Storm of Shadows (The Firestone Academy, #1)

by Hannah Haze

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.

It’s why any one of the kids I traveled up with in the train would give their right arm to come out of the academy and all its trials and testing and be designated one of the other quarters, escaping a lifetime of hard labor in the factories, fields and mines of Slate

Quarter.

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.

The powerful always prey on the weak. And tonight the powerful are going to show us just how weak we are.

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.

“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.

“All my life people have wanted to break me. Is that what this is? Is that what you want?” I can feel her trembling.

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.

“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.

Beaufort smart and pristine, his hair styled perfectly, his tracksuit zipped right the way up to his neck, his gait controlled and powerful.

Dray’s appearance is so laid back, it’s verging on horizontal. His tracksuit hangs open and his shoelaces are untied. However, despite the casual persona, there’s an eagerness in the way he runs, an excitement, an energy that can’t be contained.

Thorne is impossible to read. His face is blank most of the time and though he looks more put together than Dray, there’s still a scruffiness to him – stubble covering his cheeks and chin, his hair shorn in that haphazard manner. And then there are those gloves ...

The grin falls from his face and something more sinister takes its place. Dray is one step away from being unhinged, hanging on to civility by the skin of his teeth.

In the half-morning light, she looks so damn

pretty. I’m not sure I’ve ever truly acknowledged it before, ever really understood. And when she opens her eyes, they are so green and vivid, I have to concede; she’s probably the most beautiful woman I know.

“You don’t need to worry about me.” I nod, dragging her to me for one last kiss and then watching as she walks towards the staircase. Of course, what she doesn’t know – what she’ll never understand – is that I will always worry about her. I will always want her safe.