Storm of Shadows (The Firestone Academy, #1)

by Hannah Haze

Young adults – that’s what they call us when we hit twenty-one and that’s why we’re all lined up waiting for the train that’s going to whisk us away to the Firestone Academy.

The pull of the tavern has always been more alluring than the pull of his only daughter. Only remaining daughter.

Just like them, I’ll endure a year of hell at the academy – tested, assessed, probed to the extreme. Only for them to find out just how ordinary we all are and send us straight back to Slate Quarter.

Granite Quarter with all the nerds and scholars, definitely won’t be going to Onyx Quarter with the shadow weavers, but he has a good chance of Iron Quarter with all the other jocks and soldiers.

Everything about him screams strength – from the way his shirt tugs across his muscular chest, to his square jaw and sharp cheekbones. He looks like he could crush me with his bare hands. Even his eyes are intimidating – an unusually pale color I can’t make out over the distance, that contrast – startling so – with his dark brows and the dark hair that hangs to his shoulders.

“Today you become students of the Firestone Academy. Today you join the thousands of others before you in undergoing the year-long learnings and trials that will determine your future.”

You all have your place in ensuring the safety of its people and our collective prosperity. Whether that be by providing the food from Slate Quarter needed to feed our realm, or inventing new technology in Granite Technology to aid our fighters. Whether you will become a foot soldier from Iron Quarter supporting our more elite fighters or you are a shadow weaver protecting our realm with your magic.”

“How did you get that?” he asks, his voice less playful than before. “Wh-wh-what?” I say, unable to help but peer back up at him. “The black eye,” he snarls, “the cut on your cheek.”

“Who did this to you?” he asks.

“Fine,” he says. “I’m going to find out anyway. Your name and the name of the piece of shit that did this to you.”

Light has never been something that can be summoned at the flick of a switch. Fuck the shadow weavers – this is magic. Invented by some clever nerd in Granite Quarter. And yet it’s those damn shadow weavers who earn all the privilege, all the praise and all the riches. Just because they were lucky enough to be born with magic in their veins.

I don’t care what I’ve been told. I’ve never believed it, and in this moment, I believe it even less so. Because I see it clear as day – in their eyes, in their attitude, in the way they glare at us. It was no accident. Whatever they did to her was deliberate. And I will discover the truth.

“I was hoping we’d choose someone more … like her!” I say, staring straight at a stunning brunette who’s making eyes at me, blushing when I wink at her. She’s easily the most beautiful girl out here with a butt I want to slap and a chest I want to bury my face into. “No, it has to be her,” Beaufort says, eyes lingering on the scrawny girl.

Only the elite among the shadow weavers are awarded the privilege of picking a thrall to serve them during their time at the academy. And now it seems Beaufort wants to throw that gift away.

“Can we at least give it some thought? I mean, it doesn’t look like she’ll last a week at the academy.” I scoff. “It doesn’t look like she’d last a night in my company.” Which gives me an idea. Maybe I’m best playing along. She’ll be gone in a matter of days. Then we can choose someone better. Or maybe I should trust my best friend. If he says it has to be her, then there is a reason for it. There always is. “She’ll outlast us all,” he says cryptically in that way that really pisses me off.

“Seriously,” Ashleigh Pickford whispers beside me, “you’re picking her as your thrall? You could have anyone you want.” “Yeah,” I say, peering back towards the girl whose name I don’t even know. “But we’ve chosen her.”

The most distinguished and talented among you will be given the privilege of choosing a thrall from among the other students – someone who will serve and aid you during your time at the academy – just as the squire did his shadow weaver master. It is another way in which we, as shadow weavers, can demonstrate to the others how much more superior we are than them. How their role in our society is to serve and please us – while ours is to protect them from the darkness.”

“You understand why it has to be her.” I nod. “You could look happier about it. Dray’s been chewing off my ear.” I raise my gaze to meet his. “Why would I be happy about it?”

“No one will touch her,” Beaufort says lowly. “Not if she’s ours.” Ours. Why do I like the idea of that so much? Because it is a problem. It’s not good to want anything. It’s even worse to desire it.

This pretty little thing belongs to us. I’ve never owned anything so pretty. So delicate. So fragile. It makes me want to touch her. To destroy her. Nothing so beautiful deserves to exist in a world like ours.

If you’re a thrall, no one else at the academy can touch you. You’re safe.” “Siblings?” I ask. “That shadow weaver has brothers and sisters here?” “Two brothers. But not regular brothers – not brothers by blood. Brothers by bond. Shadow weavers who are bound to each other by the forces of fate for the entirety of their lives.”

“Please tell me you know about bonds.” I hesitate, then shake my head. “I mean, I don’t understand it exactly. I’m not a shadow weaver, myself.” He draws his hand down his body. “Obviously. But from what I understand, it’s when individuals find their other parts.” “Other parts?” “Like a soul mate I guess. Although, it’s not necessarily romantic,” he muses, “or sexual. Although I’m gathering sometimes it can be that way.” “But what does it mean?” “It means they’re linked together for life. Their magic becomes bound together.”

He’s as tall and broad as Beaufort, but where Beaufort’s skin is fair, the other man’s is dark. His hair, shorn brutally short, is jet black and his eyes are just as dark.

A white mop of long locks sprawls from his head and a wild smile stretches across his face. His teeth sparkle white and perfectly straight and there are actual dimples in his cheeks. However, his baby-faced appearance ends there. Tattoos crawl out from under his shirt and twist up his neck, in ominous patterns. A heavy silver chain hangs around his neck.

When his eyes land on me, he doesn’t scowl like his friend did, instead his smile stretches even wider and he winks at me. It’s so damn flirtatious my cheeks burn even hotter.

“That really is pretty pornographic, you know,” Fly says, eyes flicking towards me. “If you’re trying to seduce me it isn’t going to work. Firstly, because I don’t want to have my skull smashed in by the Princes.” I scoff at that. “And secondly, you’re not my type, Cupcake.” “What is your type?” I ask out of curiosity. “Hmmm, I’m not really that fussed, just as long as he’s smart, handsome, built like a brick house and has a large–” “I get the picture.”

No, none of the women here pique my interest. Not in the way the Slate girl does. The Slate girl who failed to turn up at our room as I commanded.

“I’m even more interested because she didn’t turn up,” I growl. “Yeah,” Dray says, eyes twinkling, “me too.” “So, what the hell is her name?” “Briony,” Dray says, “Briony Storm.”

He’s huge, although his well-built frame is contained within a well-cut suit, a dark cloak hanging from his shoulders. His face is chiseled, his nose aquiline and his thick dark hair swept back from his face.

Ahhhh!!!!!! Yes, another guy to the harem, hopefully 🙏

He is like an image of a man I once knew – but the details are slightly different – his figure more muscular, his cheeks no longer hollow, his brow heavier, his clothes more refined and his eyes – the eyes are completely different … and yet he looks so much like him.

Huh?

Fox Tudor was a golden boy back in Slate Quarter – the golden boy. Good looking, clever, athletic and charming. The full works. Everyone said he was destined for great things, so when he didn’t return home from the academy, nobody was surprised.

“Just because they grew up somewhere special, just because they can do a few magic tricks, just because they’re quite pretty to look at, they think they can stroll around with sticks up their asses treating everyone else like dirt and acting like giant assholes and obnoxious dicks.” Fly lifts his eyebrows at me and glances over my head. “What?” I say, irritated that my new friend doesn’t seem to agree with me. “They are and I’d rather eat pig shit than have anything to do with them.”

“Assholes and dicks are we?” he snarls right at me. “Pretty ones,” Fly points out. “Is that why you didn’t come to our rooms as you were asked?”

I know what I saw in that flash of a vision – streaking past my eyes the moment our gazes connected – but nonetheless, I’ve wondered, why her?

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Dray says, leaning closer towards me, his nose suddenly twitching. “And what the hell is that smell?” He takes a deeper inhale, his eyes spinning in their sockets and his eyelids drifting shut. “Fuck, that shiiit smells goooood.” “The girl,” I tell him, probably wearing a smug grin on my face.

“Her scent …” he says, as I push him away from me, “it’s fucking amazing. Smells just like …” He groans. “I told you,” I say. “She’s the one.”

“He isn’t the hottest man in the academy.” “Oh Cupcake, I think he is.” My mind flashes back to Professor Fox Tudor and I’m really not sure Fly is correct. Although, perhaps there isn’t much in it. I hate to admit it, but they are both extremely good looking. That doesn’t make this situation any better.

“I’ve known her three days longer than you have and I can honestly say it’s not so bad. Although, as you’ve seen, she does eat with her mouth open.” “I do not!” I protest. “Cupcake, you do. Along with the talking to yourself.” “I’m beginning to see why you have no other friends,” I mutter and he gives me the finger.

Fate has tied us together and we’re bound to share for eternity. That includes the girl. A girl I have an aching desire to protect.

Someone – probably more than one person – has been using the girl as a punchbag. Every day she has a new injury. It ends now. I will no longer let that happen. I will be her private protector. Her shadow. Blending unseen into the darkness.

“This girl here,” I jab my finger at her, “she’s ours.” I don’t look at her face. I don’t need to. I can imagine she’s scowling. Maybe even about to argue with me. I don’t give her the chance. “She’s our thrall and under our protection.”

“If anyone harms one hair on her head – if you so much as touch her belongings, look at her funny, mutter under your goddamn breath in her direction, I will sear the fucking flesh off your bones and scatter what’s left of you out there for the ravens to feast on.” I lower my arm and slowly the shadows retreat from the boy writhing on the floor and gasping for air, back into my body. Then I march right back up the line and reclaim my place beside my brothers. “That was fucking dramatic,” Dray mumbles. “It was fucking necessary,” I hiss. The girl is ours and no one touches her.

a giant white wolf. Sitting all primly and properly, as if he’s been waiting for me. And maybe he has been, because when he spots me, his ears perk up on the top of his head and his tail thumps the ground in excitement, then he’s leaping onto all fours and bounding towards me.

He keeps his nose at the apex of my thighs, having another good old sniff. His warm breath heats my most intimate of places and then he darts his tongue out and licks there too. “Right,” I say, “and now I really do have to go.”

“He’s not a wolf. He’s a shifter,” Clare says. “And by the sounds of things, Dray Eros,” Fly adds.

The girl smells like sin. Like everything I’ve tried to forget. Delicious, succulent, gratifying.

They said I was beautiful. Maybe if I hadn’t been, maybe if I’d owned more of an ordinary face, none of this would have happened.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to be in the front row with all the other shadow weavers?” “Nah,” he says, spitting his gum into the trash can as we walk into the classroom. “I’d rather be where I can smell her wet-pussy scent.”

“Little thrall, be at our rooms Wednesday night, 8pm. And bring that sweet-smelling pussy with you.”

“You!” To my absolute fucking delight, she swings her hand backwards and then slaps me full force across my cheek. Shit, there’s some force to that. I think I even taste the faintest trace of blood in my mouth. She really is wasted. “Yes, darling,” I say with a wide grin because, fuck me, the little brat likes to play. “Me.”