Valkyrie's Claim (Academy of Immortals 2)

“Are you planning on standing out here all night?” he asks, not taking the hint that I’d love for him to go away.

“No,” I snap.

That’s enough to propel me inside, where I’m met with an opulent, ridiculous scene. Velvet-covered couches, leather arm chairs. A massive chandelier with black red jewels hangs in the center of the room. There’s a bar on one end, complete with bartender. Girls of all ages dance on the chairs, the counter tops, even a shiny, wooden dining room table.

“Gods this is garish,” Luke says, in a tone that implies he’s above it all.

I snort. “Really? You’re not into half-naked girls dancing on table tops?”

“One girl maybe,” he drags his eyes down my body. “But you don’t look the type to dance for just anyone.”

“You’re such a pervert.”

“Noted.” A waiter walks by holding a tray full of drinks. Luke grabs two and hands one to me. He holds his up in a toast. “To our truce.”

“It’s still on? You’re not swayed by Headmaster Roland and his desire to kick off the apocalypse?”

“I made a promise, and I stand by it.” He clinks his glass with mine and tips it back. “I’m also still pissed at my father, who clearly sent me here to die. I always knew he loathed the fact I’m a half-breed. This proves it.”

“Maybe he thought you’d win.”

Another tray passes. This one is filled with tiny chocolate cakes. Again, he takes two, handing me one.

“Against those monsters? I’m not a bad fighter. I’ve been training since I could walk. And it’s not just isolated workouts. I’m a hunted breed. My father’s existence put a target on my back. I’ve had to defend myself more times than I’d like to admit. But those things…” he shudders, “with their teeth and the wings and gods, how many eyes? I’m not here to expand my father’s realm. I’m here to have a little fun, learn to kick some ass, and hopefully nail a few goddesses.” He pops the cake into his mouth and licks his long, thin fingers. “There’s plenty of time for the apocalypse, Valkyrie. I’m not in a rush.”

“I didn’t know you had so much self-control.”

“Patience is a virtue. We don’t have those in hell, but I can see how it can be an asset.” He eyes Marielle across the room. She’s in a skin-tight, black, lace dress. “That’s the one you need to worry about. She’s a whore fo

r power.”

Right on cue, Marielle slinks across the room toward Marshal. He’s stopped mingling and has positioned himself on a black velvet chair, reminiscent of a throne. The ego on this one.

He assesses Marielle as she walks over, accepting a kiss on the cheek. Marielle smiles, genuinely. She’s had a thing for Marshal all along and was jealous of our relationship. I guess not anymore. Unfortunately, no one told my body that me and Marshal are enemies. My body thrums, even from a distance. But whatever sordid, secretive, warriors-with-benefits thing we had is over for good. I may not have the highest moral standards, but I’m not sleeping with a traitor.

“So it’s true, he’s working with the Headmaster.”

A pang echoes in my chest. Still hurts. “Yep.”

“I always knew he was an asshole, but I didn’t realize he’s also a traitor.”

I watch as Marshal’s hand creeps up Marielle’s leg. His green eyes meet mine, and his lips twist into a smug grin. There’s no doubt he’s doing this to piss me off. It works, and I reach for another drink.

“Looks like Marielle finally got what she wanted,” I say. I’m definitely not going to boost his ego watching him flirt with another girl. Turning away, I see Rupert awkwardly sitting on a small chair. His chin-length reddish hair is tied behind his neck in a small ponytail. His skin is alabaster. An air of superiority wafts off of him, despite his discomfort. No one would guess he is a deadly, strategic prince.

“What’s the deal with that one?” Luke asks, following my gaze.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” We may have a truce, but I don’t trust the Nephilim at all. Not when it comes to my boys.

I abandon him and walk toward Rupert.

“Did you really kill him?” a voice asks, tickling my brain. I spin and see a boy with a flat nose and creamy brown skin. His eyes are glued to my ass, and there’s no doubt he’s talking about Headmaster Gardner.

I cross my arms over my chest. All that does is draw his eyes from by ass to my tits. He licks his lips. “Maybe. Who are you?”

“I’m Darius.”

“Hildi Axel—”