The classroom was unusually subdued, the kind of quiet that hung heavily in the air, a stillness that signaled the weight of upcoming tests. It was mid-semester, long after the initial rush of excitement had faded, and the oppressive grind of deadlines loomed. The academy was for the best witches in the world, a place of prestige, but it felt more like a cage.
Students sat scattered in their seats, dressed in the academy's sharp uniforms: black blazers with royal blue accents, crisp shirts, and matching slacks or skirts. The silver crest of the academy—a star encircled by intricate arcane runes—gleamed on each blazer. Some students scribbled notes furiously, others stared blankly at the walls, while a few whispered nervously about upcoming exams.
At the front of the room stood the teacher, Cassandra. Her presence commanded attention, even when the class was half-tuned out. With her jet-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail and deep blue eyes that seemed to pierce through every layer of pretense, she looked every bit the part of an authoritative figure. She wore the same uniform as the students, but her tailored blazer had a golden trim—an emblem of her higher rank as both a staff member and someone undeniably tied to the academy's elite.
Her voice was sharp, each word like a dagger slicing through the quiet. "Your midterms will determine whether or not you move on this semester. I expect maturity. Excellence. No excuses." She scanned the room, her gaze lingering on each student before finally settling on one in particular.
Elijah.
He was easy to pick out, even when he made himself deliberately unobtrusive. His hair was striking—a stark white that faded into black at the tips, an effortless contrast to his icy blue eyes. They were cold and detached, like frozen lakes that never thawed, and they gave nothing away. His uniform was worn as loosely as possible—his tie slightly undone, blazer unbuttoned, and his posture perpetually relaxed. While most of the class sat upright in nervous anticipation, Elijah was slouched against his seat, his head propped on one hand as he gazed out the window, utterly indifferent.
Cassandra's gaze narrowed. She picked up a piece of chalk from the tray at her desk, holding it between two fingers. "Elijah," she said, her voice cutting through the room like ice. "Do you think you're exempt from the rest of us? Or are my lessons just beneath you?"
The class turned toward him, a ripple of tension coursing through the room. Elijah didn't stir, his attention still focused on the world outside. The sunlight filtering through the window danced faintly across his pale hair, illuminating his sharp features.
"I wasn't aware you wanted my opinion," he replied, his voice low and unhurried.
The response was a mistake.
The chalk flew through the air like a bullet, its trajectory precise. It struck Elijah on the forehead with enough force to send him crashing backward out of his chair.
Laughter erupted across the classroom, a few students stifling their snickers while others openly chuckled. Elijah, however, remained calm. He sat up slowly, brushing the chalk dust from his forehead with deliberate ease.
Cassandra smirked, crossing her arms. "You'd take this more seriously if the consequences were real."
Elijah shifted in his seat, his movements unhurried as he leaned back against the desk. His icy gaze finally settled on her, devoid of emotion but carrying a weight that silenced the laughter. "Consequences don't concern me," he said, his voice flat but resonant. "They never have. But you're welcome to try."
Cassandra's lips tightened, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned back to the chalkboard, the sound of her writing sharp and deliberate.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and the usual chaos of students gathering their belongings filled the air. Elijah remained seated, indifferent to the rush around him. Cassandra's deep blue eyes lingered on him for a moment before she turned and left, her pure black hair swaying behind her.
Elijah waited until the room was nearly empty before finally standing, his tie still loose and his shirt untucked. As he stepped out into the corridor, the uniformed crowd moved around him like water flowing past a stone. He weaved through the bustling students with practiced ease, his ice-blue eyes scanning the sea of black and blue uniforms without truly seeing them.
When he exited the building, the crisp autumn air greeted him. For a moment, he paused, closing his eyes to let the wind carry away the suffocating atmosphere of the classroom. But then it hit him—a scent so distinct it stopped him in his tracks.
Blood. Sweet, intoxicating, and utterly unmistakable.
Elijah's head tilted slightly as he sniffed the air again, his icy blue eyes narrowing. This wasn't just any blood; it was laced with something unique, something that only he seemed to notice. He followed it instinctively, his steps slow and deliberate.
So alluring, he thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. I'm surprised she didn't smell something this tantalizing.
He left it at that, the cryptic thought hanging in the air as he moved deeper into the academy grounds, away from the crowded paths. The scent grew stronger, leading him to a narrow space between two towering academy buildings, an area devoid of cameras and far from prying eyes.
What he found wasn't surprising, though it was disappointing.
A girl in a torn academy uniform lay crumpled on the ground, her blood staining the pristine black and blue fabric. Standing over her was a group of older students, their faces twisted with malice.
"Worthless," one of them sneered, kicking her side. "You don't belong here, you talentless trash."
The girl coughed weakly, blood trailing from her lips as she struggled to lift her head. Her efforts only earned her another kick, driving her back to the ground.
Elijah leaned against the wall, watching the scene with disinterest. His sharp features remained unreadable, but inside, the words struck a chord he couldn't ignore.
"Talentless."
The echo of his father's voice resonated in his mind, dragging him back to a time when he was much smaller, much weaker.
"You're no son of mine, Elijah Velmont. Talentless. Weak. A disgrace to our name."
The phantom weight of those words settled on his shoulders, heavy and unrelenting. He shook his head, banishing the memory as he stepped forward, the sound of his footsteps drawing the attention of the bullies.
One of them turned, his sneer widening when he saw Elijah. "Well, well. Another little runt wandering where he doesn't belong."
Elijah's icy blue gaze flicked between them, his expression one of mild annoyance. "This wasn't on my agenda today," he said lazily, straightening his tie as if preparing for a formal meeting. "But I suppose I'll make time."
The bullies laughed, their confidence unshaken as one of them cracked his knuckles. "What are you gonna do, huh? Try and run like she did, then cry when we beat you?"
Elijah sighed. In a blur of motion, he closed the distance between them.
The first bully didn't even have time to react before Elijah's hand shot out, his fingers clamping around the boy's throat. There was no struggle—only a quick, clean twist. The lifeless body collapsed soundlessly to the ground, the faint thud echoing in the narrow space.
The others froze, their sneers replaced with wide-eyed panic.
"You—" one of them stammered, his voice trembling. "You killed him!"
Elijah tilted his head, his ice-blue eyes gleaming with a chilling calm. "Of course I did. You'll follow soon enough."
Before they could move, Elijah was already on the next one. His movements were precise and efficient, leaving no room for resistance. His hand struck the second bully's neck, and his body slumped forward as if a switch had been flipped.
The last two turned to flee, but Elijah was faster. One tried to dart past him, only to find Elijah's hand gripping his shoulder. A quick yank sent the boy crashing to the ground, where Elijah ended him with a sharp, deliberate motion.
The final bully, now paralyzed with fear, begged incoherently as he backed against the wall. Elijah crouched in front of him, his gaze cold and detached.
"Don't worry," Elijah said softly, his voice almost kind. "It'll be quick."
And it was.
Elijah stood, brushing off his sleeves. Not a single drop of blood had touched him, his pristine uniform a testament to his precision. He turned his attention back to the girl, who had managed to lift her head slightly despite her injuries.
She was beautiful—there was no denying that. Her features were delicate yet strong, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline that suggested a hidden strength beneath her fragile appearance. Despite her current state, there was something in the way she held herself, even in the face of death, that caught his attention. Her eyes, though clouded with pain, burned with something that he found strangely appealing.
She was a world-class beauty, and Elijah couldn't help but admire the perfect balance between elegance and strength in her.
"Well," he said, kneeling in front of her, his cold eyes scanning her face, "you heard them, didn't you? Talentless."
Her chest heaved with shallow breaths, but she managed a defiant look.
Elijah leaned in slightly, his voice barely a whisper. "But they weren't wrong. You are weak, after all. Weakness is the enemy in this world. Only strength allows you to survive."
He tilted his head, studying her further. "Quite the beauty, aren't you? Shame such a precious thing could be so... fragile."
The girl's hand twitched, and her eyes narrowed with even more defiance. With a sudden burst of energy, she swung her fist toward him, trying to land a blow.
Elijah caught her wrist effortlessly, not painfully, but with a precision that left no room for escape. His gaze locked onto hers as he held her wrist, his expression a mix of amusement and interest.
"Such fire," he murmured, almost with a hint of approval. "You have spirit."
Her defiant glare remained, but she didn't try to break free.
Elijah smiled slightly, his voice softer now. "But you're not strong enough."
His eyes flicked down to her wrist before meeting her gaze again, a glimmer of curiosity in his icy blue depths. "You're quite a beauty, you know."
The girl's lips parted, her breath shaky as she struggled to find words, but Elijah wasn't giving her time.
"Oh, I'm going to like you," he said, his voice calm, almost affectionate.
And in that moment, Elijah knew that despite her weakness, despite everything, she was someone who intrigued him. A puzzle he wouldn't mind solving.
Elijah leaned in, his gaze lingering on her delicate yet striking features. Her hair, a cascade of violet waves, shimmered like twilight, flowing effortlessly in an almost ethereal fashion. Her eyes, the rare dusky amethyst, were clouded with pain, but beneath the haze, there was an undeniable fire—a fire that intrigued him, even as she lay so vulnerable.
"Don't worry, this won't hurt," Elijah murmured, his voice soft but firm. He reached for her wrist with a gentle yet unyielding grip, drawing her close as the heat from her blood beckoned him.
As soon as his fangs sank into her, the intoxicating taste filled his mouth. It was more delicious than anything he had ever encountered. The richness of it overwhelmed his senses—a taste so pure and powerful that it almost felt as though he could consume it forever. His eyes flashed purple without his understanding, and he took more than he planned, only stopping just before her body gave way to unconsciousness.
Pulling back reluctantly, he wiped his mouth, his gaze lingering on her face. The sight of her now, slightly paler and fragile yet still holding a quiet defiance, struck something in him. With a deep breath, he reached up and slid the ring off his finger.
The ring he removed was an ethereal beauty—a perfect circle of gold, glimmering softly in the light. The band was finely crafted, the design intricate yet elegant, and at its center sat a striking blue gem that seemed to capture the essence of the very sky. It was simple, yet unmistakably beautiful, its radiance unmatched. As he carefully placed it on her finger, the soft glow of the ring contrasted against her pale skin, its beauty seeming to heighten the delicacy of her appearance.
His own version of the ring, thicker, with a slightly smaller gem, remained on his finger. The two rings, though similar, were designed for their respective owners—one feminine, the other masculine, both bearing the same essence. Elijah studied the way the ring sat on her finger, a subtle connection forming in the moment.
Staring into her amethyst eyes, now dulled by the blood loss, he spoke softly but with an intensity that held weight. "Now, don't ever take this ring off, no matter the circumstances." As he said this, an invisible surge seemed to flow into her, a strange and subtle power she wouldn't understand just yet.
The girl's breath slowed, her body growing limp as she passed into unconsciousness. Elijah sighed, lifting her with ease into his arms. She felt surprisingly light in his hold, as if the world itself had burdened her less than she deserved.
When he arrived at the nurse's office, the staff barely glanced at him. He simply told them, "I found her like this." They didn't question him further. With a subtle flick of his gaze, he turned and walked out, his mind already preoccupied with what lay ahead.
There was something about her—something that intrigued him in a way he hadn't expected. He was going to like her.
Elijah made his way home, the familiar weight of the key in his pocket as he approached the door. He opened it with ease, stepping inside, only to be met with the soft, almost melodic voice of his sister.
"You took long today."
The girl standing in front of him looked like Cassandra, but with stark differences. Her pure white hair cascaded like a sheet of snow, and her lighter blue eyes gleamed with a cold, icy brilliance. Her features were sharp, but there was something strangely familiar in the way she carried herself.
Elijah barely had time to respond before she sniffed the air, her movements so fast it was almost imperceptible. "You smell like a female and blood."
Before he could react, she was in front of him, gripping his jaw with supernatural strength and forcing it open. Her nose flared, taking in his scent as she sniffed deeply. "You bit someone."
She then glanced down at his hand, her shock evident. "Where is your ring?"
Elijah, ever cheeky and unfazed, smirked. "Now calm down, Selene. It seems I've lost it, but I still have this half, so I guess it isn't that bad."
Her eyes darkened with growing irritation. Without a second thought, she gripped his jaw even tighter, her gaze boring into his soul. "What did you do?" she demanded, her voice low and threatening.
Elijah, sensing the impending storm, sighed. He couldn't tell her—at least not yet. Who knew what she might do to the girl? This was Selene Velmont, his older sister, the one who'd stuck by him ever since he discarded his family name. She was fiercely protective of him, almost to the point of obsession. For the last nine years, she had taken care of him, and he had learned quickly to tread lightly around her.
Seeing his reluctance to answer, Selene's grip tightened painfully, the pressure on his jaw nearly unbearable. "It seems you've forgotten Lesson One," she said, her voice colder than ice.
Before Elijah could respond, she threw him into the door with a force that should have shattered it, yet the door remained undamaged. He tried to recover, but Selene was faster—far too fast. She grabbed him by the neck, her fingers tightening like a vice.
"Remind me again, what is Lesson One?" she purred, her voice dripping with authority.
Elijah struggled for a moment but couldn't speak, his air cut off by her unrelenting grip. After what felt like an eternity, she loosened her hold slightly, and he managed to rasp, "Always obey my older sister."
She released him, and he dropped to his knees, gasping for air. She stepped back, seemingly satisfied for the moment. "Oh, so you do remember. Now, tell me—who is this girl?"
Elijah sensed the hostility radiating from her. She wasn't just asking—she was demanding. He straightened himself, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I can tell you, but you will not touch her," he said firmly, meeting her eyes without flinching.
Selene's eyes widened in surprise. Her brother was never disobedient. "Fine," she said coldly, her voice laced with menace. "I will find her. I've already smelled her blood."
Elijah stepped in her way, blocking her path. "Well, I can't just let you leave that easily," he said with a smirk. "That would go against Lesson Number 3."
Selene froze, her eyes narrowing. "Lesson Number 3?" Her voice was dangerous now, a low growl in the back of her throat. The mention of that lesson made her pulse quicken. Elijah's disregard for everything had always been a source of frustration, but she never thought he'd actually apply that lesson to someone else.
Elijah's smirk only widened. "Yes, Lesson Number 3," he said. "Always take care of what's important to you."
Selene's eyes narrowed further as realization dawned on her. "Lesson Number 3..."
This served only to anger her more. She had always been the one who took care of him, who watched over him. And now, Elijah—her stubborn, wayward brother—was applying Lesson Number 3 to someone else. Someone she hadn't even met yet.
She dropped her stance, her expression softening for just a moment. "You turned someone, didn't you?" she asked, her voice betraying a mix of concern and irritation. "But you're far too young for a mate. So as your older sister, I have to correct your mistake."
Elijah's eyes flashed as he met her gaze. He knew that look well—Selene didn't like to be contradicted. He also knew that this wasn't just about the girl anymore. This was about him breaking the unspoken rules of their existence.
"Don't even think about it, Selene," Elijah said, his tone suddenly serious. "I won't let you take care of it. Not this time."
Selene stared at him, still seething with anger but also a hint of confusion. She had always been the one who watched over him, and this? This was new.