40. Violet

40

VIOLET

There are moments in life that change everything. This is one of them. I know I have to choose one of them, and I wish it weren't the case, but the sooner I get it over with, the sooner we can all move forward and rebuild whatever I will break when I do. Unfortunately, I feel that some things can't be fixed without leaving scars.

We land back in what's left of my personal space, the winter air whistling through the Dragon-sized hole in the ceiling. Moonlight streams through the gap, casting eerie shadows across the destruction. My bed is now kindling, my books are scattered like fallen soldiers, the purple one peeking out from under some ice, and there's a fine layer of snow from the sky covering everything that hasn't been scorched. This is the perfect metaphor for what happens when different types of magick collide.

Students and staff cluster around the doorway and what used to be my wall, their faces full of horror, fascination, and that particular brand of schadenfreude that only young adults can truly master. The various supernatural races are easy to spot: vampires hovering near the shadows, werewolves sniffing the magick-charged air, and faeries trying (and failing) to look disinterested.

Blackthorne stands in the centre of the chaos like the eye of a storm, his ancient vampire nature barely contained beneath his professional veneer. His black robes seem to absorb the shadows around him, and his eyes, those ancient, knowing eyes, burn with barely suppressed fury. He looks like he's about to implode from the stress this situation is giving him. I attempt a smile, though it probably looks more like a grimace, and his scowl deepens until I swear I can feel it in my bones.

"Miss Violet," he finally manages to grit out, each word precisely enunciated as if it physically pains him to remain civil, "perhaps you'd care to explain why there's now a Dragon-sized hole in the academy roof?"

I open my mouth to respond, but Flint steps forward. "That would be my fault, Professor. I lost control for a moment."

Blackthorne's eyes narrow, and the atmosphere nose dives further, if that were possible "Lost control? Mr Flint, you're a Snow Dragon. Your kind are known for their restraint, not for breathing fire and destroying property."

Flint shifts uncomfortably, scales flickering beneath his skin like mercury. "It's complicated. "

"Uncomplicate it," Blackthorne snaps, his voice carrying centuries of authority. "We have enough to deal with without worrying about spontaneously combusting students."

I place a hand on Flint's arm, feeling the heat simmering just beneath his skin like a banked forge. Through our connection, I can sense his inner turmoil, the way his traditionally cold Dragon magick wars with this new, fierce heat. "Professor, something's changing in Flint," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the four different types of magick dancing under my own skin. "His powers are evolving. We don't fully understand it yet."

Blackthorne's scowl deepens, creating lines in his eternally young face that shouldn't be possible. "Evolving how, exactly?"

"I can breathe fire now," Flint admits, his words causing ripples of whispered conversation among the spectators. "And my inner temperature has risen significantly."

A hush falls over the gathered students and staff, the kind of silence that feels like it has physical weight. Even the winter wind seems to hold its breath. Blackthorne's eyes widen slightly, the first crack in his stern facade.

I can feel Flint's discomfort at having to state all of this in front of dozens of creatures, his scales threatening to emerge fully under the scrutiny. But this is where we are - standing in the rubble of my room, our secrets spilling out like blood in water .

"That's unprecedented," Blackthorne murmurs, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "A Snow Dragon with fire abilities?"

"It has to do with his connection to Violet," Caine says. "Her power seems to be affecting all of us in unexpected ways."

Blackthorne's gaze snaps to me, his eyes calculating in a way that makes my inner vampire want to either submit or fight. "Is that so? What other unexpected developments should we be aware of, Miss Violet?"

I bite my lip and do that grimacing thing again, feeling Morgan's power stir within me like a cat stretching. He sighs, the sound ancient and weary, and turns to address the gathered crowd. "Everyone, back to your rooms. Now. This situation is under control." As the students and staff reluctantly disperse, their whispers following them like trailing shadows, Blackthorne focuses on us again. "Well?"

"I think I need to tap into Morgan's powers, not the forest magick, but hers . It is the only way I will survive this."

His eyes narrow, centuries of knowledge and suspicion warring in their depths. "Do you know how you will accomplish this?"

"No."

"I see. Are you researching it?"

"Yes."

Through what used to be my bedroom wall, I see Gaida hovering in the hallway, her presence as reassuring as always. Her eyes are fixed on Blackthorne before she slowly shifts her gaze to me. She gives me two thumbs up, somehow making the gesture both encouraging and elegant, then disappears like morning mist.

"So we should get back to that," Thorne states into the silence.

"Yes," Caine agrees. "Get back to that research."

Blackthorne rolls his eyes and gives us a long-suffering glare that probably took centuries to perfect before he turns on his heel and walks out of the demolished room, his presence lingering like smoke.

"I'm afraid," I whisper when he's gone, needing to do this. To rip the band-aid off and then deal with the fallout. "I'm afraid of choosing wrong. Of choosing right, but for the wrong reasons. Of losing any of you. Of becoming something that none of you recognise. But mostly, I'm afraid of admitting that I already know who my anchor needs to be, because it's not about who I love most or who's strongest or who can control me best. You are all equal. I adore each of you equally. There is no choice when it comes to love, strength, bonds."

"It's about who has a connection to you that two of us don't have," Flint states.

I nod, feeling the truth of it in my bones.

"Thorne," Caine mutters. "He has access to you on a level that we don't, no matter how much we can try or hope, it's not part of our abilities."

Thorne catches my gaze, his eyes steady and unwavering as the shadows that are his birthright. The darkness around him seems to pulse with possibility.

"You don't seem surprised," I say.

"Should I be?" He moves closer, darkness swirling around us both like a living thing. "I've been able to get in your head from the very beginning. I'm yours to use. If you'll have me."

"Yes," I say simply. "It has to be you."

His smile is like watching shadows dance in firelight, beautiful and just slightly dangerous. "I know."

And somewhere in the background, I swear I hear Morgan laugh, her presence like autumn leaves dancing in the wind.

Balance, little flower. You're finally learning.