Marshal
I wake to the sound of chanting outside my suite. It’s godsforsaken early, and my head pounds from the drinks I had the night before. My living room is a mess, I’d had a few people over post-challenge. Once the adrenaline wears off, it’s a good time to see what the other students at the Academy are thinking about the violence they’d witnessed in the cage fights.
Mostly they’re scared.
A few are disturbingly turned on.
One or two seem thoughtful about it, like Darius. I’m keeping an eye on him.
I’m not sure when everyone left, but I recall tossing them out; particularly a shapely redhead that seemed intent on staying the night. I do recall kicking her out, then stripping off my clothes, and crashing on the couch.
I slide off the couch, bottles crashing to the floor.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter, kicking them out of the way. I catch a glimpse of myself in a long mirror hanging behind the couch. My body is long and lean. Muscular. A deep V cuts my hips, just above the black shorts I’m wearing. I do stop and grab the robe hanging behind the door. It’s not about modesty, but presentation. Presentation, at all times, is key.
Even if you’re still tipsy from the night before.
I slip my arms into the sleeves, but not tying the belt. I swing open the door and call out, “What the fuck is going on out here?”
A cluster of students is in the middle of the open space just outside my door. They part enough for me to get a glimpse of what’s happening. There’s a person on the floor, wearing the black uniform of the cleaning staff. She’s on her hands and knees, backside facing me. I see the smooth curve of skin and sliver of lacy black panties under her skirt.
Marielle stands over the maid, foot on her back. Her eyes sparkle cruelly.
“She made a mess and needs to clean it up.” She bends over, pushing the maid to the floor. “Maybe if you use your tongue, it’ll come up faster.”
Everyone laughs, and the sound rattles around my head, making my skull feel like it’s about to split in two. One of the guys makes a thrusting motion toward her ass.
Fuck. No.
“If you want to fuck with the help, have at it, but could you do it a little quieter? Some of us are trying to sleep.”
The maid’s head lifts and I see the shimmer of white blonde hair, and the profile I know as well as my own. My eyes flick to Marielle’s, who gives me a knowing smile.
“Are you done with her?”
“Almost. I still see a few more shards.”
“Shards?” I ask.
“She broke a glass.”
I sniff the air and catch the tangy scent of blood. I push through the crowd and see Hildi’s hands—her fingers cut and bloody. She glances up at me. Her eyes are ice blue and her jaw tight and set.
“Seriously? You realize that my entire suite needs cleaning, and the last fucking thing I need is for her bloody fingerprints to ruin my satin sheets.” I bend down and grab Hildi by the collar, wrenching her off the floor.
She jerks up, fingers raw and bloody. I clench my jaw and glare at Marielle. “I suggest you figure out a way to clean up that blood.”
“It’s her job.”
Seething rage rattles inside of me.
“Her job is to clean up the messes we made. Not the messes you force on her. Godsdammed fools,” I mutter, spinning on my heel. I push Hildi toward my room, and she stumbles over her feet.
I grab her by the arm and drag her into my room.
“Go clean up. There’s a lot of work to be done.”
14