Hell, they were avoiding her completely, and it pissed her off.
She used the anger to fuel her, scrambling deeper into the woods, heartily tired of the hunt, tired of the endless training.
She didn’t think it possible, but she was coming to hate hunting, when once it had been her whole life.
She understood their need to prepare her for what was coming—her bloodlines made her royalty, which made her a target. She’d almost been killed, and the guys refused to let her forget it.
To make matters worse, the mating marks bound them together in ways she never expected, made her crave more from them than just a strict, emotionless instructor and student relationship. Instead of taking advantage of the mating marks, they were using them to track her every move.
She was trapped by her blood, her heritage, and her team’s drive to protect her, and she didn’t know how to escape.
She’d been learning to disguise her presence from them for a few seconds, long enough to avoid them. Each time, those seconds stretched a little more, becoming minutes, but eventually, no matter where she went, they always located her.
She was becoming accustomed to the lack of privacy, but what was slowly killing her was the emotional distance separating them. Every day they seem to be further and further away, and she didn’t know how to reach them anymore.
She knew they noticed the difference—they pushed her more, trained her harder, but their demands only ended up making things worse.
At times, if she concentrated, she could connect to the men, feel what they felt…but as soon as they discovered her intrusion, they blocked her before she had a chance to become accustomed to the tantalizing sensations.
The distance they so rigidly maintained between them was not only annoying as fuck but it took all her control to keep from losing her shit—she refused to give them any more power over her.
She concentrated on the cold as she ran, allowing the exercise to numb the pain.
She never wanted to bind herself to anyone, detested the practice, but it didn’t matter what she wanted…fate had decided for them.
The men were supposed to be hers, but she’d never felt so distant from them.
Morgan knew she reached the end of the training when the guys opened up the links between them, signaling the okay to return. Night would fall in less than an hour, and she’d been training since sunrise.
She was beyond tired.
Tired of training.
Tired of the distance between them.
She came to a stop, the air misting in front of her with each breath, and she plunked her hands on her hips.
It was time for a change.
Her necklace warmed, the metal stretched and twisted until a fragile heart pendant formed. A knife pierced the top curved edge, while the sharp tip of the blade emerging through the side, and Morgan snorted at the message.
All’s fair in love and war.
She gazed into the trees, the pristine snow unmarred, the temptation to run away growing stronger each day. The only reason she’d resisted was she knew they would follow.
No, the necklace was right. She must nut up and face them, fight for what she wanted, not run like a coward.
Very slowly, she turned back toward the Academy, the turmoil churning in her gut calming with her decision.
She would either get answers out of them, or they would have to let her go.
She was done settling for second best.
Chapter Two
Morgan emerged from the tree line, pausing to appreciate the stunning view of the Academy.
It was an honest-to-goodness castle.
The structure rose majestically from the mountaintop. Even with the sky overcast, ribbons of orange and red light from the setting sun cast a fiery glow against the grey stones, making it appear as if the Academy was burning. The view was spectacular…and more than a little foreboding.
The outer wall was the only thing separating the school from the forest and potential intruders. She slipped through the gates only minutes before they closed for the evening. A pack of wolves patrolled the yard, a few of them gave her toothy grins, but none stopped to play. They took their jobs seriously.
She handed one of the guards her paintball gun, her mouth twitching, trying not to smile when she noted his camouflage was liberally splashed with pink.
Most of the guards had been her victims at one time or other.
Poor schmucks.
The double doors to the Academy loomed in front of her, closed and imposing, most of the students already inside for the night. As she mounted the stairs, the doors creaked open, as if aware of her presence. Since the school was sentient, there really was no sneaking up on it. The inside was even more impressive. A giant mirror stood to the right, and she could hardly believe she arrived through that portal only a few months ago. It felt like the Academy had always been her home, probably because it was identical to the castle in the primordial realm where she was raised. Every nook and cranny was familiar, even when the stairs led to nowhere, the doors opened to walls, the building altering its very structure to guide her where it thought she was needed.
A series of steps led up three stories, a small landing at every level, the stairs stretching nearly as wide as the room. Ten-foot-wide arched openings were on either side of the landing, the top level invisible from where she stood.
The place was a weird combination of castle and school. The Academy smelled of teenagers, their sweat and hope, hormones and anxiety, and a healthy dose of unrepentant lust, but more and more, the ancient place smelled like home.
As she dashed up the stairs, she nearly collided with Harper and her entourage of witches.
“Watch where you’re going, freak.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Nice face, Harper. Walk into a wall?”
Despite the cake of makeup puttying her face, a bruise still darkened her eye. When the witch smiled, Morgan took pleasure in knowing it hurt. She flexed her fists, still able to feel her knuckles cracking into the witch’s face during the routine beating sessions they endured nearly every morning.
Harper did her best to kill her, while Morgan did her best to survive.
Harper leaned forward, a snarl curling her lips. “A cheap shot. Tomorrow you’ll get what you deserve.” Malice gleamed in her eyes, but also pure enjoyment.
Morgan had expected Harper to bow out of their training sessions the first time her precious face got smashed. Instead, she had to give the witch credit, she dished out as good as she got. She was determined to learn how to protect herself after a near fatal attack, and she deemed Morgan the only person capable of teaching her.
The witch whirled and stalked away, her gaggle of minions trailing behind her, glaring daggers at Morgan as they passed, but wisely keeping their distance.
They were more the type to stab you in the back than face you directly.
Morgan continued up the stairs, already thinking about the next match between her and Harper. They’d settled their rivalry…mostly. Since the school was attacked two months ago and Harper lost her two wolf protectors, she had weaseled her way into being trained. She didn’t want to be helpless anymore, and Morgan couldn’t blame her.
What Morgan could lay at Harper’s feet was blackmailing her into being the one to train her.
Every other morning for the last six weeks, the two of them beat the crap out of each other.
While Morgan had strength and training behind her, Harper had magic and loved to cheat. No matter how much skill Morgan had, she was a novice at magic. Though she had the raw strength of pure power, she had yet to learn the finer aspects of how to control it.
The one time she tried to strike back at Harper magically, she accidently left a crater in the ground and knocked herself on her own ass.
She’d since been banned from casting, allowed to use magic only as a shield.
As she raced up the last set of stairs to her new room, she suddenly veered right, toward her old dorm, needing a few minutes to regain her composure before she confronted the men.