WTF

A s if it wasn’t humiliating enough to have that smarmy little bastard defying me, now I have to deal with the jokes about his rodent jamming a grape in my nose. Removing it was utterly demeaning and Oriel damn near pissed his pants. Zav had the grace to pretend he wasn’t laughing, though I suppose the thought of my blistering his ass was enough to keep him compliant.

Not in any permanent, non-consensual way, of course, but my temper can be an issue.

Kit sat there, cradling the damn thing and cooing at it happily as I gathered the tattered remains of my dignity. His eyes danced with merriment as he watched me clean my face, shoot to my feet, and stomp off to my office until my next class. Not once did it look like he was going to attempt an apology, which is why I left before I did something that would set the tongues wagging.

I am unused to people refusing to bend to my will, and it infuriates me.

What is this kid made of? He comes here, gets hit with our world and my caliphate, yet is still standing? I can’t imagine what chaos he grew up in for none of this to even phase the little shit. Kit is small for our age and has emerged no powers. Regardless, he juts out his chin and practically dares me to come at him. It’s baffling.

Zavida needs to get his tight ass on more research. I don’t understand why he’s running into so many blocks in the human world, nor why he’s found dick amongst supernatural contacts. The Demon Registry doesn’t have his file as a registered hybrid. Even more suspicious, Zav didn’t find dick in the shared Society archives the royal family can access. So neither the demons nor the supe councils know about Kit—which is weird as fuck.

I suppose that’s how he ended up in the human foster system rather than Hell or an enclave.

Unfortunately, that means there’s a big, fat question mark where the names of his parents should be. Since he has zero physical traits to use as tells, it also means there’s a blank space regarding his powers. Kit Camponella could be a hybrid of any demon and any damn supe on the planet, in Hell, or even in the Veil. We won’t know until something fucking appears.

I don’t like unknowns, and the balance in this realm is tricky enough as it is. The only beings who would so thoroughly bury a child have to be powerful and very forbidden. That’s the only explanation I can come up with. Otherwise, why not drop the squirming bundle at one of the Society enclaves like tons of supes do? I assume it’s because unlike the Demon Registry, the testing done at Society enclaves determines where and who the damn brats go to. We take DNA to classify and adopt out hybrids to families who can support them.

The Society uses their testing to decide who goes to what enclave or if they’re ruled entirely human, they get sent to another version of Hell right there on their own terra firma.

“And they think demons are bad,” I mutter to myself as I get to my office and unlock the door. “At least we don’t send human descendants of supes and gods to some criminal factory on a tropical island in the name of keeping them ‘safe.’ My father isn’t even that cruel, and he’s fucking awful.”

Raking my hand through my hair, I drop into my custom desk chair and lean back. I don’t know why Kit has me so twisted. Normally, I find a target, destroy it, and move on. Something about the wimpy asshole makes me want to poke and prod just to see what he can take. It’s not healthy, I know, but what demon can claim actual mental stability?

None I know.

I shake my head to clear it, then scoot forward to open my email. There’s a damn deluge in the box—something I can’t stop but rage over constantly. I’ve been gone for forty-five minutes and the build-up of nonsense is back to pre-lunch levels. Being a TA was never my dream, but I’m older than the rest of the guys by three years. Taking the stupid job gave me a way to stay here, take graduate classes, and be around them with no one whining.

The less attractive part is teaching a bunch of morons who didn’t grow up with as stringent physical, mental, and academic standards as those of us from the court. Discordia might be the top tier university in the pit, but that doesn’t mean tons of lazy, entitled fools don’t get in. Anyone can bribe that sleazy asshole in the Dean’s office; he’s determined to elevate himself within the ranks so he can come to court.

It’s boring as fuck, so I don’t know why, except he has a hard-on for it.

My eyes narrow as I consider Lucian for a moment. He and Alecto are thick as thieves, but I don’t think old Horatio is as corruptible. He swears they choose the scholarship students by stones and fire like they have been every year since fuck knows when. I’m inclined to believe him because the portly old seer hates controversy. I doubt Lucian could have convinced him to use his authority to bring in some rando just to fuck with me.

No, Lucian took advantage of the situation as it came up. He’s crafty and willing to do anything to advance himself—especially if it fucks with me. When I started at Discordia, it disrupted his little fiefdom and he hates me for it. He even tried to block my position here, but my pull is far greater than his.

But placing this kid on our floor, in my sphere, is purposeful—I can feel it in my spines.

I delete most of the emails—I don’t respond to bitching parents one day into the damn term. They can complain to whoever the fuck they want, but I’m not cutting their precious darlings any slack. If the former human can handle the pressure, these lifetime demon hybrids need to up their goddamn game. My father won’t accept any of these weaker fuckers into the capital jobs if I tell him this shit. They’ll get relegated to the outer provinces and shitty lives if they keep this up.

Sucking in a quick breath and blowing it out my nose, I close the email program and open up the VPN to the royal network.

If I’m going to compare people to this puny fucker, I need more information and it has to be buried in the system somewhere.

I push away from my desk after an hour’s worth of digging. Mondays and Wednesdays are my day with a lot of free periods between my duties and actual classes. I could sit here and sift through shit for at least another hour, but it feels like a waste. Zav could write programs to do this without batting a lash and they’d be faster and more accurate. I’m spinning my wheels, just trying to justify my suspicions, so I feel comfortable handling the situation in our usual fashion.

What if I’m wrong?

That’s not likely, but I’m not so egotistical that I discount the possibility. I growl as I get up, walking to the couch in the corner and flinging myself onto it. The only members of my caliphate not in class right now are Salem and X—neither of whom will indulge my need to rage about the new guy. Xerxes and Anton prefer to be the middle balance in our group—tempering the hot natures of Slash and me while keeping Salem and O from being too emotional. Zav would side with the two softies if he wasn’t my pet—which I mean in the best possible way. Having varied personalities helps us stay united, but until now, everyone eventually got behind my decisions in the end.

Kit Camponella is changing the vibe two days in and I don’t like it one bit. I pull out my phone as I stretch out on the cushions, opening the caliphate chat. None of them are busy enough to ignore me, even if they are in class.

Prince: Updates.

Thief: We just saw you an hour ago, man.

Prince: Not you.

Enforcer: Gym. Warfare. Gap. Won’t see him until dinner.

Designer: Same, Jas. Painting, then Studio. I’m booked solid.

Spy: Me three.

Chef: Dude, you’re losing it. You know O and I will see him in Lit next. Then I’ve got him in Hospitality Club and we all meet for dinner.

Thief: I tried to tell him…

Prince: I can’t operate like this. Zav, we should tag the little shit.

Hacker: I can see him in Demonic Lineage with the one on his phone, Jas. Kit isn’t moving.

Thief: See? He’s not doing bullshit to undermine us. The kid’s just trying to survive his first day.

Prince: I want to know if he goes anywhere near Lucian’s office. I don’t like him being involved.

Enforcer: No one does, Prince. Salem, we need to know how he behaves in the extracurricular. It is more social than classrooms.

Prince: Thank fuck someone is thinking with their head on straight.

Chef: Fine. I’ll take good mental notes and you can quiz me after dinner—that is, as long as the scary kid with an emotional support familiar doesn’t take down your empire while in Lit class.

Frowning at my phone, I close the chat. It’s obvious he thinks I’m being ridiculous, and Oriel agrees. Dissension in our ranks will leave us open to attacks from the other assholes who attend this place. I need them all to get on board, and fast. This semester sets up the basis for my caliphate’s ascension and I don’t need this goddamn shit to fuck it up.

I’m still waffling over my course of action when my phone pings and a new chat window opens.

Thief: Kit Kat, this is the caliphate text chat. You can use it to get info or ask questions.

Oh, that sneaky son of a bitch. And what’s with the nickname—O doesn’t like people this much.

KitKat: As if I need you nosy assholes more in my face.

Prince: You’ll have us wherever I see fit for as long as I see fit, pleb.

KitKat: Please, please don’t tell me Hell is literally where they invented the whole ‘academy caste system’ trope from books. Wait, that makes sense, actually.

Prince: What?

KitKat: Nevermind. Obviously, you’re not in the know with human shit anymore than I am with demon shit.

Anton: I got the reference. It passes the vibe check.

KitKat: **smirk emoji**

Prince: What the hell are you two talking about?

Chef: He’s gonna lose it if you don’t get back on task in three… two… one…

Enforcer: SHUT UP, SALEM.

KitKat: Yikes. Well, this has been appropriately terrible, so I’m going back to class. Jasper, as always, get fucked. Everyone else have a good day or whatever.

The chat window blinks as Kit removes himself and I have to grit my jaw not to throw the phone against the wall. A glance at the screen shows the guys laughing their asses off, even Slash. He doesn’t put up with much shit regarding me, but I think this punk’s fire is amusing him.

That’s why I have to get this shit under control before his antics encourage anyone else.

Rolling to my feet, I grab my messenger bag, shoving everything I need for my last class of the day into it. I can go to Royal Diplomacy, then head over to the kitchen area and spy on him and Salem during the Hospitality meeting. It might give me the insight I need without relying on the panda shifter to give me the full story.

I’ll get what I need to know, even if it kills me.