The Harbinger's Forbidden Mate

POV: Rory Hale

The car halted so suddenly I almost smacked my forehead on the window.

"This is it," the woman in the black suit stated casually, like she wasn't throwing me into the jaws of something I didn't understand.

I lifted my eyes and my chest clenched.

The Academy wasn't a school. It was a monster with stone skin.

Gothic spires rose against the stormy sky, their sharp edges piercing into the clouds. Black iron gates curved with symbols I couldn't read. Mist clung to the broad woodland surrounding it, thick enough to cover anything wolves, shadows, maybe even bodies.

My pulse was hammered. "This looks like a haunted castle, not a school."

The tall man's mouth twisted in a humorless smile. "That's because this place doesn't teach the living. It trains survivors."

My throat is dry.

I murmured, "And if I don't survive?"

The younger agent with the disconcerting blue eyes leaned closer, too close. His breath ghosted over my ear. "Then you'll be food."

I flinched, but the woman silenced him with a harsh glare before opening the car door. "Rory Hale. Welcome to Obsidian Academy."

I went out, my sneakers crunching on gravel, and immediately felt stares. Everywhere.

Students congregated in bunches beyond the gates, all clad in dark uniforms that appeared far too beautiful to be human. Their eyes caught the weak lightsome gleaming faintly gold, others crimson, a few even silver like flaming stars.

I grabbed my bag strap closer, whispered under my breath, "Stay invisible. Just... stay invisible."

But invisibility was impossible here. I felt like prey dropped into a den of hunters.

A voice behind me ripped through the air. "She's here."

The crowd parted as someone walked ahead.

My breath hitched.

He was lovely in a way that was crisp, like glass. Tall, lean, hair like liquid silver spilling to his shoulders. His complexion was pale, too pale, but not sickly luminescent, almost gleaming under the storm clouds. His eyes were a striking shade of crimson, and when they rested on me, it felt like being stripped bare.

The woman's tone shifted, official now. "Lucien, this is Rory Hale. She'll be joining us."

Lucien's lips twisted in a slow, deadly smile. "So the rumors were true."

I swallowed. "What rumors?"

He didn't answer. He only stepped closer, his gaze fastened on me like I was the only heartbeat in the entire institution.

"You shouldn't be here," he muttered. His voice was satin and venom at once. "But gods, I'm glad you are."

My knees trembled. "Why?"

His smile deepened, displaying the edge of something too keen to be human. His breath stroked my cheek when he leaned in, muttering low enough only I could hear.

"Because I can taste you already."

I froze, blood turning to ice.

He pulled back slowly, eyes glinting with hunger, and for the first time in my life, I grasped what actual danger felt like not fists, not sadness, but someone who looked at you like you were a meal.

The woman cleared her throat. "That's enough, Lucien."

But his crimson stare never left mine.

My heart thundered, but I forced my voice to work. "If you touch me"

His laugh was soft, dark, and menacing. "Oh, little mortal. You don't even know what you are."

The word mortal shattered on me like lightning.

I wanted to yell at him, deny it, and demand answers. But the world spun anew, heavy with shadows and murmurs.

Kael's admonition echoed in my head: Don't trust anyone. Especially not the ones that smile at you.

And Lucien was smiling.

As Rory's skin prickles with invisible fire, Lucien tilts his head, crimson eyes blazing into her soul.

"You're the Marked One," he whispers. "And that means you belong to me."

The door creaked open, and for a second I thought maybe the wrong room had been assigned to me.

The walls were painted a deep shade of gray, velvet curtains pouring down like shadows. Candles flickered even though no one had ignited them. And sitting on one of the two beds was a female with fire-red hair, combat boots still on, and a sneer carved over her face like she'd been anticipating me.

"Well, look who finally made it," she replied, flinging her hair over her shoulder. "The new girl."

I halted in the doorway. "This is... my room?"

"Unless you plan to sleep in the hall," she added, arching an eyebrow. "Name's Maya. Maya Cross. And you're Rory Hale, the one they won't shut up about."

My chest tightened. "People are already talking?"

She laughed, low and harsh. "Honey, you walked into this place glowing. Of course they're talking."

I froze, clutching my bag tightly. "Glowing?"

Her smirk softened, just a little. "Relax. I mean metaphorically. Sort of. Everyone here smells power. Some of us more than others."

I shifted uncomfortably. "I don't have power."

"Sure," Maya answered, reclining back against the headboard like she had all the time in the world. "Keep telling yourself that. Maybe it'll even come true."