Academy of Six: A Reverse Harem Academy Series (Origins of the Six Series Book 1) Read online

  Academy of Six

  A.K. Koonce

  Aleera Anaya Ceres

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Also By A.K. Koonce

  Also By Aleera Anay Ceres

  About A.K. Koonce

  About Aleera Anaya Ceres

  One

  Izara

  Do you ever have harmless daydreams about ripping a misogynist jerk’s dick off and shoving it down his throat until he can taste his own balls, just so he’ll shut the fuck up for a little while?

  Yeah. Me neither.

  “It seems you’ve shown little to no abilities, transformations, or talents whatsoever, Miss Castillo,” Headmaster Willms utters for the second time, flipping another cream page inside the folder titled: Izara Castillo, Age 19, Prodigium: Unknown.

  The folder title alone is painfully accurate: Prodigium Unknown. What kind of supernatural am I? We have no damn idea. I’m basically a human in this man’s eyes.

  Except for the slip up that got me thrown under Academy of Six’s radar in the first place. Yes. I’m completely mundane except for that asshole my poor, innocent monster supposedly killed.

  But that’s something I don’t talk about.

  Partly because I don’t remember it. And partly because it was my ex boyfriend, and when you kill an ex boyfriend, people start throwing brash words around like ‘temperamental’ and ‘psychotic’ and all that stuff.

  Slaughter limb from limb one little ex, one time, and people treat you like you’re dangerous or something.

  “That’s me. Little Miss Talentless. Are we done? Can I join the others?” I try to force the snapping words from my lips because it’s easier than admitting how much this place is getting under my skin.

  Flat black walls press in from the small space of his office. It dulls the shine of the old metal desk that separates me from the tired, old Headmaster. A little name plate sits at the edge of the desk with an excessive title listed there: HEADMASTER DR. ALAN ABRAHAM WILLMS, MD.

  The Headmaster looks over his square rimmed glasses, his aging hazel eyes seemingly trying to search inside me with a single disturbing look.

  “And you said you don’t know what your Prodigium even is? A woman your age should know what lives inside her. Fae or siren would be my guess, judging by your alluring but cold exterior. But how do you live nineteen years without a hint of the Prodigium supernatural abilities showing? Is it a weak Prod or just simply ignorance, Miss Castillo?”

  I give Dr. Willms another vacant stare and I almost stop myself from wondering if his dick’s even large enough to fill his gaping mouth.

  Almost.

  “I appreciate the welcome into your prestigious Academy,” prison, “but either assign me my classes to get my Prodigium under control, or let me leave because my shift at the Willy Hog Dog Shack starts in ten minutes and I’d really like to know just how terrible my future for the next two years is about to be.”

  Is it going to be customer-service-hot-dog-stink average bad, or like blow myself up during a strange Hogwarts style potions’ class extremely bad?

  Now we’re both staring blankly at one another.

  Finally.

  He’s speechless.

  Until he isn’t. “Ah, it seems they failed to inform you…”

  Failed to inform me what?

  This—this is why my father and I chose the human society of New York City. Humans, they tell you what they’re thinking. All. Of. The. Time.

  It’s supernaturals who are conniving. Dangerous.

  Deadly.

  “Once you enroll at Academy of Six, we give you temporary restrictions. For safety reasons, I’m sure you understand, we do not allow students to leave campus, so I’m afraid your work at the Willy Nilly… Shack… will come to a temporary end.”

  The smile against my lips is so repressed it hurts, but I keep it together long enough to hear a long and heavy sigh of apparent disappointment at my lack of reaction to skim from his lips.

  “Take the standard schedule Mrs. Warren keeps at the front desk. We here at Academy of Six do not have the time nor the luxury to customize delinquent students’ class schedules. Especially if they’re not going to be around long.” The pause he puts into this moment is so dramatic I wonder if he’s theatrically trained or if he’s just this good at being a total asshole. “You’ll be in Dormitory J, fifth floor. Your schedule will have a room number randomly assigned to you. I wish you nothing but the best in revealing your Prod before it’s too late, Miss Castillo.”

  Yeah. Thanks so much for that sincere welcome.

  I shove out of the little wooden chair with so much force the legs scrape along the shining black tile floor.

  I hope it scratches.

  The cool glass of the door meets my palm and I push through it without looking back at the man who arrested me and also took me in. They’re one and the same here at Academy of Six. This is the last stop for someone like me. Because there’s a monster inside me. It either comes out and I learn to control it, showing the other supernaturals that it can play nice in society, or they’ll throw my ass in confinement.

  Innocent until proven guilty is a backwards statement in this place.

  The door swings closed and the little woman typing away at her computer glances up with a hesitant smile just as she did when they hauled me in here. Her short curled hair is as dark as her eyes, and that half smile on her red lips is the same one you see in retail from cashiers who just know you’re about to steal something.

  I guess Mrs. Warren must be used to my type by now.

  I grab the top paper she pushes towards the corner of her desk, but I don’t pause to look at it until I’m out of the pristine faculty building and the afternoon sunlight hits my face. Warm air pulls at my inky hair and it finally feels like I can take a breath again. The walls aren’t closing in on me. Men like Dr. Willms aren’t lurking, waiting for me to screw up. Again.

  I mean, he is. Just from a distance now.

  I just have to be careful. I can be careful.

  The tremble that shakes through my hands is so obvious that when I grip the paper harder, it doesn’t even help.

  I’m fine. I’m okay. Everything is going to be okay.

  My lashes open slowly and I scan the thin paper, noting the scribbled number inked into the top right corner.

  Room 503

  FIRST YEAR PRODIGIUM

  •Introduction to Prodigiums 101

  •A History of Races

  •Demonology

  •Interdimensional Travels

  •Human-Prodigium Relations

  •Prodigium Health, How to Care for Your Other Self

  •Prod Reform

  •Gym

  What the fuck! Gym? The Academy of Six welcome pamphlet didn
’t warn me that it was run by complete sadists.

  Fucking gym.

  If they tell me to run a mile here, I’ll start at the starting line and not finish until I’m jogging through the doors of Willy Hog Dogs with open arms.

  Wait, I can’t.

  Temporary restrictions. I glance down at the glowing gold band that now outlines my ankle, having appeared there as if by sparking magic. House arrest indeed.

  This must be the only academy in the city that hands out class rings in the form of ankle bracelets.

  Great.

  I wonder if I’ll implode on the spot if I cross the sharp iron, wrought iron fence that surrounds this “academy”.

  I’m still mentally pouting when I glance up at the lush green grass and bristling trees. A dark memorial statue of an angel with wide spread wings is just in front of the entrance here. The script beneath her flowing gown reads: Etheria, Founder of the Six, Former Headmistress of our hearts as well as our Academy. We are forever grateful.

  I narrow my eyes at the strange dedication and the Founding Angelic Headmistress it belongs to.

  She stands tall like a goddess among us in the middle of the courtyard. Winding brick sidewalks circle around her, and building after towering gray building bleed shadows over the school yard.

  Which one is Dormitory J? You’d think they’d have the letters displayed by the front doors. I guess they like to see us squirm.

  “Lost?” A low masculine voice hums from over my shoulder. The sound of that single word lingers in my mind, my tongue flicking lightly to mimic the question, just to imagine the perfect way he said it.

  When I turn, his demanding eyes don’t match that perfection at all. Black, depthless pools create a void of color, filling his gaze completely with the startling gleam of his watchful eyes. But the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the dimple that kisses his cheek, it all diverts from how alluringly terrifying his eyes are.

  I force my gaze away long enough to study his other features. His hair is white. Not the white of snow, not the sparkling crystals of frost sparkling like diamonds. This is no winter prince. No. His hair is the white of the sky. Like when the sun shines down from between pristine clouds in a blinding halo of light. That’s what it looks like. A halo threading through the length of every strand.

  How can someone who looks so angelically pretty have the pitch black eyes of a demon straight from hell?

  “Uh…” I try to look away from him but it’s hard. “Dormitory J.”

  He nods, a casual smile still clinging to his lips in the most distracting way. “Right. You’re new too. Let me guess. Fae descent? High fae if I had to put money on it.” His dark gaze drags slowly down my frame, starting at my inky hair and following the long length of my legs before coming back to my green eyes.

  “You’re the second person who’s called me a fae today.”

  “They’re delicate. Soft. Beautiful. A bit on the asshole side, but don’t take it personally.”

  I can’t help but smirk at him and his easy description that doesn’t fit me at all.

  Except for the asshole part. That’s debatable.

  “I’m not a fae. I don’t think,” I whisper with a lingering sigh.

  He doesn’t press me. Doesn’t judge me like the Headmaster did.

  But the silence that settles briefly between us makes me feel the difference between him and I. Between myself and every single one of these students.

  They know who they are. Where they belong.

  And I… don’t have a clue where I came from.

  When you’re adopted, you always have little nagging questions in the back of your mind no matter how loved you are.

  And when you’re a mysterious Prod, it’s even worse.

  “Let me walk you. I’m headed to Juvie now.” He walks away from me with confident strides. I barely have time to admire the black jeans hugging his taut ass like a second skin or the wide expanse of his strong shoulders before I’m rushing to catch up.

  “Juvie?” I ask, a tad breathlessly.

  His black eyes flicker to me but he doesn’t break his stride. “It’s what we call Dorm J.”

  “We?”

  There he goes again, lifting those lips up into a dimpled smile. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  I usually don’t, this place just offers more confusion than it does answers. For a school, they’re not very good at educating.

  “We Juvies, the poor Prod’s who live there, and the Elites, I guess. If you make it through the first two semesters, if,” he arches a sarcastic brow at that word but keeps going, “then you advance up into the better dorms. Dormitory E houses the second-year students. The real students basically.”

  If. That’s all I can seem to think about. It’s a taunting word that drills through my thoughts over and over again. It must be a big deal for them to put such an emphasis on passing year one.

  “How many first years don’t make it?”

  He slows his pace and falls back to keep step with me, almost like he likes all my endless questions more than he’s letting on.

  “Statistically less than half make it. The ones who never find their magic, their Prod. Or, their Prod finds them and loses control. That is the real issue. They made Academy of Six to stop things like that from happening in society. So... just keep that monster inside you in check and you’ll do fine.” He winks at me, his severely pale hair nearly touching his depthless eyes.

  “Yeah. Sounds easy. Release your beast, but don’t release it too much. No problem.” I push my hands into my leather jacket and he follows the motion, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

  I don’t even notice when we come to a stop on the far side of the campus. We’re here it seems. I look up at the building he called Juvie. It feels a bit like Juvie. A dark shadow of color permanently stains the crumbling brick. The window on the lower level is boarded up with decaying planks of wood, and the shattered glass still lays in the grass like no one had the time to truly fix such a small imperfection on the already eyesore of a dorm.

  The trees to my left are dry and decaying without any hint of leaves, their thin limbs wafting and ominous, really giving this place a homey vibe with every eerie rustle of their skeletal limbs.

  I exhale slowly and follow after my new tour guide. The very first step I take should tell me exactly how this year will go.

  My white shoes barely touch the first step when the brick beneath gives away. A pathetic little scream crawls up my throat as I teeter backward the three inches off the ground I’d gained, hands flailing, my life flashing before my eyes, realizing it wasn’t much of a life to really flash, more like a little flare than a full flash.

  And then darkness falls across my face. Strong arms wrap around me, warmth searing into my skin from where his body presses into mine. Chest to chest, big dark eyes look down on me. And suddenly giant, heavenly wings spread out wide behind him, arching up from his back and making his shoulders seem wider, stronger now than they were before.

  Droplets of blood coat the tips of the wings strangely. They glow, as if every feathery strand is laced through with the light of cold fire, casting his whole perfect body in an iridescent halo. The ethereal glow that surrounds him only serves to make those black eyes look more like shadowy pits filled with dark promises.

  This man, this man is bad for me.

  I know bad when it holds me in its arms and presses me all up against its delicious fucking body.

  “Are you—are you an angel?” I stutter like a star-struck idiot.

  The heat in his demonic eyes should answer my question.

  “Do I look like an angel?” He rasps in the lowest whisper that fans across my neck.

  Angels are rare. So rare most don’t even believe in their existence.

  This man makes me a believer. He looks like an angel.

  He also looks like sex. That’s what his Prod is. I’m convinced now that sex is a monster and this beautiful man is hou
sing it.

  I shake my head slowly. He’s not an angel. Angels are innocent. Nothing in his dark, lust entrancing gaze is innocent.

  “Come on.” He steadies me on my feet, not explaining any more.

  Maybe I’ve hit my limit on questions for the day.

  With more care, I edge around the broken step, gathering my confidence and pretending like that flailing mess who nearly died on the welcome mat wasn’t me. If they call this place Juvie, I need to never scream like that again in public.

  I need to hide that fear deep down inside me.

  I square my shoulders and keep going.

  The walls are brick and the entrance has a nice little bullet proof glass window for someone to sit at, but the post is empty. My attention lingers on the dirty glass and the farther into the building we go the stranger the vibes get.

  “The city donated this building when the Academy first opened in the eighteen hundreds,” my guide explains. Vaguely.

  “What was it before?”

  “A prison.”

  Wow. Dormitory Juvie just keeps getting better and better.

  “The cells have been remodeled. Bricked over. They really wasted no expense as you can see.”

  “Clearly.” I cringe when I leap over a dead rat in the middle of the black tile hall. I find a fearless pace again and pretend like I didn’t just squirm because of a dead animal.

  Fearless. I am fearless here.

  The first friend I stumble upon in my new exciting life as a college woman, is a girl with long, white blonde hair. That’s it. I can’t make out her features because the man who’s pressing her into the wall is... eating—kissing?—her face off. In his haste, his fingers fumble with the belt buckle between them and just before he pushes down his jeans I rush after my guide.