On Wings of Blood (Bloodwing Academy, #1)

by Briar Boleyn

“There are many highblood houses in Sangratha,” he continued. “But four have always run the kingdom and it is these four which lead the school. Each one represents an ancient vampire bloodline. House Drakharrow—that’s my house. House Avari. House Orphos.” “And House Mortis,”

“Units of up to fifty. You won’t have to worry about them in your first year. It’s a military tradition. In times of war, it meant that our generals were always prepared and ready with young leaders and support staff at hand to replace any who fell.”

Those of the Blessed Blood would not stand for this. In a coordinated effort, they utilized their inherent resistance to the plague and their superior strength and eradicated the Shadowed, reclaiming lands that had been lost and saving mortals from extinction for a second time.

If I breathed in, I knew exactly what I’d smell. Green apples. A faint hint of mint. Something underlying it all, like the pages of an old book. I hated that I knew all of that about him. It seemed so . . . intimate. Intimacy with Blake Drakharrow was the last thing I wanted.

But at the same time, it was . . . impressive. And infuriatingly attractive. Fine. It was fucking hot.

“Be strong, all right? I’ll be back.”

“That’s an interesting question,” she said, her tone calm. “If there was a way, it would have involved blood magic. Blood magic is powerful because it can break bonds that other magic cannot. As you’re all aware, bloodmancy is the domain of House Drakharrow. But when it comes to blood magic and soul-bonding, I don’t believe it’s much practiced these days. I’ve never seen such incantations myself. Of course, that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

Was I really going to watch this? Yes. Yes, I fucking was.

Dear blightborn bitch, go fuck yourself. I work alone. I hope you die a slow and painful death in the Games. I can’t wait to watch. Love, Regan.

His tall frame was draped in his customary black coat, the fabric hugging his lean, muscular shoulders. He turned his head slightly and my heart caught in my throat, taking in his knifelike cheekbones, his angular nose. He was imperial, imposing, perfect in his imperfections. He might have been mine. If I’d really wanted to claim him. My heart skipped a beat as he noticed me and turned fully around, his gray eyes glimmering with a hint of latent danger. In his own terrifying way, I knew Blake wanted me. In his own terrifying way, he might even believe he cared about me. But I knew the truth. He wanted to own me, possess me, use me up. What he felt was the same thing I did—desire merged with loathing. If I let those dark impulses consume me, I knew it would be my undoing.

“That I’d do anything for you,” he said simply. “Hurt anyone. Kill anyone.”

He kissed me as if I were air and he couldn’t get enough. He kissed me like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He kissed me as though I were the last drop of blood in the world, the only thing that could ever sate his hunger.