Primalcraft: Crimes of the Father (Book 3)

Chapter 2

(The above pucture is of Denesha Pinder, Blake's new teacher. Enjoy the story!)

Knocking on the door, Blake opened it when Elliott called for him. Looking around the principal's office, Blake's smile faded as he spotted two people. One he really did want to see. Ronan stood by the desk, leaning against it with his huge muscular arms crossed over his wide chest. He still looked rough, and no smile but his brown eyes were gentle.

Not knowing how to react to the man, Blake's eyes turned to the woman in the coach, drinking tea while grimacing. She had beautiful ebony skin and long, curly hair that flowed over her bare shoulders. The woman looked to be in her late twenties, dressing gracefully and movement smooth. Her full lips were pouted in an expression of distaste as she put down the tea and turned her dark eyes towards Blake.

Giving him a smile as her eyes inspected him, "Well, Mudda Sic! You Ain't Gat much color on ya. Yinna spent some time in the sun more, it's healthy. I's Denesha Pinder."

Blake stared at the woman who had gotten up speaking with an accent so thick that he barely heard a word of it. To him, it sounded Jamaican though.

Ronan rolled his eyes. "Auntie Dee, you are doing that on purpose."

Chuckling the woman snapped her fingers, bringing Blake out of his stupor. "It is always funny seeing white people when they hear Bahamian in its full glory. They look somewhere between dumbstruck and panic."

"I'm sorry," Blake said, blushing as he realized how he must have looked.

"No worries, you sound funny to me too," the woman chuckled. "My name is Denesha, more known by my students as auntie Dee."

"Ronan is your student?"

"No, he comes from the old world where shifters and magic are separated. In the new world, no such restriction exists. When my sister, Ronan's mother, fell in love with a grumpy, pale ass brit she moved from the warm islands of Bahamas to- " Denesha looked around with an apparent shudder, "this grey place. No wonder your food taste like ash. It must be hard to find anything inspiring you to do actual cooking here."

Listening Blake frowned, looking over at Ronan. He had a darker complexion, but he just looked tanned so Blake had not assumed that he was half Bahamian. Ronan, seemingly noticing his glance, said, "I look like my father."

"Not quite, you have your mother's eyes," Denesha said, walking over to Blake. Turning him around muttering in her thick Bahamian accent again. Touching his white hair, Denesha frowned. "I sense dark magic on him, his skin complexion is so pale. South African?"

"No," Ronan said briskly.

"No? Then is he from the northern parts of Africa. I heard they have plenty of mixed blood there."

"No," Elliott said.

"Then where is he from?"

"A small village here in Britain," Elliott answered, each question makes Blake increasingly more confused.

"Then is he of African descend?"

"Does he look like he is?" asked Ronan, being answered by a slap over the head.

"Don't speak with such disrespect to me, boy," Denesha said, raising a threatening hand again when he wanted to argue. "He must have some African blood in him if he wasn't born on the continent."

"Why?" Blake finally asked, grabbing onto Coney who jumped past him. The little rabbit didn't struggle and just allowed Blake to cuddle him, most likely noticing Blake's nervousness.

"Because of your abilities, they can only be received by someone born in Africa or with the blood of someone who was," Denesha said simply before turning to Elliott, who raised his hand stopping her questions.