The man at my side wore trousers the color of a deep forest, so dark they were nearly black. His shirt was white, strikingly bright

against the green of his tie, which he worked to loosen as we left the tribunal room.

“I’m not going to bury you alive,” I said, glancing at him.

He chuckled beneath his breath. “Generous of you,” he said, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me through the entryway.

I felt eyes on my back, and where I might have protested the touch from a stranger under normal circumstances, I allowed it. Glancing toward Iban, I blinked up at him through my lashes and pursed my lips lightly. I might not have been able to fake a blush, but I caught a glimpse of Thorne watching us from the corner of my eye.

My ancestor spoke to him as he glared after us.

I smirked, shifting the slightest bit closer to my escort as I walked.

He laughed, his chest shaking as he shook his head from side to side. “You’re trouble,” he drawled, the deep baritone of his voice draping itself over my skin.

I smiled up at him, showing all of my top teeth in a rare moment of lightness.

“You have no idea,” I said, raising my brows at him. If he knew, he’d encourage the Covenant to kill me and be done with it. Last of the Madizza line or not.

The doors to the Tribunal rooms parted, iron spreading wide as we approached. He guided me through. The dark of the hallways seemed to

penetrate everything, surrounding me completely. Only in that courtyard did the moon seem to shine, illuminating the dying ivy and rose bushes attempting to scale the building, even though they were nothing but withered husks of something that had once been beautiful.

“What happened to the plants?” I asked, stopping beside one of the open windows.

The air outside was cool, the night air of Massachusetts in September drifting through. There were no windowpanes on this side of the corridor, and I could smell the damp earth of the soil from which the plants should have grown. While the Madizza line might have fizzled out for a few decades, the Brays should have been more than enough to maintain the balance of nature.

It shouldn’t have required much effort at all, as the earth was fully capable of thriving without us in all other parts of the world.

“No one knows. The magic here isn’t as potent as it used to be,” Iban answered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He frowned at the dying plants in the courtyard as I paused my steps. He kept walking a few paces, his arm slipping off the small of my back. Without our audience, I allowed the touch to fade away without encouragement.

He’d served his purpose for the moment.

Turning fully toward the courtyard, I sat on the window ledge and swung my legs over. Sliding across the stone beneath the arched window, I dropped into the courtyard itself.

“Your room is this way,” Iban said.

I didn’t look at him as I strolled toward the trellis and the ivy there. “It will still be there in a few moments,” I called.

Even the trellis itself was aging, uncared for and neglected. I wondered if it had to do with the closing of the school, if they’d stopped caring for the grounds during the fifty years since students had roamed these halls.

I reached up a single hand, running my finger over a single dried, dead leaf of ivy. It crumbled to pieces, falling from the vine and dropping to the ground at my feet in bits. My brow furrowed as the vine swayed toward me, as if it was starving for life of any kind. I allowed it to wrap around my finger, squeezing as if it could drink my magic down.

“When was the last time someone made an offering?” I asked, my finger slipping through the vine as I knelt before it. My hands touched the

dry, infertile earth, watching as it sifted through my fingers. New England soil was fertile; it was potent for growth and sustaining life.

This was anything but natural.

“Offerings are forbidden by the Coven,” Iban answered, crossing his arms over his chest as I stood.

I gaped at him, my mouth opening and closing as I shook my head in disbelief.

“Forbidden,” I repeated, hurrying through the motions as I shrugged my sweater off.

My arms were bare beneath it, the crisp air cool against my skin. Iban ran a muscled hand through his well-groomed and tousled sandy brown hair, his jaw clenching beneath the short beard that framed his oval face. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip as his green eyes widened, staring at the tattoos that covered my right forearm. The black outline of flowers with some delicate white shading within curved up to my elbow where there was a gap before the dahlia flower covered my shoulder and biceps, curving up to the side of my neck and reaching down beneath the fabric of my tank top to cover the side of my breast.

I reached up with my bare hands, touching both of them to the brittle vines that hungered for replenishment. It wasn’t about needing magic to keep them alive. It was about them needing to receive back a portion of what had been taken from them.

The vines wrapped around my fingers, creaking as they extended to cover my hands. There was a caution within the movement that horrified me, as if the plant itself was struck in disbelief that anyone could want to give rather than take.

“Accipere,” I murmured, pressing my hand more firmly and encouraging the vines to take what they needed.

They slowly stretched farther up my arms, wrapping around my skin and twining around the tattoo of flowers. They stopped when they reached my elbow, shifting their energy from spreading to squeezing.

I gasped as they tightened painfully, my skin bulging around the spots where the vines touched.

“Willow,” Iban said, stepping toward me. “Don’t,” I said when the vines retracted slightly.

He didn’t touch me as I let my eyes drift closed. My skin broke in the places the plant touched me, blood seeping out along the edges as tiny barbs

sank into me. The moment the vines drew blood, the tang of magic filled the air. It was metallic and earthy, with the scent of flowers and pine needles lingering. The vines shuddered with each drink, with each pull as they fed what they had been denied.

What was theirs to begin with.

“Blood magic is forbidden. If the Covenant discovers what you’re doing

—” Iban protested.

My eyes fly open.

“What are they going to do? Expel me?” I asked with a harsh laugh.

All of us knew I would willingly leave if given the choice, but that choice had been taken from me before I’d even been born. There was only one purpose to my birth, to my existence.

The Covenant was too stupid to recognize the viper waiting in the flowers, prepared to strike at this first opportunity.

I fell to my knees as the plants continued to drink, taking only enough blood to carry the magic they so desperately needed. My offering didn’t go without notice. The dried leaves covering the vines reawakened. Green burst from the vine where it touched me, a fresh shock of color spreading its way up in a wave from my elbows to my hands. It continued toward the trellis as life began anew, until the wood support behind it was hidden by the lush green plant.

I hung my head forward as exhaustion threatened, determined to give everything the plant needed. The grip loosened as if the plant realized it dared to take too much, that if it put me at risk, it may never be given another offering again. As it released me, a single leaf swept across my cheek, and I leaned into the touch.

Into the soft and subtle thank you it seemed to offer.

The vine slid along my skin gently, leaving distinct, bloodied welts behind as it returned to the trellis it called home.

“Let’s get you to a healer,” Iban said, stepping toward me.

I slid my fingers into the earth beneath me, gathering up a single handful of dirt that now felt soft and ripe. I spread it over my injuries, covering my arms and hands in it.

It gave me the relief I’d earned with my offering, glowing with a soft green light as my wounds stitched closed. Iban’s eyes grew wide as he studied them, watching as I brushed the dirt from my arms to reveal smooth, unblemished skin.

I pushed to stand, swaying on my feet as a wave of dizziness filled me. A vine stretched out, catching me around the waist and stabilizing me without being asked.

“It helped you. Of its own accord,” Iban said, the shock in his voice disarming. Whatever he was, whatever the Brays had become, they were as far from what my mother had taught me of Greens as possible.

“Our magic is about balance. You cannot take more than you give and still expect nature to answer your call. It’s a dance, a relationship like no other. If all we do is take and use, how are we any better than the humans who poison the earth?” I asked, running a gentle finger over the vine that had stabilized me.

When I felt able to stand on my own, it pulled away once more and returned to its slumber, now satiated.

“No wonder my mother hated it here. You’ve all become so corrupted by your own selfishness, they don’t even teach the old ways anymore, do they?” I asked, shaking my head and taking a step toward the window I’d slid through to get to the courtyard in the first place.

The ground rushed up to meet me, pressing into the bottoms of my feet and helping me keep my footing. It sprang beneath me, helping my weakened limbs find the energy to move. It wasn’t my magic that motivated it to do so, not when I’d depleted so much of it in offering to that vine.

It was the symbiotic relationship that a witch was meant to have with her affinity. Harmony, rather than theft.

I leaned against the edge of the stone, touching my hands to the ledge and attempting to lift myself up. Before the earth could help, Iban’s face filled my vision as he stood before me. He placed a hand on each side of my waist, lifting me up until I rested fully, and drew in a deep breath.

“What you just did—”

“Was forbidden. I know.” I sighed, shaking my head as my eyes drifted closed with exhaustion. If I hadn’t feared for my life in this place I’d needed to come, I might have gone straight to sleep. It had been a long time since I’d needed to give that much of myself at once.

“It was beautiful,” he said, his deep voice shocking me. He wrapped my sweater around my shoulders, giving warmth to my chilled skin as he stared down at me. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You aren’t going to run and tell the Covenant that I broke the rules?” I asked, laughter bubbling up as I glanced back toward the Tribunal room.

“No,” he said, his brow furrowing as he grasped my hand in his. He turned it over, looking at my uninjured skin and wiping away grains of dirt. “You make me wish I hadn’t given up my own magic. I think maybe that’s something worth protecting.”

The smile drifted off my face as I met his gaze, staring up at him. My shock took over, consuming every waking thought. Of all the things he could have said, that hadn’t been what I’d expected.

To exist without my magic felt like losing part of myself, like losing the most important part of what made me, me. I didn’t know who I was without the whisper of the earth in my veins or the scent of the woods filling my lungs.

Even now, knowing what I’d given would return with time and rest… I felt like nothing. Like an empty shell of myself.

Of all the things the Coven had done, I was fairly certain the Choice that male witches were required to make was the most cruel. Family or magic.

“This doesn’t look like her room, Mr. Bray,” Thorne’s voice said from behind me.

I groaned as I hung my head forward, my forehead pressing against Iban’s white dress shirt. His tie tickled my cheek as I tried to ignore the weight of the headmaster’s gaze pressing into my spine.

“We got distracted,” Iban said, helping me to maneuver my legs up onto the stone. He climbed up beside me, moving through to help pull me along the stone as gently as he could manage.

I giggled as I stumbled into his arms, the delirium of my exhaustion making me feel half-drunk. It had been so long since I’d allowed myself to feel such things, the risks far outweighing the benefits most of the time. To be depleted of magic so suddenly was a shock to the system, making me crave some sort of stability.

I knew the moment Thorne realized what I’d done, his body tensing as Iban wrapped an arm around my waist and supported me as I stumbled through the first step.

“Here,” Thorne said, raising his wrist to his mouth.

He brushed his suit jacket up his arm, unfastening his cufflinks so that he could roll his sleeve up and out of the way. He sank his fangs into his flesh slowly, holding my gaze with his burnished steely stare. Blood coated his lips when he pulled it away, stepping toward me and raising it to my mouth.

I reared back.

“Drink. It will help replenish your magic.”

I shook my head as I frowned, disgust rolling through my gut. If his blood was inside of me, he’d have certain… access to me, and I would be less able to fight. His compulsion would be stronger. He’d be able to sense me wherever I went; my emotions would be easier for him to feel as if they were his.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Thorne growled, reaching forward to grasp me around the back of the neck so that he could hold me still. He pressed his wrist against my mouth, his nostrils flaring when I kept it clamped firmly shut. “Open your fucking mouth and drink, Witchling.”

“She doesn’t seem to want it, Headmaster Thorne,” Iban said, and something about the caution and disbelief in his voice made me believe it wasn’t something that the Vessels offered often.

“Must you be so impossible?” Thorne asked, finally withdrawing his wrist.

I waited until the puncture marks healed over before I let my lips part enough to speak. I carefully wiped the blood off my face with my forearm, not allowing a single drop or smear to touch my tongue.

“Must you be such an asshole?” I asked, ignoring the choking sound Iban made as I took a step away from Thorne. The younger male was quick to step with me, supporting me as I did my best to walk on my own. My legs felt like Jell-O beneath me, trembling with each and every step.

“At least have the decency to carry her if you want to pretend to be chivalrous,” Thorne barked, and I felt the way Iban twitched in response.

“I’m not pretending to be anything,” he protested, but he made no move to pick me up. That suited me just fine, as having him assist me with walking was embarrassing enough. I didn’t need him to realize I was too heavy and drop me.

“For Hell’s sake,” Thorne groaned behind me.

I took another step, and nausea swirled in my gut when my foot never touched the stone. My world went upside down as Thorne swept my feet out from under me, catching me beneath the knees and placing his other arm around my back.

I squealed as I flung my arms around his neck without thought, the blueness of his stare far too piercing when we were this close.

“Put me down,” I whispered, swallowing down my unease.

Greens were not meant to be off the ground entirely. Even stone tile was better than this Hell.

“Do shut up, Miss Madizza,” he said as he strode forward, making his way down the corridor and toward the entry hall we’d entered the school in. There were no remaining students to mingle, and all was quiet as he headed for the stairwell.

“Rude,” I snapped, squirming in his grip.

“All that will do is make me more inclined to drop you,” he said, his gaze pinned on where he was going as he carried me. He was careful not to jostle me too much as the ache of my depleted magic settled into my bones.

I scoffed. “As if you aren’t already inclined to do that.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled at the edges as a deep rumble began in his chest. It was a rare, genuine smile, and I stared in shock as his lips spread into a wide grin.

“Do you ever get tired of your own attitude?”

“I do not have an attitude!” I protested, my eyes wide. If I hadn’t been too terrified to release him for fear he may drop me, I might have slapped him for the incredulous way he glanced at me from the corners of his eyes.

I could feel the silent, “really?” in that look.

“Is that so?” he asked after a moment. He climbed the stairs as if I were weightless in his hold, even though he and I both knew that wasn’t true.

I was average height with an hourglass figure. My body had a decent amount of muscle packed onto it, all lingering beneath a certain love of chocolate and sweets that softened my curves. I loved my “mid-size” figure, but I’d never met someone who could carry me up several flights of stairs.

“You seem to bring out the worst in me,” I admitted, seething as I had no choice but to admit that while he was difficult and inherently evil, perhaps I wasn’t exactly cooperative either.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Likewise, Witchling.”

“Do you call all the Hollow’s Grove students Witchling? Is it because you can’t be bothered to remember their names?” I asked, curiosity driving me as he rounded the corner at the top of the third flight of stairs. The farther we went from the earth below, the more I hated this damned place.

“Just you,” he grunted, not offering any further information as to why I was so fortunate to receive a nickname I hadn’t asked for.

“Lucky me,” I groaned as he kicked open a set of doors. The hallway before us consisted of only a single door on either side of the corridor, and he lowered me to my feet in front of the one on the right.

“Key,” he said, holding out a hand.

Iban deposited an antique-looking brass key into his hand, and I blushed as I realized that I hadn’t even noticed he’d come up the stairs with us. His eyes snagged mine as if he knew it too, and my blush deepened.

Headmaster Thorne was dangerous in all the worst ways if I couldn’t even notice my surroundings when he held me in his arms.

Hell’s sake, I was damned.

Thorne slid an arm around my waist as I swayed, trying to reassure myself that my exhaustion was the cause of my distraction. His other hand slid the key into the lock on the door, turning it until the old wooden door swung open. He deposited the key into the back pocket of my black jeans as he reached around me, his mouth only a breath from my own.

“This is grossly inappropriate,” I muttered, watching as his lips twitched into a smile.

“So is calling your headmaster an asshole,” he murmured, patting the key with two swift but firm taps that made me twitch in his arms.

He guided me through the door into a common area with four chairs and a sofa lingering by the fireplace in the corner. There was a small kitchenette with a refrigerator and sink beside the door. On either side of the room, two doors waited. The one on the left was open, revealing a small, but pretty bedroom.

“I assume that’s mine?” I asked, peeling myself away from Thorne’s grip. The room swayed as I walked toward it, but I lingered in the doorway to the private room as I glanced in.

The walls were painted a light gray, the sage-colored drapes opened to reveal a view of what I felt certain were meant to be gardens. The headboard of the double bed was upholstered in a fabric the color of sand, the linens a light, natural cream. The chandelier that hung overhead had pink and yellow interspersed through it in the shapes of delicate flowers. A single wood nightstand rested beside the bed, with a bouquet of roses in a vase set upon it.

“Does it meet your standards?” Thorne asked, knowing it was far more elegant than the home I’d shared with my mother and brother.

“It’s lovely,” I admitted with a hesitant sigh. I bit my lip as I stepped in slowly, glancing toward the gardens that needed my attention. I was already tired just thinking about it.

“Good. Classes begin in the morning. I’m sure one of your roommates will be happy to show you the way,” Thorne said, retreating back into the role of Headmaster.

My thoughts scattered, scrambling frantically for a way to bring back the man who’d carried me up the stairs. Love didn’t exist for a Vessel, but the lust he showed was something I could work with. Something I needed to work with if I wanted to find my aunt’s bones. I opened my mouth to speak, dread filling me at the thought of what I needed to do.

Of how horrible it had once seemed.

“Goodnight, Miss Madizza,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

I swallowed, clamping my mouth shut as I nodded. “Goodnight, Gray,” I murmured, the words soft enough that a human wouldn’t have heard them. My cheeks warmed as I chewed on the inside of my lip.

Thorne froze, his head tilting to the side slightly as he held my gaze for a moment. He nodded once, pressing a hand to Iban’s shoulders as he stood looking between us as if he was dumbfounded.

Thorne—Gray, I forced myself to correct even my thoughts—nodded once.

Then they were both gone.