Wow, where does he hide those while in the door?
“Yes, Sir Kristoff?” Kolstov prompted, arching a brow.
“A Sangré Blood is at the door for you, sir,” the gargoyle replied, bowing low before whirling around to return to the foyer.
“Ah, Chern must have sent us a party gift.” He dabbed his lips with a napkin, then excused himself. “Be back in a few minutes.”
“Party gift?” I repeated, glancing at Zephyrus. “And what’s a Sangré Blood?”
“One of the Midnight Fae bloodlines.” He sipped from a glass of red liquid that was either wine or fresh from a human’s veins. I didn’t ask. Considering my glass contained water, I suspected it was the latter. “There are five active houses of our kind: Death, Elite, Sangré, Warrior, and Malefic. I’m a Warrior Blood. Kolstov is an Elite Blood. Shade, your betrothed, is a Death Blood.”
“Betrothed,” I muttered, hating that word. “Soon-to-be-dead betrothed.”
If Zephyrus heard me, he didn’t acknowledge my comment. “Each line has an affinity for different types of dark magic. It’s similar to your elemental assignments, except ours is defined in the blood more than in our souls. As your bond with Shade settles, you’ll likely join his line. But your Royal Fae essence may contradict it.”
“That’s why the Council wants her to take courses under all the houses,” Kolstov said as he returned. Rather than reclaim his seat, he moved to stand behind mine. “Lift your hair for me, gorgeo
us.”
The request sent a chill down my spine, my hands locking around my knife and fork. “Why?”
He combed his fingers through my dark strands and bent to press his lips to my ear. “Because I need access to your throat.”
I jolted, the silverware crashing against my plate as I covered the pulse points beneath my neck. If he thought to bite me, then he had another think coming. “No!”
His hands landed on my shoulders before I could even jump out of my chair. “Chill, Aflora. I just want to put a necklace on you.”
“A necklace?” I repeated, trying to glance back at him. His hold kept me in place.
“It’s necessary.”
“That doesn’t tell me—”
“The Council needs to temper your elemental abilities to ensure the safety of the students,” Zephyrus explained in a bored tone. “The choker will keep you under control.” He glanced up at Kolstov. “Now, was that so difficult an explanation?”
Temper my abilities?
Leather wrapped around my neck before I could voice the question out loud, Kolstov already moving my hair out of the way.
I tried to shift out of his grip, to stop him from sealing the brace around my throat, but it snapped into place with a zing that pierced my soul.
My hands flew up to tug at the choker, to find the clasp and unfasten it. Only, it was solid all the way around, sealed by magic.
“Remove it,” I demanded, my spirit whimpering inside at having been cut off from my source yet again. “Remove it now.”
Kolstov settled into the chair at the head of the table, his sigh long and loud. “It’s necessary, Aflora. We can’t risk you disturbing the balance or creating another burning thwomp where you shouldn’t.” He looked pointedly at the ashes still littering his living room floor. “This will also help us observe your dark-magic growth. Zeph is going to take you shopping tomorrow for a wand and other essentials.”
“Yes, because apparently it’s my job to play babysitter,” the headmaster retorted. “If the Council is so concerned for her safety, perhaps forcing her to attend the Academy wasn’t the brightest move.”
Tears stung my eyes.
Protection was the least of my concerns considering they’d just wrapped a shackle around my neck to control my abilities.
It suffocated my ability to think, to continue listening to their maddening conversation. All I wanted—no, needed—was to rip this offending collar from my throat.
But it wouldn’t budge no matter which way I pulled or yanked.
“Why are you even still here?” Zephyrus’s harsh tone drew me from my turmoil, lifting my focus back to the two bickering males.