Of Life and Death: [A Dark Academia Paranormal Romance]

Chapter 18

Our first period's Calculus. All around me, students drag their feet as they settle in, faces worn.

When a tingle rushes down my spine, I look up to see Emmaline making her way in. She's the only one who seems alert.

Too alert, it looks like. She's jumpier than usual and there are shadows beneath her eyes. Through the rush of students, she makes her way to her designated seat, bumping into a boy in the process. He draws back, pissed, and lashes words I can't hear at her.

She doesn't seem to hear him, sparing him a glance before her elbow shoots out, knocking him out of the way.

Reluctant amusement rises. When she sits, I find myself unable to look away, dimly aware I'm burning holes into the back of her head. What is she doing here?

Why won't she leave?

"Hey."

I look up to see Sabrina offer me a shy smile.

Long forgotten muscles pull and contract, working to produce a smile. "Hey."

She doesn't remark on the ugly baring of teeth, instead sliding into the seat next to me. Her cheeks colour and she doesn't meet my gaze, playing with her fingers.

She wants to say something.

I remain quiet, counting down seconds.

At forty, I find myself tamping down irritation.

While uncomfortable silence is something I like to subject people to, it isn't something I have the patience for.

As if aware of my thoughts, she points at the red handkerchief peeking out of my blazer pocket. "I see it's a different colour today."

My hand goes to cover my glaring vulnerability on instinct, but I catch myself. "Nice of you to notice," I say. When her smile falls, I realize my voice had been sharp. I beat myself over the head for being an ass. "I just...love handkerchiefs," I say.

She snorts and her eyes widen at the unladylike sound. I want to tell her it's fine. She doesn't always have to be the perfect picture of royalty, she can snort, guffaw, cuss, heck, even barf in my face.

"That's...awesome. I-I was wondering if you wanted to... Meet after school?"

My gut twists. God. I am shit at being a boyfriend.

I feel eyes on me. Turning, I catch Emmaline's gaze. She looks from me to Sabrina, her brows lifting slightly before turning away.

My gaze returns to Sabrina. "Of course. We could go to gingham block this evening. How's that?"

Her face brightens. "Yes. Yes, I'd love that."

Her twin, Savin, comes in with the rest. They take their usual spots around me. Cal reaches over and slaps my back. "The coach wants you back. We've got some new students he wants you to train."

I say nothing.

Classes drag on for what seems like an eternity. It's hard to listen. From time to time I look her way. She stares ahead in silence, back straight.

The bell rings and a collective sigh is heard. Students rush out. Emma remains seated.

"Aren't you coming?" Sabrina asks me.

The others look my way, waiting for an answer.

"I want to do some homework," I say plainly.

Doubt slips across their faces.

"Homework?" Savin bats her lashes at me, leaning across to take a peek into my notes--effectively pushing her breasts into my face. "But we weren't given any."

I look everywhere but at her glands. Does Sabrina know her sister's actions are suggestive? Even if she knew I'm sure she'd keep it to herself for fear of offending someone. I lean forward, causing Savin to either straighten or topple over my desk. She makes the right choice.

With a shriek she bangs her elbow going down.

Instantly Sabrina rushes to her side, frightened. She murmurs incoherent words, wheezing with the effort it takes to throw her twin's weight over her shoulder. Rising, she limps out of the class with her. Savin's loud bawling gradually fades.

Now left with the guys, Cal gives me a long look before slapping my shoulder again. "Alright. Come on," he tells the rest. "Malkar's got some serious booze at the bar today."

They follow after him, leaving I and Emmaline alone.

Silence reigns.

I cross my arms, waiting.

Her feet bounces up and down almost frantically. I see her fingers drum once before she rises.

"And where do you think you're going?"

She swerves around as if only realizing I'm in the class with her--like she doesn't have a load on her chest she wants to drop at my feet. "You know what you are now," I say, kicking out a chair. I motion for her to come sit. 

She approaches me immediately. Sitting, she dumps her bag on the ground beside her. "A death bringer," she whispers harshly. "I-I bring f*cking death to people."

It registers that she's distressed. “I've heard worse. If you ask me, being called death bringer trumps being called dick trap.” It hits me then. I’m being nice. I don't go out of my way to be nice. I don't go out of my way to alleviate suffering in general.

There is a distant look in her eyes that tells me she didn't hear one thing I said, just like the first time we met. Something strikes me. "I don't think we've properly introduced ourselves." I stretch out a hand. "Rylan Ryder. Dragon. House Malkar."

She reaches out to take my hand but snatches her arm back last minute. “What if I hurt you?”

“You weren’t taught to control your powers?”

“Um, no. My mum's human and my dad… He isn’t with us anymore."

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Didn’t really…know him.” A sad scoff. “At least I know what he is. A death bringer, like me. I wonder if my eyes would turn teal like his."

My brows furrow. “Teal?”

“Yes. He had teal eyes. Not normally, just when he's in his death form, I guess. Saw it in a picture I found in my basement. Long story."

“Emmaline," I say carefully. "Death bringers don’t have teal eyes. They don’t have any colour at all. Your dad must have been a sphinxe." Realization dawns. "This completes the prophecy. Born of water and fire. Your mother must be a death bringer.”

A hint of panic lights her gaze. “My mother can't be a death bringer." She laughs, it's almost unhinged. "Trust me, if she was one, I'll know. It slips up one way or another, right? There's no way you can hide an integral part of you for, what, eighteen years? Something's bound to show. It's either you got it wrong or she's--"

The silence that follows is almost punishing.

“Or she’s not your real mother,” I say quietly.

Her eyes harden. “Or maybe you’re just full of shit.” With a withering glare, she shoots out of her chair.

“Emmaline.”

But she’s already gone.