The Cursed

Chapter 4

BECKETT

I stormed through the dimly lit halls of the school, my boots echoing against the stone floor, my hands clenched into fists at my side. My mind was a storm of thoughts, each one louder and angrier than the last. 

"This is ridiculous," I said under my breath. "Prophecies and chosen ones... utter nonsense." 

I couldn't believe they'd all gotten caught up in this fairy tale. My jaw clenched, feeling a surge of frustration rise in my chest. I refused to be drawn into their delusions. As I turned a corner, I almost collided with Professor Eamon, who stepped out of his classroom. He was a tall man with graying hair and a serious expression, adjusting his spectacles as he gave me a sharp look. 

"Ah, Mr. Grimmore," He said, his voice carrying a hint of relief. "Just the person I was looking for." 

I halted, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. 

"What is it, Professor?" 

I tried to keep the irritation from my voice, but I wasn't in the mood for more surprises today. 

"I need your help," Professor Eamon said, his tone almost pleading. "There's a new student, and she's having difficulty with her elemental powers."

My stomach dropped, and I immediately knew which girl the professor was talking about. My expression hardened. 

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't think I'm the guy." 

Professor frowned, a hint of desperation flickering in his eyes. 

"You are my best fire elemental student. She's unaware of how to unlock her powers, and I believe she would have an easier time working with a peer rather than a teacher." He stepped closer, his expression earnest. "You've always had a gift, far beyond your peers, and this girl, Cassandra, needs your help." 

Cassandra. I felt a strange sensation in my chest at the sound of her name, but I shoved it down, forcing it away. 

"I really don't think–" 

"I'm asking you for a personal favor," he interrupted. "I wouldn't come to you if it weren't important." 

I sighed, knowing I'm stuck. I could feel his expectant gaze on me, and I didn't have the energy to argue any further. 

"Fine," I said, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "I'll help her, but don't expect miracles." 

Professor Eamon's face lit up with relief. 

"Thank you, Beckett." He said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "I'll ask Cassandra to meet you in my classroom tomorrow morning."

I nodded, already regretting my decision as I watched the professor walk away. I stood there, alone in the hallway, the dim light flickering from the sconces casting long shadows across the stone walls. 

Her name is Cassandra.

It was strange to think that this girl, this supposed chosen one, was real and somewhere in the school this very moment. I pushed the thought away, refusing to let it take root, not letting myself get caught up in the drama and fallacy of it all. With a heavy sigh, I turned and walked again. I'd help her because I have to. But that was all. I would not let myself believe in fairytales. Not now. Never. 

I sat in the corner of the common room, my chair angled just right to avoid the glare from the windows, my book open on my lap. I tried to concentrate on the words, but my words kept drifting back to earlier - back to the prophecy, and her. The fire crackled in the hearth nearby. The murmur of students filled the surrounding space, but it all felt muffled, like I was underwater. 

I turned another page, even though I wasn't reading. Things I didn't want to think about filled my mind. Things I didn't want to feel. A shadow fell over my book, and I looked up to see Ophelia, arms cross, an expectant look on her face. 

"I've been looking for you." She said, her voice cutting through my haze of thoughts. 

I didn't look up again, my gaze fixed on the page. 

"I'm where I always am."

She didn't leave. Instead, she sat down across from me, her eyes locked on mine. 

"Sebastian is looking for Cassandra." 

I shrugged, keeping my face impassive. 

"Good for him." 

She sighed in frustration. 

"We spoke to the headmistress," she said. "She confirmed it, Beckett. Cassandra is the girl." 

The sound of her words sent a jolt of anger through me. My jaw clenched, and before I could stop myself, I slammed my book with a loud thud, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. 

"Then she's just as delusional as the rest of you." 

She searched my face, looking for some crack in my defenses, but there were none. 

"Why are you fighting this?" She asked. "I thought you'd be overjoyed-" 

I stood, my chair scraping against the stone floor. My glare must have been sharp enough to cut glass. 

"You thought wrong." 

I didn't wait for her to respond, storming off. By the time I reached my dorm room, my hands were trembling with anger. I shoved the door open, only to stop dead in my tracks. Layla was on my bed, a playful, flirty grin on her lips as she propped herself up on one elbow. 

"How did you get in here?" 

Her grin widened, and she waved a hand dismissively.

"That's not important," she purred, sliding off the bed and sauntering over to me with a teasing glint in her dark onyx eyes. "What's important is how you're going to punish me for it." 

"I'm not in the mood, Layla." 

Undeterred, she stepped closer, her fingers reaching out to toy with the pendant hanging around my neck. Her plump lips raised in a smirk. 

"Oh, come on," she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "I can fix that grumpy mood of yours." 

I sighed, but the tension in my shoulders loosened. Her lips brushed against mine, warm and soft, and I felt a flicker of something that wasn't anger, something that was easier to deal with. I let out a growl of frustration but gave in, my mouth crashing against hers in a fierce, hungry kiss. 

She moaned against my lips as I pushed her back toward the bed, my hands sliding over her hips, my body moving with desperate urgency. All the noise in my head quieted, replaced by the simple, tangible reality of her touch. The perfect distraction. I straddled her, pulling her closer, needing to lose myself in something, anything, that wasn't thoughts of prophecies or girls of strange, familiar names. My mouth moved down her neck, and she gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair. For now, I didn't have to think. I could just forget.