Valkyrie's Claim (Academy of Immortals 2)

“Thanks, but no.”

He frowns, marring his boyishly handsome face. “Why not?”

“This is between me and her.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, no, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.” I push up on my toes and brush my lips across his. “I’ll see you in training tomorrow.”

His hand catches mine. “You don’t have to face all of this alone, you know that, right?”

“I’m not facing it alone.” I rest my hand on his hip. “What we just did? That energizes me. It gives me strength to get through another day. The bond is real, Rupert, I can feel it.”

He nods. “I can, too.”

“You do your work. I’ll do mine.” He kisses me again, deeper than the time before. A flicker of warmth runs through me. “Hey, speaking of work, did you ever get a chance to decipher that book Agis found in Christensen’s office?”

“Book?” he asks, glancing at a massive stack on his desk. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Be careful, okay?”

He smooths out my hair and kisses my forehead. With that burst of energy coursing through me, I pick up the bucket and head out the door, feeling more prepared to face what’s coming at me than ever before.

The last time I saw the arena, the grass had been green.

Tonight?

It’s red.

There wasn’t a challenge tonight—there was a massacre. And the only thing left is the blood of the victims.

“They’re not dead,” I remind myself. The challenges are illusions. Tests.

I bend and touch the wet grass, lifting my fingers to my nose.

The challenges may be fake, but the blood real.

I gag, holding back the bile. I’d just have to clean that up, too.

There’s no one else on the field—just me and this small bucket and a single brush. A faucet with water sits at the edge of the grass. For a fleeting moment I almost go back and get Rupert. Armin. Miya. Agis.

Even Marshal’s snarky asides would be of comfort, but like I told Rupert, this is about me and Victorine. She wants to break me, and if she wants to break me, that means she’s afraid of me.

Why?

I’m not sure.

I drop to my knees and start scrubbing.

And scrubbing.

And scrubbing.

I don’t know how long I’m there, but at some point, the bucket and brush are taken from me and I’m led back to the dorms. By who? I don’t know. All I see is blood.

My fingers are raw. My knees bruised. My mind numb.