Fae of the South (Court of Crown and Compass Book 3) by E. Hall (good books to read in english TXT) 📗

Ivan and Lea. For hours, I searched, desperate to find them, to feed, to wake up and realize this was a nightmare.

Down by the dockyard, I heard a scuffle, someone whimpering. A guy had been stabbed and was barely hanging onto life. It was wrong, wholly and entirely. But I did it. I drank. I had to. I could no longer resist. Regret, shame, and the deepest sense of loathing I’ve ever known will exist within me for all eternity.

Then I went home. That’s when the trouble really began.

The last five hours feel like more like a decade. I was at home, staring at a box of cereal, willing it to satisfy me when my brother barged in, using up the rest of the milk. I hadn’t seen him in a week.

He laid into me about how if I’d just be normal—work at a pizza shop or get a tattoo or something, instead of being a blacksmith’s apprentice—the girls would be chasing me.

He didn’t notice the blood staining my shirt or what was sure to be the deranged look on my face.

At this point, the girls should run away from me, but even before, I had no interest in girls chasing me. None, except the one I can’t have. The one that sits in a chair across the room at Riker’s Reform School. Her eyes are wide.

If I were human, my stomach would knot with fear. Instead, my jaw twitches and my muscles coil. I’m a monster who operates with physical instinct and a leftover conscience that’s weak in the face of the beast within. Yet the desire to protect Lea overwhelms me.

Her mouth opens and closes like she’s going to say something, but nothing comes out.

I’m instructed to place my hand on a stone etched with a symbol. It’s cold, unyielding.

The headmistress arches one severe eyebrow as though she sees my thoughts. “Welcome, Tyrren Santos. Vampire. Nefral Weapons Trade criminal.”

Nothing about why I’m here makes sense. I was arrested for being involved in the Nefral Weapons Trade, whatever that is. My brother is happy to call me a dork, but I just happen to be really good at forging swords. Apparently, too good because the most recent one I made was confiscated by the police when I was arrested. The one that Lea used to slay the demons. The one that no one ever came to claim from the garage. Huxley had been out of state at a trade show and I figured I’d ask him when he got back. The police didn’t mention the guy down by the docks. If anything, sucking his blood is why I belong here.

Even though vampires don’t have powers other than super strength and the ability to mesmerize our prey, Magical Management has jurisdiction over us. Mercifully, the officers saw to it that I was fed.

My record says that I’m underage. For that reason, I was spared from RIP and sent here—a place for supernatural juvenile delinquents. Until recently, I ticked none of those boxes. I was held back a year when I moved to the US from Brazil and started school late—the secret Lea and I shared, the one we bonded over—meaning I’m eighteen like her.

I sigh as the guys and girls are divided into lines. I try to catch Lea’s eye, but she’s marched out of the room and disappears down a long corridor. Through the barred windows, clouds gather. If my mother were alive, she’d freak out right now.

Cruel irony that I am now the same kind of monster that killed her and Dad.

As for my brothers, Lyle is an actual felon. The middle one, Kylen, is a player—hence the teasing about girls. Mom could always rely on me, the baby, to be the good son. The three of us are nearly identical—tall, well-built and athletic, and with thick, dark hair that I’ve heard girls love (at least according to Kylen). He’d say my good looks are wasted on dorkdom. Whatever.

A CA, a correctional assistant, guides me to my new room. In short order, I get a bed, desk, and dresser. The uniforms consists of blue pants and an orange, black, and white striped dress shirt. It’s a cross between prep school garb and prison clothes. At least I don’t have to wear a jumpsuit.

My roommate is a small, gangly kid named Aaron (it’s printed on the door) and by way of greeting, he tosses a shoe in the air that nearly hits me in the head as he searches for something in the mess by his bed.

My reflexes are lightning-fast and I catch it. “Hello to you too,” I mutter.

He whirls around and stares at me with lavender eyes. “Hi. Looking for a textbook.” He returns to his task, tearing the room apart. He picks up the other sneaker, hucking it at me.

I catch it easily. “Not cool. I have two brothers and won’t tolerate inconsolable rages or jerks, got it?”

Aaron looks up, wearing an impish grin. It occurs to me that something, likely a crime of some sort, landed him here.

I chuck the shoe back at him.

He doesn’t give me an apology but understanding passes between us. I stay out of his way, he stays out of mine, and neither one of us will kill the other while he sleeps.

With that, I drop into the chair and let out a loud grumble. Why am I here? Not the big existential question, but why am I literally in this jail, er, reform school. My thoughts race through the morning: I went to the forge, Huxley wasn’t there yet. I stoked the fire, threw some logs on, and ran the bellows, preparing for the day. Tried to be normal. Tried to distract myself from the thirst.

Someone came by to commission a piece for a door. The smell of blood was heavy in the air.