Ravage Lacey Andersen (great reads txt) 📖

all but the Iron Fae, but especially the dark fae. All of this screamed of a man who knew exactly what I am and was determined to prove it. I just hoped that I was wrong.

“I’ll need a volunteer.”

Bron’s hand goes up slowly beside me, and when I look in his direction, his gaze is on me, not the professor. Does he know that the bastard was going to call on me? I hoped not. I hated the idea that Bron might be trying to protect me.

“Alright, Lord Drake, come up.”

Bron slides out of his desk, and I notice way too many female eyes following him as he makes his way to the front. Despite myself, I glance down at his tight ass and then take too long to tear my gaze away. Bron’s just one of those guys who has an ass you want to take a bite out of, or to lick your way down his thigh. That was all this feeling was.

The problem was that he damned well knew it, along with every other woman here. Which was fucking irritating. No one should be as good looking as he is and know it.

At the front of the room, the professor has Bron sit in a seat facing the class. Then he goes to one of the cabinets and puts on a pair of gloves. He mutters a spell in front of the doors, and the cabinet opens on its own. Which is interesting in itself. A witch spell at a fae academy? I guess they really didn’t want the students to get into the contents of that cabinet.

He reaches inside and pulls out something, but instantly I feel my skin start to tingle. Even if today’s lesson wasn’t on iron, I’d know that was what he held. What I didn’t know is how sensitive the light fae were to it in the room. It was their weakness too, but how much did it affect them?

Professor Ericson turns around. In his gloved hands he holds a large iron cross, about the size of his palm. “This is made of iron. How many of you can feel it from where you sit?”

I keep my hand down but notice that only Bron and the first row of students raise their hands. Interesting.

“Iron is one of only a handful of things known to the fae that are capable of killing our kind. There are many theories as to why. Some people believe it’s because the fae came long before the use of iron in battle. Others believe it’s because the fae come from a realm outside of earth, although that’s never been proven.

“Now, Lord Drake, can you hold the cross?”

I almost stand but force myself to remain still. The smell of the iron has begun to permeate the air. The intense metallic tang assaults my senses until I feel as if I’m licking the damn stuff. And the tingle on my skin, it’s uncomfortable, like ants moving across my flesh. But Bron was going to hold the thing? Hell. I wanted to stop him, but clenched my teeth together to remain silent as he took the thing from the professor.

In my head, I started to count the seconds that ticked by, all the while holding my breath. I was pissed at Bron. He and Lucian and Dwade were supposed to be my friends, but then they went to the academy and forgot all about me. And then there was my brother’s death, which they didn’t seem to give a shit about. So why the hell did it feel like I was the one holding that iron? Why the hell did I want to tear the professor's heart from his chest?

“Twenty seconds. Very good, Lord Drake,” Professor Ericson says, then takes it back. “Now, show your palms to the class.”

He lifts his hands, and I let out the breath I was holding as I stare at the pink mark in the shape of the cross burned into his hand. I had no doubt that the spot would be tender for a couple of hours, but I was relieved there wasn’t more damage.

“You may take your seat,” the professor says.

Bron stands and heads back toward me, and I look away from his searching gaze. Maybe I cared about him. Even if I did want to punch him in the nuts. But I wasn’t about to let him know that.

As Bron sits beside me, the professor calls my name.

Bron and I both tense.

“Yes?” I ask, raising a brow.

“Your turn.”

Every head in the class swivels to look back at me, and I silently curse. If I refuse to do this, the professor may use it to prove that I’m a dark fae. Then I’ll be kicked out of the academy so fast I’ll never get the chance to find out who was responsible for my brother’s death.

So I stand, and I see surprise in several people’s faces.

“You don’t have to do this,” I hear Bron whisper.

I ignore him and head for the front of the class, but I don’t sit down. Instead, I stare at the professor, daring him to act against me. Daring him to see what happens when you anger a dark fae.

“Here,” he says, stretching the cross out before me.

For a second I want to recoil. The tingling on my skin has turned into a burning, and the sight of the iron makes me want to turn and run. And there’s the scent in the air, the crushing scent of metal that hums all around me.

Swallowing, I reach out and take it, pressing the metal between my hands to conceal the damage to the students. Instantly, I feel my skin begin to sizzle. I clench my teeth together and hold the professor’s gaze as he oh so slowly counts to thirty. My legs begin to shake. My vision grows cloudy and my head grows light, but I picture my brother in my mind, and the pain of my body fades away.

I’m a