Cold Hearted

T he whispers in the hallway aren’t surprising—Slash’s proclamation has zoomed all over the farthest corners of Discordia by now. Wormwood had to confiscate a dozen phones by the time class ended; that’s, apparently, how big a deal it is when that fucking shark speaks.

I’m getting a lot of sneers and I’m not sure if it’s jealousy, competition, or plain bully shit.

“That was a rather eventful class, mm?” Anton says as we head for the library lecture halls. “I dare say it’ll be hard to top for at least a week.”

Rolling my eyes, I try not to let that frustrate me. I don’t want to be in the damn spotlight for the next week or more. I just want to get a goddamn education and a job so I’m not living on the edge of precarious ruin like half the damn world anymore. “I suppose so. If you guys have to defend me in every class, I’m going to have more enemies than I want by the end of the week.”

Anton tilts his head and I marvel again at how bird-like it is. Most demon hybrids have a tell about their animal—I’m figuring out my floor mates. “I doubt you’ll be able to stop some of our guys. You seem to be an acquired taste, Kit Camponella—though once tasted, you make people yearn for more. It may indicate some Cubi blood. We’ll have to monitor it.”

“I am not Cubi,” I protest. “I can’t make anyone do what I want and especially not in that way.” A shiver runs over me as the past floods back and I stop in the middle of the open space when my vision blurs. Swallowing hard, I chant in my head, hoping to get this damn attack under control before I make a bigger spectacle of myself.

Dottie scrambles out of my bag and up my arm, positioning herself next to my ear as her small paws run over my hair. Anton studies me again, opening his mouth to speak when I hear a familiar voice in the distance. It sounds concerned, but I can’t divert any energy to recognition; no, I need every molecule focused on not losing my shit in a flashback in the middle of the damn quad.

“Kitten,” the voice says as it gets closer and in my head, I want to admonish X not to call me that.

But I can’t, so I just lick my lips and continue working through the steps to push back the fear. The voices around me sound worried, and I wince when a gentle hand takes my arm. It pulls a bit and I work out that they want me to move. My legs feel like lead weights, but I move after I put a lot of willpower behind my internal commands to my body. Oddly, I often feel like I’m not even in my frame when I get like this. But I suppose a lot of trauma victims let their minds float away when they can’t stop nasty shit from happening.

At least I didn’t end up with a fractured psyche and multiple people living in my brain.

“Kit, we’re just leading you to a washroom near our class, okay?” That voice is the adorable, yet gutless gamer. I had such high hopes for Zavida on the first day, but his devotion to Jasper makes him unreliable. That makes me tense up and I stop short, knowing I shouldn’t follow someone I don’t trust when I’m only half-conscious.

Another hand lands on the opposite shoulder, and I hear Dottie chitter. She likes the owner of that hand, so out of the three demons I know are here, it must be X. “Don’t worry, Kitten. We won’t let the pasty hacker take you to Jasper’s sex dungeon.”

Blink. That will not make me move.

“X, you’ve made it worse, for fuck’s sake. His eyes are more glazed now.” That was Anton and his irritation is laced with worry that sort of shocks me. “It’s obvious what triggers this response now, so can we all behave as though we’re not morons?”

X tsks under their breath, murmuring, “Oh, Kitten. I am sorry to hear that.”

My lips press together, but I still don’t speak. It’s hard to claw my way out of this and though I stayed semi-aware this time, that’s not always the case. Sometimes it’s damn near a blackout and I need to trust that someone other than a three pound exotic pet will be around to help. I just don’t know if it’s the demons I’m supposed to join or if that’s another trick by a clan of assholes with bad intentions.

After all, my judgment on what’s safe has been faulty in the past.

The hands urge me forward again and I obey—if only to salvage what little dignity I have left. I don’t want to miss a class and incur the wrath of another Wormwood -type professor. The name wasn’t listed on my schedule and I’m utterly convinced they’re all going to be like Wormwood or Lillabet. Missing my first session won’t win me points no matter who it is, so I have to snap out of this shit.

My hands curl into tight fists and I let my short nails bite into my palms. Nope, not enough. I rake my teeth over my lower lip, splitting it slightly. The tang of blood helps a little, but it’s still not enough. A soft grunt escapes my mouth as I try to knock my brain loose from the fog of trauma, but it’s not there yet.

“Stop.” The voice echoing around me is Zavida’s, and I tense up. “He’s doing shit to himself and I bet it’s to shock his system into rebooting.”

Okay, maybe he is smart when his head is removed from Jasper’s ass.

“ For the love of Satan’s furry goat pants…” X makes an annoyed sound as I hear rummaging. “Here.”

The cool hilt of a blade touches my hand, and I recoil.

I need a shock, but I am not a cutter.

I’m not judging, of course. It could have been how I dealt with the PTSD and anxiety, but for my absolute cowardice with my hide. I frown, knowing it’s more complex than that and feeling bad for doing exactly what I was saying I wouldn’t until… a sharp pain on my wrist snaps me into the present like a rocket.

“What… what the fuck…” is all I get out as I look at the slice on my arm with wide eyes.

X gives me a little shrug, licking a long, curved snake fang protruding from his mouth. “You wouldn’t use the knife and we have, like, two minutes to get into that class. It was an emergency.”

I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of a ‘Cobra Emergency,’ but I guess it’ll do… for now.

The lecture hall for Mythology is huge, and I sigh a breath of relief. I’m still recovering from one of my ‘mid-tier’ attacks, but I’m up and mobile. That’s better than my usual routine of holing up in my room or the basement for days while I try to avoid calling the therapist. I know that’s counter-intuitive to healing, but I learned not to trust anyone assigned to me by the system a long time ago. I give up just enough for them to not have a reason to make me do more—or, at least, I did.

I’m still not used to admitting my life has taken a total three-sixty and I’m free of that.

Of course, I’m trapped in a whole new system with people I don’t trust. Being surrounded by assholes is par for the course, though. My eyes cut to the demon dudes guiding me to a section on the back right side of the room. At least two of them seem like they might be okay, but it’s too early to be certain. Zav is a question mark I wish I could solve, but until the Prince gets his swollen head out of his scaly ass, that will not happen.

“Now, Kitten, just sit between Annie and I. Zav will take excellent notes just in case you have trouble focusing.”

I frown as they settle me into a cushy chair. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because a panic attack bordering on a flashback is not normal,” X murmurs as Anton plops down on my other side, then Zav takes the end. “You don’t have to bother denying it, but I’ve seen it before. So sit down, relax, and work on whatever helps you get right.”

“But I?—”

Zavida pushes his glasses up, his expression earnest as he leans over the pretty peacock. “We’re not judging you, Kit. Every single one of us comes from less than auspicious families with varying levels of abuse. I know we seem like spoiled rich kids with no problems and maybe a little, we are.”

Anton snorts and rolls his eyes. “We definitely are. But that doesn’t mean our home lives are remotely within levels of acceptable. Being part of the royal family or their court is a bitch in ways no one wants to publicize… even when it’s as plain as day.”

My brow furrows. “People ignored when some of you looked… abused?”

They do in my old life, but not with rich royalty and shit—just us throwaway orphans.

“The King and the General are less than subtle with punishment,” Zav mutters as he sets up his laptop. He doesn’t look at me, but I get his drift. He wants me to know why Slash and Jasper act like they do.

A loud squeal from the front gets my attention and my eyes widen when I see the person at the front of the room. His dark eyes and menacing look make every single demon in the room shut up without being told. I guess everyone’s afraid of the Headmaster—not just me.

“Attention, students.” Lucian straightens, focusing his glare on the entire lecture hall. “Because of a change in sabbaticals, I will cover your intro level Mythology course. You are expected to be on time, engaged, and not break Discordia’s codes while in my presence. Punishments for failure will be severe.”

Son of a bitch. I’m zero for six in the ‘Professor Games’ so far.

A wave of ice hits me, and I lift my head to find the asshole staring at me like he’s trying to make me implode. My eyes narrow as I hold his gaze, trying not to let it affect me. I don’t want anyone here to believe they can intimidate me since these guys can’t be with me twenty-four-seven. When he finally looks away to organize the smart board, I let out a slow breath.

“Why does he look at you like that?” Anton whispers. “Did you do something stupid when you got here?”

I shake my head, reaching up to pet Dottie’s head. “No. He was impersonal and abrupt. Then Jasper showed up angry about having to deal with me. I have no idea what I could have done.”

A low whistle comes from X as they bump my shoulder. “You’ve got a talent for pissing people off, Kitten. The headmaster, the Prince, the Enforcer, that dickface Bastion… and let’s not forget all of your professors.”

Scooting my foot over, I grind my heel on their shiny, gorgeous shoes. The outfit today is fucking impeccable and though I might not smash their toes, I can scuff them up. For X, that’s probably just as bad. “Shut. Up.”

The Kitsuné leans forward again, looking at me with concern. “It’s only your third day in Hell.”

“Yeah, I’ve been this way my entire life. I attract winners everywhere I go.” They all give me disbelieving looks and I smirk. “Just watch. This will only get worse as the week goes on—guaranteed.”

As every caseworker I’ve ever had said, I was born under a bad sign—and I highly doubt that will be any different in the underworld.