I keep my lips zipped as we continue down the hallway. About a minute—or well, a human minute later—I hear a door slam hard. My dorm door, I’m guessing.
He lets out an audible breath. “Gods, they’re so damn annoying.”
“Yeah …” Question marks fill my head. “How can Harper be friends with them? She’s so nice, and they’re so awful.”
“Because they’re not awful to her or in front of her,” he explains as he steers me around the corner of a hallway.
“So they pretend to be nice in front of her?”
“Yeah. It’s the downfall of having a known last name like Harper’s. Sophie and Janie have gone out of their way to be Harper’s friends since day one here, because she’s a powerful faerie who comes from a very powerful and very rich family.”
“What good does it do them?” I wonder, tucking a strand of my long, brown hair behind my ear.
“Well, for one, Harper’s very generous, and so they take advantage of that.” As the hallway forks, he veers right. “And in this school, the more wealthy and powerful your family is, the more you get away with. If you don’t have that luxury, you find someone who does and use them as your stepping stool. At least, that’s what some monsters do.”
“So, Janie and Sophie aren’t from wealthy, powerful families? Because the way they acted toward me as a charity student, I’d have guessed they were.”
“They’re not poor,” he stresses, giving me a sidelong glance. “But they’re not anywhere near as wealthy and powerful as Harper. They’re a little above average, which, at a school like this, isn’t that great unless you have the right connections.”
“If that’s the case, then I guess I’m kind of screwed.” I chew on my bottom lip. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. I was kind of screwed in the human world, too.”
He considers something while assessing me. “You grew up in the human world for most of your life, right?”
I nod. “Ever since I was basically a baby.”
“How did you end up there?”
I lift a shoulder, giving a half-shrug. “I’m not sure. All I know is that someone left me on the doorstep of a fire station.”
A crease forms between his brows. “What’s a fire station?”
Right. Fire stations are human things. “It’s this place that you call if your house is on fire. These men and women drive over in this huge truck and put it out for you.”
A baffled look takes over his face. “That sounds complicated and like a lot of work. Here, if your house is on fire, you’d just cast a spell and put it out.”
“Well, humans don’t have magical powers, so they have to do stuff the hard way.” I shrug, like what-are-you-gonna-do.
The corners of his lips quirk. “So, you’ve been doing things the hard way then for most of your life, since you were raised by humans.”
My boots scuff against the floor as we walk, the noise echoing down the vacant hallways with its domed ceilings painted with all sorts of fantasy-like murals. “Pretty much. But I don’t think it’s as hard as you think it is.”
“I think you’re just saying that because you haven’t really used your powers.”
“Because I’m not supposed to. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. That I’m supposed to pretend that I’m a firelight witch.”
“You’re not supposed to use your powers in front of other creatures,” he tells me as we stop in front of an arched doorway that I now know leads to the roof. “Tomorrow, I’ll start training you, though, in private, and then you’ll get it.”
I angle my head to the side. “Get what?”
A grin curves across his face. “How awesome it is not to do things the complicated, human way.”
“You’ve never lived the complicated, human way, so you can’t actually state that sentence with accuracy,” I point out, but I can’t help smiling just a little bit.
“You know what? You’re right. I guess, once you’re trained, I’ll have to see what you think.” Smiling ever so slightly, he steers me through the door.
He grows silent, and I become hyperaware that I’ve been holding his hand since we left my dorm. I’m not sure how I feel about that, if I should let go of his hand or not. I’m conflicted over him, especially since I found out I’m his wing-match, something I know nothing about but kind of sounded like soulmates, despite Roman saying it wasn’t.
Still, soulmate-ish or not, it sounded as if this wing-match magic between us might connect us in ways controlled by the magic, so how am I supposed to know if anything I feel around him is real?
“Do you have people back in the human world?” he abruptly asks, startling the pixies out of me.
I take a step up the stairway. “What do you mean?”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “Friends. People you consider family.”
I shake my head. “No.”
His forehead furrows. “Who raised you then?”
I swallow down the aching emotions building in my chest that the subject brings on. “A lot of different people. I grew up in foster homes.”
“I remember you saying that once, but I’m just not sure what a foster home is in the human world.”
“Oh …” An uneven exhale slips from my lips. “It basically means I was passed around throughout families, staying with one until they got tired of me, and then I got moved to another. As for friends … I was kind of weird, so a lot of kids didn’t want to be around me …” And why am I sharing this with him? Talk about sharing overload, Haven. “Anyway, that’s my life in a short, boring nutshell.”
We reach the top of the stairs then and step onto the rooftop, the sunlight from the suns glittering across us; one glowing a silver light, and the other lavender. Below, the grass shimmers, and the midnight blue trees shadow the land. And just a ways out, the city we’re going to illuminates in the distance.
“It doesn’t sound boring … It sounds lonely,” he says, his brows knitting. He studies me for a beat before changing the subject. “We should probably figure out how we’re going to get to the city.” He lets go of my hand then and tucks both hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “We can walk through the forest, which will take a while. Or I can just fly there, but I’ll have to carry you.” He frowns at that.
“We can just walk, if you want,” I say, almost feeling like I have cooties.
He looked so upset about the idea of having to carry me.
“I …” He shifts his weight, seeming twitchy. Then he shakes his head and straightens his stance. “I’d prefer to fly. The forest can be sketchy sometimes. Plus, I have stuff to do, and I’d rather not waste time walking.”
“Okay.” Then why did it seem like he didn’t want to fly? “We can fly. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter to me.” A thought strikes me out of nowhere. “Wait … If you’re going to carry me”—my gaze strays to the land below us. So, so far below us—“what’re the odds of you dropping me?”
“Zero,” he states without missing a beat. When I lift my brow dubiously, he adds, “I already saved you from falling once. So, even if I did drop you—which I won’t—I can catch you again.”
He’s right, but again, can I trust him?
I’m not sure. About anything anymore.
But I guess I’m about to test the trust theory, because …
“Okay, if you’re okay with flying, then I am,” I tell him in the most confident tone I can muster.
He continues to frown. “I already said I was.”
Okay then, moody much?
“Yeah, but at first, you didn’t seem like you were so sure.”
A gust of wind fills up the fleeting silence between us.
“I’m perfectly fine with flying.” His voice carries confidence, but a trace of doubt resides in his eyes as he steps toward me.
I brace myself to be picked up when he reaches for the hem of his shirt.
“What’re you doing?” I sputter as he strips off his shirt.
“I’m letting my wings out.” He tucks his shirt into the back pocket of his jeans. “I didn’t want to rip my shirt.”
“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” And it’s not like I haven’t seen him shirtless.
He had to take wings out when he dove off the roof and had ripped his shirt then. But the sight of him all shirtless and standing in front of me, wisps of his inky black hair hanging in his shadowy eyes … it’s a lot to take in—his beautiful, inhuman, almost perfect appearance. And as his black and red-tinted wings snap out from behind him, it makes it even worse. I honestly would think he was like a statue or something, except for the few scars on his chest and arms, marks showing that he is real, and breakable.
“I didn’t realize monsters could scar,” I say, scanning the scars across his lean, carved chest. “Then again, I guess I should’ve known since I have scars of my own.” I lift my gaze to his and find him watching me.
“Where do you have scars?” he asks as the wind blows against his wings and ruffles the feathers.
“I have a couple on my knees from when I fell as a kid. And I have a couple on my arms.” I adjust the leather bands covering those mentioned scars on my wrist, wishing I hadn’t even brought them up.
Truthfully, I’ve brought up a lot of things I didn’t mean to and am starting to question if he’s using his powers to get me to confide in him, like he did the last time we were on the roof. Right now doesn’t really feel like that, though.
His gaze flits to my wrist. “What’re those scars from?”
I grind my teeth from side to side as images sear through my mind. “I don’t want to talk about those.” Even thinking about them, how he put them on me, makes my stomach twist with nausea.
He shoves me down onto the ground.
I want to hurt him.
And I did.
“Okay.” Hesitantly, he extends his hand out toward me.
I instinctively trip back. “What’re you doing?”
He keeps his hand stretched out in my direction. “Picking you up so we can go.”
Face palm, Haven.
“Right. Sorry.” I feel like an idiot, and a couple of days ago, I would’ve thought he’d be all over the chance to make sure I knew that.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he patiently waits for me.
“You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sure this is all a little weird.” He pauses, considering something for a moment. “It is for me, too.”
“Flying?”
“No … Carrying someone while I fly.”
“Oh … You don’t do that a lot?”
He gives a cautious shake of his head. “No. Not really.”
That’s all he says, but I get the strangest inkling he wants to say more. When he doesn’t, I inch toward him. He carries my gaze as I do, and when I’m within reach, he lowers his hand to my waist. Then, slowly, he pulls me toward him until only a sliver of space is between our bodies.
My heart pounds in my chest as several emotions simultaneously course through me, ranging from worry of flying to anxiety over having to trust him enough to carry me.
“I promise I won’t drop you,” he assures as if he can read the apprehension all over my face.
I give a shaky nod then place my hands on his shoulder. When his muscles twitch underneath my palms, I start to pull back.
“No, it’s okay,” he tells me in a strained voice. “Your skin’s just a little bit cold.”
“Yours is really warm.” I lower my hands back onto his shoulders, and his warmth seeps through my skin. “Why is that?”
“Because my wings are out,” he explains. “More of my death angel magic is coursing through my veins right now, and it makes my body temperature warmer. When death angels’ wings are tucked away, we’re actually much weaker.”
“Then, why don’t you keep them out all the time?”
“Well, for starters, they’re fucking huge and get in the way.”
“True.”
“Plus …” He wavers, chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, you remember what happened when you touched my wings. Having them out makes me vulnerable to other creatures, to … that.” A soft shudder rolls through his body, like he did when I brushed my fingers across his wings earlier.
I didn’t do it intentionally. I was just sort of dazing off, and they were right there and so soft and felt so good …
But yeah, anyway, he had told me then that it made him feel like he was about to jump out of his skin. I’m unsure if that’s a bad or good thing.
“Does it feel bad when someone touches your wings?” I ask. “I know you said it felt like you were going to jump out of your skin, but is that a bad or good thing?”
“It’s not bad …” He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “One day, maybe when I’m teaching you how to fly, I’ll show you, and you can decide for yourself.”
My eyes widen. “You’re going to teach me how to fly?”
He smiles, like for reals smiles, and I decide right then and there that, whether I like him or not, I can admit to myself that he has one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen.
“Of course,” he says, still smiling. “What’s the point of having wings if you can’t fly?”
“True.” I eye the ground below the roof warily. “I’m a little afraid of heights, though.”
“There are ways of curing that,” he promises. “My brother was afraid of them, too, but he became one of the best flyers I know …” He trails off, swallowing audibly. “We should get going.” His voice tightens, any humor evaporating.
I’m assuming his sudden shift in attitude has to do with the mention of his brother, the one who was killed by a maddening. A maddening like I am.
Somehow in this conversation, I’d almost forgotten about that. I think he might have, too, but now he clearly remembers what I am and why he hates me. At least, that’s what the hardness in his expression suggests.
“I’m going to pick you up now,” he says in a neutral tone.
And I’m suddenly not feeling as confident about flying as I was moments ago.
Still, I nod and grasp his shoulders as he scoops me up into his arms. He puts one hand underneath my legs and the other around my back so I’m pressed against his chest. His bare chest that is radiating heat as his death angel power courses through his veins.
He doesn’t launch himself off the roof right away and eventually glances down at me. “You can let go of my shoulders now.”
I don’t want to at all. Holding on to his shoulders is the only thing keeping me in control of him just flat-out dropping me off the roof.
He lets out a quiet sigh. “I already said I’m not going to drop you.”
I know he did, but then I was reminded of his despise toward maddenings.
“You’re kind of scratching my skin,” he adds.
“Oh.” I frown then slowly lower my hands.
A breath eases from his lips as if he’s nervous.
That makes two of us.
And part of me wants to bail.
Maybe I would’ve, too, if he hadn’t launched upward onto his toes and soared into the air.
I gasp as we zoom toward the sky, his wings flapping, the wind dancing around us.
“Holy crap,” I whisper in awe as I stare down at the land below us, the trees nothing but little glimmers of midnight as we fly over them.
“Not as bad as you thought, huh?” he says, the corners of his lips tugging upward as he stares ahead.
“No … This is definitely not bad. Honestly, it’s kind of like riding a roller coaster. Scary but fun.”
His gaze flicks to me. “What’s a roller coaster?”
“This ride at amusement parks,” I try to explain. “You sit in it, and it moves really fast across a track that goes up and down and …” I trail off as I notice the mask of confusion on his face. “You don’t know what a lot of those things I just said are, right?”
He shakes his head, strands of his hair dancing in the wind. “No, not really. But they sound interesting.” He shifts my weight in his arms. “Although, they didn’t sound like they could be more fun than flying.
“They’re not,” I tell him, pressing my hand against his chest as I crane my neck to glance around. I can feel his heart pounding against my palm at an alarmingly quick rate. “Does it take a lot of energy to fly?” I ask, wondering if that’s why his heart is racing.
With his lips placed together, he shakes his head. “Honestly, flying is the only time when I feel completely comfortable.”
Then why is his heart beating so fast?
I’m about to ask when he mutters, “What the hell is that?”
I track his gaze down below us to a massive circle of light swirling in the trees.
I may not know a lot about this monster world, but I do know what that light is since it’s how I ended up here.
“That’s a portal, right?” I ask, wondering why he looks so puzzled.
He gives a distracted nod. “It is. But what I’m wondering is why there’s one in the middle of the forest?”
“Is that not normal?”
“No. Not this close to the academy, anyway.”
I squint to get a better look. “Where does the portal lead?”
“I’m not sure,” he mumbles, his fingers skimming along the back of my legs as he holds me closer to his chest.
He keeps staring at the vortex as if expecting someone to come out of it. And eventually, they do. Three figures to be exact. One I recognize as …
“That’s Sage, right? But who are the other two creatures with her?” One of them, I can tell is male and tall, but the other is standing behind him, so I can’t make out any of their features.
When his muscles ravel into knots, my gaze travels up to his. The fear flashing through his eyes startles me so badly that I grab his shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” I sputter.
The muscle in his jaw pulsates. “I’m … We need to get out of here.” Then, tearing his gaze off Sage and the other creatures, he quickens his pace, his wings powerfully flapping as he carries us quicker and higher into the sky until all I can mostly see is sunlight.
“What’s going on?” I whisper as I hold on to him.
At first, he doesn’t answer, and I don’t think he’s going to, but then he utters softly, “Yes, that was Sage. And that was my father with her. And if he finds out about you—what you really are and what you are to me …” His throat muscles work as he swallows hard. “Let’s just say that’s not a good thing.”
I already kind of caught on that Roman’s dad wasn’t necessarily a great creature, but the fear that’s reflecting in his eyes has my stomach bottoming.
“Why is that a bad—”
“Shhh …” he hisses, cutting me off while giving a pressing look at something over my shoulder.
I peer behind me, and that bottoming sensation in my gut turns into a full-on tumble.
Because snaking through the air are wisps of dark smoke. And the worst part is that they have eyes.
Eyes that are looking directly at me.