Shadows Of The Night

Chapter 3

~~~Who am I? I like to play around with boys and no one can even think of slut shaming me. Because, I'm the princess, b*tch~~~

With that, he walked off to the back of the courtyard, partially submerged in darkness as he waited for the headmaster's clockwork-rehearsed speech to end.

Though Luther couldn't help but observe the different students around him. There were supernatural and humans. The humans were rich bratty kids sent away from their homes to finish their studies in a remote area, where the parents didn't have to deal with them spending all their money on nothing good. The supernatural on the other hand was split into cliques. The wolves, the witches, the vampires, the fae, and the non-clique.

The witches were in charge now. Marisol Cardea is the reigning Queen of Stallon Pride Academy on all fronts and Luther's worst enemy. He hated how she pranced around the Academy like she owned everyone. Sleeping around with any and every guy who caught her eye, regardless, of whether they had a girlfriend or not.

"Your staring, I mean glaring," his friend, Beau said, sitting down beside him.

"I don't care," he replied his eyes still glued to the sapphire-eyed, dark hair princess surrounded by a group of her lackeys. Beau sighed; she knew better.

"What was that for," Luther suddenly asked defensively as he turned to her. Beau paused with wide eyes caught off guard. She shook her head slowly, her dark curls swaying slightly. It hid her face from his view as she stared at her shoes. Luther gently moved her hair so that he could see her properly.

"Talk to me, you have something on your mind," he prodded. She glanced at him leaning her head back, giving him a perfect view of her bright brown eyes, small nose, round lips, and smooth dark skin. She stared at him with mischief in her eyes.

"What," he said, chuckling somewhat nervously.

"I'm not going to tell you just yet," she said cryptically.

"Two can play that game," he said playfully, already feeling at ease.

A comfortable silence fell between the two as Beau turned her attention to the fragile-looking man seated in a wheelchair on a high-rise podium. His voice was grave and slow causing him to sound as if he was counting his words. His features were that of an elder man despite his actual age of 47. Success had a grave price in his case, considering that the man was one of the richest people in the world, which is obvious by the state and design of his prestigious academy.

"Are you going to the party tonight," Luther asked, gaining Beau's attention as Mr. Morello paused for a water break. She hummed in response.

"I don't have a choice."

"Good," Luther found himself replying with a smile. He had known Beau for a while now and though they didn't start as friends, he unwittingly found himself anticipating her presence. She gave him a sense of calm, the eye of all his troubles. She may even have become his Achilles heel.

Soon the speech was over, classes consumed the day with only a 30-minute break and lunch. If it was one thing that Mr. Morello was strict about it was academics. Classes would start at 8 and end at 2 or 2:30, with only an hour of each day to rest. The following two hours would be spent on extracurricular activities, where there was a bonus system of sorts. Each student had the opportunity to represent their school in the decennial tournament of truth. It was a big deal at the academy, the winning prize was a summer vacation on Mr. Morello's private island.

Though Luther wasn't interested in these things and spent his time, hiding out at his favorite spot by a rose tree at the very back of the academy. There he sat alone and reminisce on the good times he had with his family. And when the pain of knowing that they were gone, got too much he would leave by then darkness would have fallen over the academy.