average human’s Reviews > Hectic Elements: Fairview Academy Book 1 > Status Update

Staring me down, face lined with a seething hatred, I watch as his body produces horrible popping sounds, like his bones are breaking, and he grows three feet taller.
His face changes, his eyes like a bear’s, his teeth so long they force his lips apart.
He puffs up before me, barrel chest filling, and hunkers down to shower me with a bone-rattling, domineering roar.
I feel his Dominance push against me.
Feel the heavy suffocating pressure of it trying to force me to bend.
To offer throat.
To submit.
Most everyone has backed away from the Pit, their heads bowed.
But we don’t bend. He’s not strong enough to make us.
This fucker was nothing.
Not worth the fucking dirt on my shoe.
Tail lashing, mouth gaping to coat my insides in twisting, raging flames, my dragon pushes her way up.
I feel her like never before. Feel her along my bones and filling the space in my head.
It felt like she took control, rearing to the forefront whilst I became a passenger.
Feet planting, lungs expanding, my head rearing back, it seemed like everything paused for the barest of moments.
But then I’m lunging forward, my arms flying wide, my jaw unhinging with the absolute power that bursts forth from my lungs.
My roar rattled the very foundations of the building and drove everyone back from the Pit’s edge.
People fell over in their haste to flee.
But the bulk of it, the utter fury of it, was aimed directly at Tremore.
His bestial face pales, his arms rising to shield him.
It soothed some of my dragon’s primal rage.
But I meant what I said – he wasn’t leaving this Pit on his own two feet.
Before him in a matter of moments, he swipes out with a clawed hand and manages to rake my arm.
I ignore the stinging pain and seize that hand.
Gripping it and spinning, I wrenched it with me behind his back, shoving it up between his shoulder blades.
I wasn’t gentle, I didn’t do it to subdue him. I pulled it as high as I could until I heard the jarring crack and his roar of pain.
Grappling, avoiding the wild swings of his good arm, taking the kick he sent into my thigh, I hooked my fingers into his waistband and used his momentum to send him hurtling into the wall.
Stumbling wildly towards it, his arm out to brace his fall, I lashed out and kicked in his knee.
His skull met the wood with a hollow thwack.
“Gods damned.” Someone hisses.
Tremore slides towards the sandy ground, his hand grasping at the slats.
Its futile. He’s buckling. His body is giving out.
He’s limp and struggling to move his head, his legs flopping under him like a lifeless fish.
My dragon’s strength drains from me – so suddenly that I almost stumble, my head too light.
Panting, my chest heaving, I take in the damage done to him, glance up at his friends that are no longer cheering.
Watching me with wide, wary gazes, they are all observing from a distance.
They were shocked silent.
Licking my lips, tasting my blood, I consider leaving him as he is.
He certainly looked pathetic – not nearly as bad as Kenya, but I’d done a number on him.
And I was tired, my limbs starting to shake.
I felt drained, as if I’d worked myself to the bone.
“F-fucking…. Bi—tch….” He slurs, struggling to rise. “I should h-have snapped he—er fucking neck….”
Tensing, my resolve snaps into place.
This steaming pile of shit didn’t deserve my mercy.
He didn’t deserve any mercy.
Grasping the spikey gelled locks atop his head, I wrench it back, baring his bloodied and dazed face.
“You don’t touch her ever again.” I snarl.
His eyes flare, turning ursine, his beast staring out at me.
I only give it a rattling growl before I slam his face into the Pit wall.
His legs kick, his arm flying out, trying to pull my hand from his hair.
So I do it again.
And again. And again.
“Alright, enough!” Trevone calls, visibly shaken.
I do it again, wait to see if he moves, then slam it again when his fingers still grasp at mine.
“I said enough! Fuck, he’s down!” Trevone roars.
I look at him, taking in the wide-eyed look on his face. Registering just how shaken he was.
Looking around the Pit, I see how shaken they all are. How they’re watching me with a mix of shock, surprise, and grudging respect.
Respect, because power and strength were the Fae way. The Fae culture.
And I’d just proved that I may not have power, but I was strong.
Releasing Tremore’s hair, watching his body slump to the ground, it occurred to me that I’d just acted like Grande. Like Imelda.
But I’d done it in defence of a friend.
I wasn’t sure if that made my sudden inclination to violence any better.
It was completely out of character for me.
It was out of character.
I begin to make my way to the edge of the Pit. Toward Nat and Kenya.
Yelana called something after me, but I was too distracted to listen.
I climbed out, feeling my ribs protest.
My injuries scream as I crouch down next to Kenya.
I expected her to flinch away from me, not want me to touch her, but she grasped my hand and gave it a squeeze, trying to smile but wincing instead.
I take in her black and blue blood crusted face and try to smile back, but it hurt the same.
“Let’s get you to the healer.” I tell her. “I need to go see my Counsellor.”
“I’ll help.” Nat offers quickly, giving me a nod.
We lift Kenya onto her feet, each taking a side.
Trevone doesn’t try to stop us as we leave.
No one does.
Not a sound is uttered.
Some deep part of me beams with vicious pride.

48%

Moving to the office door, I politely knock.
“Enter.”
I step inside and make sure the door is closed behind me.
“I’m a little bit early.” I murmur.
He's bent over the desk again, nothing but a mop of silvery-white hair and wide shoulders to my eyes.
He doesn’t bother to look up, too absorbed in whatever he is writing.
“That’s perfectly fine, I had my afternoon cleared for this meeting.” He answers distractedly, motioning to one of the chairs across from him. “Please, have a seat. I’ll be with you momentarily.”
I gingerly lower myself into the seat on the right, my arm looped over my ribs like that’ll stop them from hurting.
I’m quiet as I wait, my mind somehow managing to drift even with all the chaotic thoughts weighing it down.
I take in his office a bit better now that I have the time, noticing that most of his books are really old.
They’re either falling apart or have crumbling leather binding, the newer books standing out like a sore thumb.
His desk isn’t as cluttered as before, instead covered with rows of neatly piled paperwork.
How busy is he?
How many students does he manage to have to deal with that much paperwork?
Maybe he does other work for the Academy too. I didn’t see why a Counsellor would need so many books and tomes if all he did was look after students.
“I trust that your classes went well today?” He asks, still writing. “You weren’t thinking of dropping your art course?”
“No, I love my art class. The rest were…. Okay, I guess.”
He nods, humming. “Good, I’m glad.”
Finishing whatever he was writing with a flourish, he sits back and goes about sorting the paper into a pile. “I’ve made arrangements for you to have a tutor in Fae culture, I think putting you in the class may be more damaging than helpful. They are also going to help coach you through and teach you about being a Dragon Shifter. I have someone else who will be helping you to shift when it is time, but they are currently—”
Mr Orichalcum barks harsh curses in a language I don’t understand, shooting up from his chair.
“What happened? Who hurt you?” He demands, rushing around his desk.
“I’m fine, I’m okay.” I reassure him, waving off the hand that reaches out to touch my face. “It was just Combat class. It’s actually the reason why I’m here early.”
“Who am I disciplining?” He intones.
“Probably the asshole professor.” I mutter, then blanch. “Ah, I mean, it was mostly the professor and one guy. But I beat him. This,” I gesture to my injuries. “Is actually not nearly as bad as I did to him.”
“And you aren’t healed, why?”
“The healer was busy with my friend, she didn’t have enough power to heal us both, and my friend had a broken arm….” I murmur, cringing at the furious look on his face. “I really am okay. It’s not that bad.”
“You have claw marks on your arm and your face appears to have been trampled. How could you possibly be okay?” He seethes.
I didn’t like such a low tone, especially when he looked so furious.
“I know. Fighting isn’t easy.” I defend.
He lets out a long sigh through his nose, his white eyes glaring into my soul.
I glance away simply because it was unnerving, and not because I felt like he was reading my mind or deciphering my secrets.
“Tell me everything.” He demands.
So I did. Every little detail, no matter how small. What the asshole Combat teacher said and did. What Tremore did to Kenya.
But especially what I did. What we did.
And how quiet my dragon was now. Like she’d gone to sleep in my middle – too exhausted to offer so much as a flutter to acknowledge my attention.
He nods along, his eyes narrowing every time I mention Trevone.
He even gives me a nod of what might be approval when I tell him how I beat Tremore.
Then I tell him about the looks on everyone’s faces, the shock and my own surprise.
His expression grows more serious with every word, a musing tilt to his lips.
“Am I beginning the Shift?” I question, fidgeting with my fingers. “Do we need to get that other person you were talking about?”
“No, you’re not near a shift yet.” He assures me, moving away to pace even as he talks. “You’ve simply experienced a symptom – like we talked about. It’ll become more intense from here; fevers, mood swings, the need to exert Dominance, violence. You will begin to eat more than usual.”
I nod slowly. “How will I know when it’s time? What do I do when it is?”
“It’ll be unmistakable.” He murmurs, continuing his long strides. “A fever like no other, combined with the excruciating pain of every bone in your body beginning to break and reform to bring your Dragon into the world. It’ll feel like your very soul is on fire.”
The absolute terror that raced through my being set off waves of chills down my spine.
“That sounds horrible.” I croak.
He pauses, turning to study me.
I must have looked as scared as I felt since he sighed and moved to sit beside me, his fingers steepling in his lap.
“It is an experience like no other.” He admits softly. “But every shifter Fae experiences it – usually at a younger age, where they can more easily move on from it – but it is a natural transition. Like….. puberty.”
Oddly, his comparison between starting to get my period and beginning to shift was calming. At least a little.
“How long, do you think?” I murmur.
“At least four or so weeks. Maybe two months.” He muses. “I would have originally said longer, but it appears your beast is eager to join us. The timeline will increase now – my estimations may even be off.”
“Four weeks.” I mumble.
That wasn’t a lot of time. Learning what I need to about Fae culture and being a dragon would surely take longer than four weeks. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be stuck between managing a newly emerged alternate form and trying to absorb as much information about my own people as possible.
That sounded like an accident waiting to happen.
“Don’t be scared, Sinta. I’ve gotten the best possible help I can for you. They will do everything they can to prepare you and get you through the Shift.” He promises.
“I hope so.”
“Is there a roommate you trust enough to….. share this with?”
“Why?” I demand.
“Sinta, if you begin to Shift, you won’t be in the right mind to help yourself. You’ll barely be conscious.” He cautions. “If it happens in Rising House, its best that someone knows what is going on. Remember the consequences if we don’t do this right.”
I’ll be dead. The Shift will go wrong and I’ll die.
“I….. Maybe. I might trust a few of them.” Possibly, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure.
I’d barely spent a week with them, had only shared a few meals. That didn’t tell me if I could trust them with my life.
“While you do have a little bit of time to think on that, I wouldn’t leave it too long. Shifting Fever is one of the most unpredictable things in the world.”
I take in his warning with a firm nod.
“Good. I’ve worked out the schedule for your tutoring sessions. Relatively easy to do since we’ve decided on such a light course load, and I think this will work best for you – get you as prepared as you can be.” He hands me a piece of paper from his desk – a weekly schedule.
He'd added Tutoring sessions to Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and they only went for an hour or an hour and a half.
I imagine it wasn’t just my schedule he had to fit it into, but my tutor’s as well, so I was happy with the amount of sessions, even if they weren’t very long.
“It looks good.” I tell him, then notice there is nothing on Sunday. “Why not Sunday?”
“Your tutor has commitments on Sundays and cannot avoid them, sadly, so your Sundays will be free for now.”
“Having at least one rest day is nice.” I distractedly comment.