Control of Five: A Reverse Harem Series (Origins of the Six Series Book 2) Read online

  Control of Five

  Copyright 2019 A.K. Koonce & Aleera Anaya Ceres

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Killer Book Covers

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission from the author. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Also by A.K. Koonce

  Also by Aleera Anaya Ceres

  About A.K. Koonce

  About Aleera Anaya Ceres

  One

  Izara

  Cold water streams down my face, the icy bite of every drop numbing my skin and nerves, and still I just stand there in the little stall. It’s made of concrete and broken tile. Every shattered, porcelain piece along the wet floor scrapes against my feet.

  My reflection stares back at me from white broken bits, fragmenting the image of my face into a distorted expression of emptiness.

  Voices echo all around me. Laughter and growls circle the wide room, sounds that don’t pierce beyond my own unsteady thumping of my heart. I simply stand there, naked and shivering beneath the shower head.

  The chilled water is a numbing feeling that sears right down to my bones.

  And I bet that’s exactly how Saint feels in isolation.

  “Don’t use up all the hot water, Feck!” A fist banging against the fragile wooden door of the stall rattles with such punishing force that it falls off its hinges entirely with a clattering sound.

  I jerk around in one startled motion and peek over the tilted door to glare at the naked faerie girl there. Her ethereal eyes narrow on me menacingly and when her magic releases it does so with jarring force. Vines seem to sprout from nowhere and yanks the door completely away. It flies back and splinters down the middle, but my gaze is solely trained on the fae.

  She looks at me like all the delinquents in this academy do; like I’m beneath them.

  If only she knew what I’m capable of. That I crumbled our dormitory to the ground and got my friend locked away because of it.

  This power game she’s playing with me is dangerous. I’m dangerous. I don’t want to hurt her.

  But I can’t back down, either. Not if I want to gain respect in this shitty place.

  So even if every tired part of me demands that I cover my arms over my naked body and just fall to pieces against the floor, I refuse.

  I’m strong. I have to be.

  “You just fucking blew off one of the only functioning stall doors,” I accuse, my shoulders squaring despite the chill that shivers across my skin.

  The fae blows a stray blonde lock from her face. Her expression is careless as she pushes her way into the small space next to me. She smells like springtime, like flowers and buttery sunlight, like she doesn’t even need a fucking bath that urgently.

  She shudders when the cold water slaps against her perfect body and rinses off. I want to argue, want to shove her out. A part of me would relish in the violence of a fight, of the release it would bring. Yet, I can’t find the energy for it. I don’t want another travesty on my own hands.

  I slip out of the shower, careful to keep my eyes on the fae. Her kind isn’t above mischievous tricks, stabbing someone in the back or choking me with those twisted vines while I’m not looking. My senses have to be on high alert around every corner. I’m paranoid enough to steel myself against each sound, find danger in every shadow, no matter how harmless.

  It’s this academy’s fucking fault.

  Even if I’m in the girl’s locker’s room and none of the female Prods at this academy have bullied me like the men, I’m still wary.

  As quickly as I can, I reach for the thin scrap of a towel, a tattered thing with the emboldened academy insignia of a six stitched along the edges in gold. I wrap it around myself. Making my way over to my black metal locker, I almost groan aloud when I find the lock busted and every single article of clothing I’d been wearing missing.

  Fucking great.

  “The nixies did it,” the fae girl’s musical voice calls out from beneath the spray. “Saw them making off with your sweats and shirt.” She sounds almost happy about the notion.

  Meanwhile, anger burns at the back of my eyelids and I’m forced to shove it away into the empty chasm below.

  It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.

  And it could obviously be worse in this place.

  I might be a naked shivering idiot but I’m an optimistic naked shivering idiot.

  The fae girl starts humming a bawdy tune, and it’s the soundtrack that follows me like a mockery as I slowly force my way out of the women’s locker rooms and into the hall of the gymnasium. Next door is the men’s locker rooms; the entrance wide open and made of the same concrete and tiles as ours. Claw marks slash against the white wall, as if some poor Prod had been dragged against his will towards the horror house inside.

  And making their way into that horror house? My roommates.

  Well, ex-roommates.

  “Izara, shit, you’re trembling.” Syko’s big hands clutch my towel clad hips, his warmth a welcome reprieve from everything inside me, and he pulls me from the entrance of the locker room, procuring the towel from his own shoulders to wrap around me. He holds me against his hard chest, watchful eyes shifting across my features. He doesn’t lecture me. He doesn’t judge me or pry.

  He never does. He’s the one person who just... understands.

  Phoenix stands a few steps away, his glaring eyes meeting mine from beneath the wet strands of dark hair clinging to my face.

  He won’t speak to me though. This is our lives now. All of us first years are just tossed together, sleeping on the wide expanse of the gym floor and trying not to kill each other when we turn our backs for a single second.

  And after what happened with Saint, Phoenix wants to kill me.

  It’s been two weeks now, and the demon blames me more and more with each day that passes without a word from Headmaster Willms on what will happen to Saint.

  I accidentally blew up our building and Saint took the fall. Is blowing up a building that needed to be torn down a century ago really a crime that’s worth a life sentence?

  When I look down, I find that the water clinging to my skin has seeped through Syko’s white button down but he never lets me go. Finally, my head lowers and I just let him hold me
, feeling lighter for just a single second.

  Until Phoenix grabs his duffle bag and slams his shoulder into Syko’s. “That’s right, confess your sins to your second-rate angel and see if his forgiveness changes anything.” The demon sneers at me as he passes.

  Malek, wearing a towel slipped around his lean hips and his damp hair hanging in his eyes, emerges from the horror house/locker room in time to see Phoenix’s never-ending rage. He’s so fast he’s dripping water right onto Phoenix’s white shoes before the incubus can even reach the entryway.

  For a moment the hostility rises around them like steam as they glare into each other’s narrowed eyes.

  “Keep blaming Izara for all your fucked up emotions and see if that changes anything too.” Malek finally whispers in a low growling tone but I hear every word. I feel every threatening word.

  And so does everyone slipping in and out around us who’s waiting and watching, eager for a fresh fight.

  “Your boyfriend’s an asshole,” the very naked fae girl who suddenly appears at my side says. The same one who smells like a garden and gentle rain.

  I uncurl out of Syko’s arms as the tension lowers and Phoenix slips past Malek, without slamming fists and snapping teeth being seen from the two of them this morning.

  Unlike yesterday.

  “Or is he your boyfriend?” Faerie girl with the lack of modesty nods to Syko, who’s taken a few retreating steps back.

  My lips part to speak but then Malek’s damp palm slides beneath my towel and heat blazes across my stomach where his skin meets mine. “Im going to fucking kill that demon,” Malek growls, raining drops of water along my neck from how close he’s leaning into me, holding me to him and brushing his fingers back and forth until it makes me crazy and I tremble in his arms.

  A beat passes.

  Faerie girl slowly pulls a shirt from the duffel bag at her feet and slips it on, but her gaze continues to sweep from Malek, to me, to Syko before she says, “Just how many boyfriends do you have, girl?”

  None. And yet, too many all at the same time.

  My gaze finally fully settles on her perfect long blonde hair and sharp pointed ears that peek out beneath the thick shining locks.

  She’s the one who was on my team, I realize with a sudden jolt.

  Sasha.

  The blank spots in my memory and the agonizing screams of Phoenix mixed in with the way Saint disappeared right before my eyes press in on me. I can’t seem to really think about that night without all the bad things threatening to crush me from the inside out.

  She arches a manicured eyebrow at me and I snap out of it just enough to curve my lips into a small forced smile.

  I probably look like a demented asshole.

  Like Saint.

  “Oh, I see.” She nods as she shimmies into her khaki skirt.

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  Malek keeps a close, protective space between us and the faerie girl gives a slow appreciative look down every one one of his slick abs before she pauses on the low tied towel at his waist. She takes her time giving Syko a once over as well and with each second that slips by, the harder she looks right at... is she looking at his package?

  I can’t help but follow her line of sight and I can tell when it becomes very clear to Syko that he has not one, but two girls staring him square in his khakis.

  The nephilim narrows his eyes before adjusting the hinting bulge in his pants.

  “Don’t choose. Choosing is overrated,” she whispers strangely before reaching into her duffle bag and emerging with an academy gym uniform and thrusting it into my hands. “Keep a better eye on your stuff next time.” And then she’s prancing down the hall.

  What the hell does that mean?

  “What the fuck was all of that about?” Syko whispers the moment I’m close enough.

  I shrug and the gesture alone feels like a heaviness I’m too tired to really lift.

  Malek shakes his head and starts openly changing right there at the entrance to the guy’s locker room. He pulls the towel away from his perfect body without a hint of shame and I know I’m not the only person in the hall having trouble pulling my gaze away from the bronze god with the strong arms, strong thighs, big…

  I clear my throat and finally look away, Syko arching a pale eyebrow at me the whole time.

  My skin is still damp as I pull the academy sweats on beneath my towel. I’m mostly covered among so many judgemental peers. It’s ridiculous that they threw us all into the gymnasium, but I guess I can’t complain too much when it was my fault we don’t have our nice little prison of a house anymore.

  It takes less than a second for me to pull the shirt on over my towel and cool air slips over my stomach when I drop the tattered towel away. Warm breath fans across my cold skin.

  I look up to find my image reflected in his depthless dark eyes. Syko’s hooded gaze lingers on the curve of my breasts peeking out through the dampening shirt. Sasha is skinnier than me, so her clothes are tight against the press of my body. And Syko’s expression? It’s a tortured look that tingles throughout me.

  Everything about Syko is tortured, though.

  “Have they given any update on Kayos?” I ask quietly.

  A heavy breath shoves from his lungs and when he leans his head against the wall, I notice him still watching my fingers tug against the front of my borrowed shirt.

  His attention heats my flesh in an instant, burning me up without him ever touching me.

  “No. She escaped. A first for Academy of Six it seems,” A small pleased smile presses to his lips. “I’ve heard her unique flickering startle magic really screwed with their ability to keep her locked up. There were multiple sightings of her that night but they have no idea where she is.” He pauses for a single second. “Part of me feels better knowing she’s safer out there alone rather than with the Academy. Is that weird?”

  I look up at the sadness in his eyes. His twisting emotions are something I can feel within myself.

  He tried so hard to protect her. He’s a protector through and through.

  He feels like he failed in a way. I can see it in the depths of his shadow kissed eyes.

  I lean up into his broad chest and those assured, steady hands clasp around my waist just as I press my lips to his cheek, brushing the corner of his mouth just lightly.

  I don’t know why my heart pounds to life just then. Being close to him is good for my soul in an unexplainable way. We’re the same, even if we are incredibly different.

  “They’ll be okay. Both of them,” I whisper against his neck as he holds me close, pulling me flush along every hard part of his body.

  He nods to me but it’s the slowest nod of agreement.

  He’s missing her, and I’m missing Saint.

  And there isn’t anything either of us can do about it.

  Two

  Izara

  The cold snow stings against my calves but I keep crunching through the flawless white sheet of frost. Snowflakes fall relentlessly, clinging to my every eyelash. If I thought snow would make the Academy actually look pretty, I was wrong. Everything just looks dead. There’s no winter wonderland here; it looks like a cemetery. Snow rests on dead black branches and towering gray brick buildings. But it’s not hopeful or joyous. It’s not fun. It doesn’t hold the promise of ice skating or snowball fights, sledding or snowmen.

  It doesn’t hold anything.

  The dark statue of the mysterious angel, one of the academy’s founding Prods, is just up ahead. For some reason, the carving lines of her beautiful face look tragic and for a moment, the snow against her outstretched wings and open palms look like ash; destructive remnants of something I can’t quite place. Just beyond her is Building B which will be my new hell that I’ll be stuck in for the next semester.

  I made it one semester.

  I didn’t die. I guess that’s an accomplishment…

  The big iron gates at the far end of campus screech like an announcem
ent. They demand the attention of the few students rushing to get to class on time. It’s an ominous crawl of metal grinding on metal and it’s the most casual display of a gate opening wide but it completely steals away the attention of the students at Academy of Six.

  Because that gate doesn’t open at random. No one leaves or enters without a guard.

  And yet, the man with the fine coat and long dark hair blowing behind him wafts in like a deathly winter wind. The hem of his dark coat skims across the frost with every smooth step he takes. He glides over the snow itself, not seeming to sink into it; it doesn’t hinder him. Sharp, cold features that are vaguely familiar look straight ahead as if he’s unaware of the people surrounding him.

  Staring at him.

  When his familiar bright blue eyes peer down at the golden watch gleaming on his wrist, I know exactly who this pretentious man is. Because he looks exactly like his son.

  Saint’s father.

  He whisks by me as if I’m a bug he might squish beneath his shining black shoes. Instead of jogging up the front steps, the man moves like water cascading along a river. The front doors click closed in his wake.

  And I’m left alone on the front lawn of Academy of Six, late for first period, and still staring after the mysterious vampire.

  Bells chime, announcing first period but I don’t even hear them as I race up the steps and follow after him.

  The main building is a quiet place compared to the fighting and fucking that used to house Dormitory J. The only sound is the steady clicking of keys just as I turn the corner of the front office. The petite receptionist glances up from her work nervously, that eternally tense smile pursing her red lips.