Fractured Fates (The Arrow Hart Academy #1)

by Hannah Haze

My aunt said a tracking gift like mine was rare. One that could keep me safe. I hope she’s right, because returning home like this is a big risk.

I try not to think about the new wounds I’ve added to my collection. It’s nothing I haven’t handled before – my skin a criss cross of scars, each a testament to another time I escaped.

I can see his face now, his eyes dark like the cloak he wears, long jet hair falling around his shoulders, his heavy brow drawn low, his square jaw locked with tension. The man in black. I’ve seen his picture often enough, and yet, that sense of familiarity swims through my mind a second time. Like I know him. Like we’ve met before.

Smug bastard. He may be known as the authorities’ number one enforcer; doesn’t mean he’s laying his hands on me this easily. “Yeah, we’ll see,” I say, and I kick out his legs from underneath him. His eyes widen with shock, and it would be frigging funny if I weren’t running for my life.

That hook in my stomach tugs at me again, like it wants to drag me as close to him as it can. Like it wants me to press my smaller body against his larger frame. The man is intriguing. What the hell kind of magic is this?

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says. I want to close my eyes and believe him. It would be nice to be safe. It would be nice if someone kept me safe. This past year has been so hard. I’m tired. Tired of running and hiding. Tired of fighting and scrapping. Tired of trying to stay alive. Tired of being alone.

She’s a scrawny thing with a mane of thick, dark hair and eyes the color of rich maple syrup. At first glance, she appeared younger than she was. Up close, I realized she was older. 19, 20, I guess. How the fuck did she get to 20 and not be registered?

It’s near impossible for newborn magicals to slip under the radar. Yet she’s been under the radar for two decades.

I can’t leave her out here for the fucking Wolves of Night or the Princes of Death to find. She thinks the authorities’ punishment for going unregistered would be severe? She has no fucking idea what those monsters would do.

And yeah, if I’m truthful, I’m itching for a fight. A chance to swing at these bastards. These bastards who want to abduct her, keep her chained in some lowlife’s basement to do their fucking bidding. Even if I’m outnumbered, I’m still keening for this altercation.

“They won’t let you keep a pig in Arrow Hart Academy.” I shrug. “I’m not leaving without him.” “Fine. But I have a condition myself.” “Okay. What is it?” “No bolting. You run away and leave me with the pig, I’ll be frying up some sausages.” I lift my forefinger to his face and point it at him like a gun. “You hurt my pig–” “You run away…” We glare at each other.

“Transport me? Jesus Christ! I’m not a crate of apples!” “No, they would be more cooperative.”

He’s another frigging giant and, although I’d guess he’s about an inch shorter than the man in black, he’s just as broad, a black t-shirt straining across his muscular chest and tattoos tracing down his strong arms. His hair is cut above his ears and a thick beard hides his square chin. Both are the color of willow bark, in contrast to his pale blue eyes.

I’ve read enough books to know that falling for your kidnapper is a huge and predictable cliché. I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to crush on the first man who comes crashing into my life. I’m not that pathetic. But I can see that promise is going to be hard to keep when he covers my hand with his and then strays down to squeeze my thigh.

“Why were you hiding out there in Shitsville, Rhianna?” Stone leans forward in his seat.

“It’s the way things have been done for the last fifty years, and it’s brought stability and peace to our country. Before this system, the world was chaotic.” My aunt taught me to never buy bullshit like that. If something sounds too good to be true, she said, it usually is.

He doesn’t do wrong and he also doesn’t do emotional attachment. It doesn’t go well with the job. But I’m beginning to suspect he’s making an exception here.

She’s never been anywhere but non-magical dead-end towns like the one we found her in and she takes in everything with wonder and awe. It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so abundantly clear how wet behind the ears the girl is. Wet and fucking innocent. How the hell did she survive as long as she did on her own?

“Don’t you see how unfair this is? Don’t you think I should have a say?” He works his jaw. “It’s the way of things. You lost your right to choose when you failed to register yourself.” I stare at him. We both know that wasn’t my choice.

Whatever. I’ve been running our smallholding alone for the last year. A few chores at some stuck up college will be child’s play in comparison. In fact, apart from the gut-wrenching social side of things, I’m expecting my life to be a lot easier at this flashy college than it ever was back home.

I can’t help squeezing my arms against my chest, thinking how painful that looks. But these girls don’t seem to feel any pain, in fact, despite the pace they’re running, they haven’t broken a sweat, all their perfectly made-up faces intact. It looks like someone just broke into the Playboy mansion and ordered all the bunnies out for a race.

I’m Summer Clutton-Brock and when I say jump, you say, how high?” “Why?” I ask her. My interactions with people my own age may have been limited but I’ve watched enough movies to suspect that this girl is used to the world falling at her feet. That’s not really my style.

What the fuck was that? I feel like I just endured five years of High School on speed setting.

“He won’t run away?” I chuckle. “Pip? Run away? Errr no.” I lean towards her and whisper in her ear. “He’s not that smart.”

“I’m not wearing that!” I say glaring at the tartan pleated skirt, thigh-high socks, white blouse, blazer and matching beret. It looks like someone typed in sexy school girl to the internet and had this delivered – although I have to admit the material and craftsmanship are obviously of a high quality.

“I don’t like the way it makes me feel. It’s eerie. It was used for something bad, wasn’t it?” He nods but doesn’t tell me what and for once I wish I could read his mind like he can read mine. “That takes skill, Blackwaters, and you clearly don’t have any.” “And yet you’ve dragged me into your office because you seem to believe I have some kind of ability.”

I don’t know who any of the men that terrorized us over the years were. I don’t know how many we escaped by luck and skill, and how many men my aunt killed to keep us safe. She kept all that hidden from me, so much on her shoulders. I owe her more than I ever realized. She was stronger than I ever understood. I don’t know if I can be like her. I thought I could. I thought I was. But one stupid boy locks me in a locker and I’m almost hyperventilating.

“Next time, stay in the locker where I put you, Pig Girl.” “No,” I tell him simply, wishing I had the strength to drag myself to my feet. “No way.” I’m my aunt’s niece. That’s all I need to remember.

“Then why the fuck did you come? Why the fuck did you come here?” To fuck up my life. To ruin everything. “It wasn’t my choice,” she says, and she’s clearly had enough of this conversation because this time she strides away and straight through the door of the bar. Unregistered! She was unregistered. I drag my hand down my face. My hand still stings from that shock.

“I’m bi. And you have a dirty mind. Is it because you are sexually frustrated? You should do something about that.” My mouth twitches as she frowns harder. “But not with the pig.” She snorts. “See? You’re even beginning to sound like him.” Her stern facade cracks for a second time and she laughs, sunshine momentarily flooding her features and making her caramel eyes dance. I stare at her, that tug straining in my stomach, my blood so hot it’s scorching. I grip the edge of the door. “Get out before I kiss you,” I snarl through my teeth. She stops laughing and looks at me. Her cheeks pinken.

That’s the problem. It could be any number of people. I’ve been here two weeks and I already seem to have built up an entire army of people who hate my guts.

But I realize, for all her preparation, for all her teaching, for all the times she kept me safe, she still failed me. I don’t know enough about this world and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

“Kiss me back,” he murmurs again, this time with more of a growl, half way between a plea and a command.

“Will I see you again?” I ask him. “No,” he says, eyes trained straight in front of him. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” And as I watch him sail away, I wonder how it is possible for my heart to feel so elated one moment and so fractured the next.