Hellfire – Princess of Hell

“Why does a demon need a phone?”

Tall One’s question came out defensive. Suspicious. His friends exchanged glances.

“Facebook stalking,” I said. “Very important demon business.”

No one laughed.

Glasses cleared his throat. “But you’re… you’re not going to leave, right? Not until we make a contract?”

“That’s how it works,” Styled Hair said. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “The circle keeps them contained. It’s supposed to—”

“I just need to make one call,” I interrupted. “Then we can talk about your contract situation.”

More glances. More whispered Japanese between them. I caught fragments—“she seems reasonable” and “what if she’s lying” and something about summoning protocols.

Finally, Tall One pulled his phone from his pocket.

He approached the circle’s edge slowly, like I might lunge at him. His hand extended across the barrier, fingertips first, arm stretched to maximum length to keep as much distance as possible.

And a thought appeared.

Quiet. Practical. Immediate.

Grab him. Pull him in. They’ll break the circle to get him back.

The logic was flawless. Why negotiate when I could take a hostage? Nothing could exit the circle, but things could still enter it. They’d established that when they’d drawn me through. Basic physics—or whatever passed for physics in ritual magic.

I should consider alternatives. Weigh the options. Think it through like I’d been trained to do.

My hand shot out and locked around his wrist.

Glasses yelped. The sound was high-pitched, startled, almost comical.

I yanked.

He stumbled forward, phone clattering from his grip as he crossed the threshold. The circle’s energy rippled but didn’t break—one-way barrier, just like the books had said. He crashed into me, all flailing limbs and panic, and we both went down.

“Asagiri!”

“Fuck—get him out!”

“How?! We can’t reach—”

I ended up on my back with Glasses—Asagiri—sprawled across my chest. His face was about two inches from mine, eyes wide behind smudged lenses, breathing fast and shallow.

Then he seemed to register exactly where his face had landed.

Pressed between my breasts. His cheek against bare skin. The warmth of him noticeable even against the succubus body’s constant heat.

His entire face went crimson.

I rolled my eyes and shoved him off. He scrambled backward until he hit the circle’s inner edge, staring at me like I might decide to do something worse than kidnap him.

“Break the circle,” I said.

Tall One and Styled Hair stood frozen outside.

“Break it,” I repeated, “or your friend comes back to Hell with me.”

“You said you just wanted a phone!” Styled Hair’s voice cracked. “You said—”

“I lied.” I picked up the dropped phone and checked the screen. Locked, of course. “Demons do that.”

Asagiri made a strangled sound. “Please don’t—I don’t want to go to Hell—I’m not even dead yet—”

“Then they should hurry.”

Tall One grabbed Styled Hair’s shoulder. They argued in rapid Japanese—something about whether I was bluffing, whether they could physically force me to release Asagiri, whether breaking the circle would just let me escape with him anyway.

Valid concerns, honestly.

“Haruto.” Styled Hair turned to Tall One, pleading. “We can’t just—”

“What choice do we have?” Haruto snapped back. “You want to explain to his parents why their son disappeared?”

“But the ritual—”

“Forget the ritual!”

Haruto stepped forward, jaw tight. His hand moved toward the chalk lines.

“Wait!” Asagiri twisted to look at me. “If we break it, you’ll let me go? You promise?”

I met his eyes. Terrified, desperate, young.

I wasn’t going to kill them anyway.

The thought surfaced with uncomfortable clarity. I’d grabbed him on impulse, pure tactical instinct, but the endgame had never involved actual harm. Just leverage. A shortcut past negotiation because selling myself for phone access felt degrading in ways hostage-taking apparently didn’t.

Hell was doing wonderful things for my moral compass.

“I promise,” I said. “Break the circle, I let him go.”

Haruto’s hand moved decisively. One sweep through the chalk, smudging the outer ring.

The barrier popped like a soap bubble. The shift was tangible—pressure releasing, boundary collapsing. My connection to Hell’s anchor point flexed, suddenly less constrained.

I released Asagiri.

He bolted past me so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. His friends caught him, hands on his shoulders, checking him over like he’d been wounded.

“There,” I said. “Was that really so hard?”

They stared at me. All three of them, clustered together now, putting distance between themselves and the demon who’d just proven she could and would cheat their carefully researched containment circle.

Asagiri straightened his glasses. “You… you didn’t have to grab me.”

“You didn’t have to make me negotiate for basic phone privileges.” I turned the mobile over in my hands. “Unlock this for me?”

No one moved.

I sighed. “I’m not going to steal it. I just need to make one call. Then you get your phone back and I go home.”

“What about…” The third one—Souma, I’d heard them call him—glanced at his friends. “What about the, uh. The sex?”

His face went red even saying it.

I looked at him. Then at Haruto. Then at Asagiri, who was determinedly staring at the floor.

A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Genuine, not cruel, just… the absurdity of it.

“No,” I said.

“But we summoned you,” Asagiri protested weakly. “That’s the whole point. We followed the instructions, we used virgin blood for the circle, we—”

“You summoned a succubus using instructions you clearly didn’t understand, failed to contain her, and then gave her exactly what she wanted because she grabbed one of you.” I raised an eyebrow. “You should know better than to summon demons, especially when you’re this careless.”

Haruto bristled. “We researched—”

“Badly. Consider this your punishment.”

The phone was still locked in my hand. I held it out toward them.

“Password?”

Souma took it, thumbed in the code, handed it back without meeting my eyes.

The screen lit up. Apps I recognized—messaging, maps, browser. And there, the phone icon.

I pulled up the keypad.

* * *

I stared at the phone screen. My thumb hovered over the keypad.

My phone number was still in my head. The muscle memory of typing it ran deeper than anything else from my old life—more automatic than my own birthday, more ingrained than my address.

I typed them in.

The three students watched me. Haruto’s arms were crossed. Asagiri had retreated to the corner farthest from me. Souma kept glancing between his friends and the ruined circle like he was still processing what had just happened.

The line connected. International dial tone, that distinctive double pulse.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

My tail curled around my ankle. I forced it still.

Four—

“Hello?”

The voice punched through me like a blade.

Faith.

“Faith?” The name escaped before I could stop it.

Silence stretched across the connection. Then: “Who is this? How do you know my name?”

My mind went blank. Why was Faith answering my phone? We’d broken up a month before I collapsed. She’d walked away, cut contact clean. There was no reason for her to have my mobile, let alone answer it.

Unless Lilithiel had fixed things. Had made up with her somehow. Was living my life better than I had.

The thought sat wrong in my chest.

“I asked you a question.” Faith’s voice sharpened. “Who are you?”

“I—” The words tangled. What could I even say? “I’m looking for Liam. Liam Dawnstar. This is his number.”

“How did you get this phone?”

“That’s not important. Is he there? Can I speak to him?”

“How do you know me?” Faith pressed. “You said my name. We’ve never spoken before.”

Behind me, Souma whispered something in Japanese. Haruto shushed him.

“What are they saying?” Asagiri’s voice, also Japanese, barely audible.

“I don’t know,” Haruto muttered back. “I didn’t know demons spoke English.”

“She spoke to us in Japanese,” Souma pointed out. “Why wouldn’t she know other languages?”

I turned slightly, glaring at them. They fell silent.

Faith was still waiting.

“I need to know about Liam,” I said, dodging her question entirely. “Is he okay? Where is he?”

The pause lasted too long.

“Liam is missing,” Faith said finally. Her tone had gone flat, professional. “He’s been missing for twenty days. Now tell me who you are and why you’re calling from Japan.”

The words hit like ice water.

Missing.

Not living my life. Not reconciling with Faith or going to work or sleeping in my flat.

Missing.

“I’m…” My throat tightened. “I’m a colleague. From work. I’m on vacation and I just—I heard something might be wrong and wanted to check.”

The lie tasted like ash.

“Uh-huh.” Faith didn’t believe me. The scepticism bled through every syllable. “What’s your name?”

“Lily.”

“Lily.” She repeated it slowly. “And you’re calling about a missing person investigation from Japan on a random day because you’re concerned.”

“Yes.”

“Right.” A rustling sound, like she was moving the phone. “Sure. I’ll play along for now, Lily. What exactly did you hear?”

I opened my mouth—

The line cut.

Dead air. The call-ended screen mocked me from the phone’s display.

“No.” I jabbed at the screen, trying to redial. It connected, rang once, then dropped again. I tried a third time. Same result.

The phone’s balance notification flashed: Insufficient credit.

“Fuck.”

My hand tightened around the mobile. The urge to throw it, to smash it against the wall and watch it shatter, rose so fast it nearly overwhelmed me. Only the awareness that these three idiots were watching kept me from actually doing it.

I forced my fingers open. Held the phone out to Souma.

He took it gingerly, like it might explode.

Missing. Liam—the real Lilithiel—was missing. Which meant she hadn’t just stolen my body and slid seamlessly into my life. She’d taken it somewhere. Done something with it that made people notice my absence.

That was… good, actually. If she’d disappeared too, then maybe she was looking for a way back. Maybe this whole thing was an accident on both sides and she wanted her body returned as much as I wanted mine.

But Faith.

Faith had answered my phone. Faith, who’d ended things. Faith, who’d made it clear we were done.

Why did she have my mobile? How had she gotten involved in this?

And why had her voice sounded so wrong? Not the tone—that professional detachment was pure Faith under pressure. But something underneath it. Something I couldn’t name but felt in my gut was off.

“Are you okay?”

I blinked. Asagiri had inched closer, his expression caught between fear and genuine concern.

“Fine,” I said.

“You look upset.”

“I’m not.”

My tail had coiled tight around my leg again. I unwound it deliberately, let it settle in a loose curve behind me.

Asagiri didn’t look convinced, but he wisely didn’t push.

I looked at the three of them. Young. Stupid. Lucky they’d summoned me instead of something that would’ve actually hurt them.

“Listen,” I said. “Whatever instructions you followed to do this? Burn them. Never attempt a summoning again.”

Haruto’s jaw set. “We have the right to—”

“You have the right to get yourselves killed.” I stepped toward him. He didn’t back up, but his shoulders tensed. “Next time you won’t get someone who just wants to make a phone call. You’ll get something that eats you, or enslaves you, or drags you back to Hell for entertainment. And you won’t be able to stop it.”

“We had the circle,” Souma protested weakly.

“The circle I broke in thirty seconds by grabbing your friend.” I glanced at Asagiri. He flinched. “You’re not ready for this. You’ll never be ready for this. So don’t do it again.”

Silence.

Then Haruto nodded once. Stiff, reluctant, but genuine.

“Good.”

I turned to the remnants of their summoning circle. Most of the chalk was smudged beyond recognition, but the basic geometry was still visible. I crouched, pulling a piece of chalk from where it had rolled near the wall.

I redrew the outer ring first, tracing over Haruto’s hasty smudge. Then the inner geometry, the angles that defined destination rather than just purpose. My hand moved automatically, muscle memory from a week of study translating into clean, precise lines.

The three of them watched in silence.

When I finished, the circle hummed. Not audibly, but I felt it in my bones. The anchor tightened, recognizing the invitation.

I stood. Stepped into the centre.

Haruto raised a hand slightly. “Wait. Will we—will we see you again?”

I looked at him. At all of them.

“No,” I said. “And you should be grateful for that.”

The chalk lines flared. Reality twisted.

The attic vanished.

* * *

The dormitory bathroom materialized around me.

I stumbled, caught myself against the sink. The chalk circle beneath my feet glowed once, then faded to dull white lines on tile.

My legs shook. Not from the transit—from the adrenaline finally catching up.

I crouched, grabbed the wet cloth I’d left on the floor, and scrubbed at the chalk. The lines smeared, dissolved. Within a minute, no trace remained except faint residue I could blame on cleaning products if anyone asked.

I stood. Walked to the sink. Turned on the tap and let cold water run over my hands, washing away chalk dust and the lingering sensation of Earth’s gravity. Different, somehow. Lighter? Heavier? I couldn’t articulate it, but Hell’s weight felt wrong now in a way it hadn’t before.

Faith had my phone.

Faith knew I was missing.

Which meant what? That she cared? That she was involved in some official capacity I didn’t know about? She’d told me she worked in graphic design, but the way she’d handled that call—professional, controlled, immediately suspicious—didn’t match.

I dried my hands. Stored the chalk in my spatial ring alongside the rest of the unused ritual components.

The bathroom door opened onto our darkened room. Aria’s bed was a tangle of sheets and one visible leg. Bellas slept in his corner, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm I’d learned to recognize.

I crossed to my bed. Sat. The mattress gave beneath me, familiar now in ways my London flat’s had never been.

Twenty-four days.

I’d been here twenty-four days, and my phone was in Faith’s hands. My body was missing—truly missing, not just living my life without me. And the person who’d taken it had vanished so completely that people noticed.

I should feel relieved. This wasn’t malicious theft. This was… what? Mutual disaster? Accident?

I lay back. Stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow I’d figure out how to find Lilithiel. How to arrange a meeting. How to negotiate a swap or force one if negotiation failed.

Tonight, I just needed to stop thinking.

* * *

I didn’t notice falling asleep.

One moment I was staring at the ceiling, calculating transit costs and summoning variables. The next, I was sitting on a couch that looked like mine but wasn’t—softer, the cushions deeper than I remembered.

Faith sat beside me. Except Faith had white hair now, crimson eyes, and I accepted this without question the way you do in dreams.

“What do you want to watch?” Her voice was Faith’s but the cadence was wrong, lilting.

I had the remote in my hand. Scrolled through Webflix options I half-recognized. Settled on something with explosions and car chases because thinking about plot seemed exhausting.

She leaned against me as the opening credits rolled. Warm. Real enough that I forgot for a while that anything was strange.

“This is terrible,” she said when the protagonist jumped a motorcycle over a helicopter.

“Objectively, yes.”

“You picked it.”

“I contain multitudes.”

She laughed. Kissed my cheek. Her lips were cool against my skin.

I turned my head. Met her mouth properly this time.

The TV kept playing. I stopped paying attention.

Her hands found my shirt buttons. Mine found the zipper at her back. We moved without breaking the kiss, practiced choreography I didn’t remember learning.

Clothes vanished the way they do in dreams—one moment dressed, the next bare skin against bare skin.

I pushed her down into the cushions. She wrapped her legs around my waist. Everything fit perfectly, the geometry of bodies aligning without conscious thought.

I pushed inside her. She gasped. I moved, and she moved with me, and the dream logic smoothed over any questions about how this worked or why I wasn’t confused.

Her nails dug into my back. I kissed her throat, her collarbone, the space between her breasts. She said my name—Liam—and I responded by going deeper.

I blinked.

The face beneath me changed.

My face. Liam’s face, smirking up at me with an expression I’d never worn in a mirror.

The sensations inverted. My hips moved but the rhythm had reversed—rising and falling instead of thrusting.

I was on top but everything else had changed.

“Give it back.” My voice came out breathless, wrong. “Give me back my body.”

“Doesn’t it feel good?” His—my—hands gripped my waist, guiding the motion. “Better than anything you had before.”

“Stop it.”

“Then stop moving.” He grinned. My grin, except I’d never smiled like that. “If you hate it so much.”

I tried to freeze. Willed my hips to still.

They kept moving. Clenching. Rising and falling with a rhythm I couldn’t control.

He laughed. The sound echoed wrong in my stolen throat.

“That’s what I thought.”

I dug my nails into his chest. “This is mine. You stole it.”

“Did I?” He thrust up to meet me, and I gasped despite myself. “You had what—Daniel? An ex who ghosted you? A job you tolerated?”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve been here three weeks and you already have two friends who’d go to war for you.” His hands moved to my breasts, thumbs circling. “Three, if you count the slave you’re too soft to use properly.”

“I said shut up.”

“You’re better at this than I ever was.” He pulled me down, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Better succubus. Better liar. Better—”

I kissed him to stop the words. Bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.

He groaned. Flipped us without pulling out, pinning me beneath him now.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

“Hate you,” I said against his mouth.

“No you don’t.” He moved harder, faster. “You hate that I’m right.”

My body betrayed me with every clench, every gasp. The pleasure built like pressure behind a dam.

“Give it back,” I repeated, but the words had no force behind them anymore.

“Make me.”

I came.

The orgasm hit like lightning through water, and I—

—woke gasping in my bed.

My hand was between my legs. The sheets were damp. My tail had wrapped around my thigh hard enough to leave marks.

I stared at the dark ceiling, chest heaving.

Across the room, Aria’s breathing remained steady. Bellas hadn’t moved.

I extracted my hand. Wiped it on the sheets.

Just anxiety. Processing the phone call. My mind working through the variables while succubus biology did what succubus biology does.

I rolled onto my side. Forced my breathing to slow.

The dream was already fading, details blurring into generic nightmare imagery.

I closed my eyes.

Tried not to think about how his—my—words had felt truer than I wanted them to be.

* * *

The morning passed in a blur of familiar rhythms. Lectures I half-paid attention to, notes I took by reflex, Aria’s whispered commentary during Professor Vox’s trigonometry explanations. Valentina and her entourage kept their distance, probably because Isabella walked between classes with us.

The three of us together formed something Valentina apparently didn’t want to test again.

By lunch, I’d almost forgotten about the dream. Almost.

The cafeteria noise hit us before we entered—laughter, conversations layered over each other, the scrape of chairs against stone. We claimed a table near the windows where heat shimmered off the courtyard outside.

I grabbed whatever Aria pointed at during the queue. Some kind of glazed meat, vegetables in sauce that probably wasn’t tomato-based, bread that steamed when I tore it open.

Stopped questioning the menu three days ago. This body’s palate operated on entirely different preferences than what I remembered liking. Trying to map human taste memories onto demonic cuisine was exhausting, and ultimately pointless.

It tasted good. Rich, complex flavours that made my tongue tingle pleasantly.

That’s what mattered.

I bit into the meat. Savoury, with an underlying sweetness I couldn’t identify. Didn’t want to identify, if I was honest.

“So.” Isabella cut her food with precise movements. “The undead incidents are escalating.”

Aria paused mid-chew. “Escalating how?”

“Frequency.” Isabella’s expression remained neutral, but something in her tone sharpened. “My mother mentioned it during our last correspondence. Five separate incidents in the last three days.”

“No way.” Aria set down her fork.

“Yes way.” Isabella took a measured bite, chewed, swallowed before continuing. “The city guard is stretched thin dealing with cleanup. Most of the activity seems concentrated near the eastern gates.”

I glanced between them. “Will it affect the Academy?”

“Unlikely.” Isabella reached for her glass. “Skeletons aren’t a legitimate threat to anyone with basic combat training. Annoying more than dangerous. Unless we start seeing bone dragons or liches, it’s just civic nuisance.”

“I’d love to see a dragon.” Aria’s eyes lit up. “Could you imagine keeping one as a pet? Flying around on its back?”

“Dragons don’t make good pets.” Isabella’s lips curved slightly. “Though my house does maintain one in the estate grounds.”

Aria straightened. “Wait, seriously? Can I visit? Please tell me I can visit.”

“Not until you’ve met my parents first.” Isabella’s smile turned sharp. “Protocol.”

“Oh, speaking of parents.” Aria turned to me. “Lily’s mother is visiting this week, right?”

Both of them looked at me.

I finished chewing. Swallowed. “She sent a letter saying she wanted to see what kind of friends I’ve made.”

“Did she specify when?” Isabella asked.

“Just sometime this week. No exact day.”

Isabella sighed. Set down her utensils with deliberate care. “On a scale of one to ten, how much should I expect your mother to try currying favour with me?”

I blinked. The question caught me off guard.

Lilith had no reason to seek anyone’s approval except possibly Lucifer’s. She was the Queen of Hell. House Lilitu, powerful as it was, still answered to the Crown.

But she was coming incognito. Playing the role of a merchant to maintain my cover.

Would she overplay it? Probably not—Lilith was too competent for obvious mistakes. But she might lean into the persona enough to make it convincing.

“Three or four, maybe?” I offered. “I’m honestly not sure.”

“Better than mine.” Aria stabbed a vegetable. “My mother would be a solid ten. Maybe eleven.”

“The scale goes to ten,” Isabella said.

“Exactly.”

I returned my attention to my plate. The meat had cooled slightly but still tasted good. I tore off another piece of bread, used it to soak up some of the sauce.

Aria launched into a story about a customer at her mother’s boutique who’d tried to pay with counterfeit soul coins. Isabella added a comment about economic fraud regulations in the Third Circle.

I let their voices wash over me. Ate methodically, enjoying flavours I had no human context for.

The conversation drifted. Isabella mentioned an upcoming practical exam in Alchemy. Aria complained about Professor Scarlet’s reading assignments. Normal things. Student things.

I finished my plate and leaned back.

Caught myself relaxing into the moment without the usual mental footnote about how temporary this all was.

Pushed the thought away.

Aria was already standing, gathering her things. “Come on, we’ve got fifteen minutes before Occult Law.”

Isabella rose with her characteristic grace. I followed, leaving my empty plate for the imps to collect.

We filtered out of the cafeteria with the rest of the crowd, heading toward the afternoon’s remaining lectures.

Just another day at the Academy.

* * *

The Proving Grounds stretched before us—black obsidian spires jutting from cracked earth, a basin of molten rock bubbling to our left, the air thick with sulphur and ash. Heat radiated up through my boots. Didn’t bother me. Nothing about the temperature registered as uncomfortable anymore.

I stood with Aria and Isabella among a cluster of other students, all in the regulation athletic wear. Mine clung to every curve—black material that moved like liquid but held firm. Enchanted, probably. The outfit left my midriff bare, wings unobstructed.

Convenient for combat, I supposed.

Aria bounced on her toes beside me, tail swaying. “First combat class! Finally something practical.”

Isabella adjusted her stance, perfectly poised even in gym clothes. “You seemed to enjoy Alchemy well enough.”

“Alchemy’s fine.” Aria waved a hand. “But this? This is what we’re actually going to use.”

I scanned the grounds. The floating platforms above us swayed on their chains. The cryo-ward zone shimmered with frost at the far end, incongruous against the volcanic backdrop.

Interesting design. Three-dimensional combat space with environmental hazards. Made sense for training succubi who could fly.

“Speaking of practical skills.” Aria turned to me. “You totally aced that Occult Law quiz today.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t that difficult.”

“Not that difficult?” Aria’s voice pitched up. “Lily, if I see you in that library one more time this week, I’m physically dragging you out.”

“I need to study.”

“You’re already ahead of the entire year.” Aria crossed her arms. “You’re a succubus, not a—what’s that thing that hoards forbidden knowledge?”

“Gnosidemon,” Isabella supplied.

“Right! One of those.” Aria jabbed a finger at me. “Reading should be a hobby, not your main personality trait.”

I opened my mouth to argue.

Isabella cut in. “She has a point, Lily. You spend more time in the library than Meridia does, and Meridia lives there.”

“See?” Aria gestured at Isabella. “Even Bella agrees.”

The nickname made Isabella’s eye twitch slightly, but she didn’t correct it.

I looked between them. Both watching me expectantly.

The thing was—they weren’t wrong. I’d been using the library as a refuge. Somewhere structured. Controllable. Facts didn’t have emotional weight. Research didn’t require me to examine what I was becoming.

But I couldn’t exactly tell them that.

“Fine.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ll try to visit less.”

“Try?” Aria stepped closer. “Uh-uh. Promise me. Actual promise.”

Her purple eyes locked onto mine. Genuine concern underneath the playfulness.

Something in my chest tightened.

“I promise,” I said. “Less library time. More… whatever you want me to do instead.”

“Good.” Aria’s expression brightened immediately. She looped her arm through mine. “We can go shopping. Or clubbing. Or just hang out without you having your nose in a book for once.”

Isabella’s lips curved slightly. “A worthwhile intervention.”

I didn’t point out that Isabella spent almost as much time studying as I did. Different methods, maybe—she preferred her private quarters—but equally dedicated.

Footsteps approached across the cracked earth.

The scattered conversations around us died.

I turned.

A woman strode toward our gathering, moving like violence given form. Lean muscle wrapped in curves, wings showing old tears, horns chipped and scarred. Short dark hair, predator’s eyes that catalogued each of us in seconds.

Professor Kara.

She stopped at the edge of our group. Smiled.

It wasn’t a comforting expression.

“Welcome,” she said, “to the part of your education that might actually keep you alive.”

* * *

“I don’t like talking,” Kara said, “so I’ll keep this brief.”

She paced along the cracked obsidian, wings folded tight. Each step deliberate.

“You’re here to learn how to not die. Succubi are faster than most demons, more flexible, naturally magical. You’re also physically weaker than most things that aren’t mortal.” Her gaze swept across us. “So you don’t fight like a brute. You fight like a predator.”

Aria’s tail flicked beside me.

“Seduction isn’t separate from violence. Every movement should invite approach while keeping you alive. Every strike is an opening. Every defense is bait.” Kara stopped. “You’ll learn to use your bodies as weapons—claws, tail, wings, glamour. You’ll learn to drain essence through contact while your opponent bleeds.”

Made sense. Strategic use of physiological advantages.

“But first, I need to see what you’re working with.” Kara’s smile returned. “So all of you are going to try to hit me. At once.”

Silence.

Then Valentina laughed. “All of us?”

“Problem?” Kara’s eyebrow raised.

“Just seems inefficient, Professor.” Valentina stepped forward, confidence radiating. “Perhaps we should demonstrate individually—”

“Now.”

The word cracked across the grounds.

Students exploded into movement.

Valentina launched first, probably trying to impress. Her wings flared as she closed distance.

Kara sidestepped. Grabbed Valentina’s wrist mid-strike and used her momentum to spin her. Valentina hit the obsidian face-first. Hard.

I catalogued the motion. Classic redirection. No wasted energy.

Three more students converged from different angles. Kara dropped low, tail sweeping out to take one’s legs. Her wing snapped open to catch another in the face. The third got an elbow to the solar plexus.

All down in maybe three seconds.

Beautiful economy of motion.

Others rushed in. Kara moved through them like water through cracks—never where the strikes landed, always positioned for the counter. A pureblood with impressive speed managed to force Kara to block instead of dodge.

Kara’s hand caught the girl’s fist. Twisted. Something crunched. The pureblood screamed.

“Predictable,” Kara said, releasing her.

Valentina tried again, coming in with a tail strike while Kara was engaged. Smart—attacking the blind spot.

Kara’s wing blocked without her even turning. Then she pivoted, caught Valentina by the horn, and drove her knee into Valentina’s stomach. Once. Twice.

Valentina dropped, retching.

I smiled.

Couldn’t help it. Watching Valentina get dismantled held a certain satisfaction.

Aria glanced at me. Grinned back.

The remaining students hesitated. Kara stood among the groaning bodies, not even breathing hard.

“Well?” she asked.

I studied her stance. Open. Too open. Probably bait, but—

There. Weight slightly forward on her left foot. Marginal thing. If someone came in low and fast from that angle while she was tracking another threat…

Aria and Isabella moved simultaneously. Different vectors, forcing Kara to split attention.

I launched.

Low. Fast. My tail coiled for a follow-up strike.

The opening widened as Aria closed from Kara’s right. Perfect timing.

My claws extended—muscle memory, hadn’t meant to do that—and I drove toward Kara’s exposed flank.

She rotated.

Not much. Just enough.

My strike passed through empty air. Then Kara’s hand closed on my wrist and the world flipped.

I hit the obsidian. Air left my lungs.

Kara’s knee pressed into my spine. “Good approach.”

I couldn’t breathe to respond.

Sounds of impact nearby—Aria and Isabella getting handled.

Kara released me. I gasped, rolled onto my side.

She looked down. “You found a real opening. Most students just run at me. But you’re fighting yourself as much as me.”

What?

“Your body knows what to do. You keep stopping it.” Kara tilted her head. “Muscle memory from bad training? Or are you scared of what happens if you let go?”

I pushed myself up. Ribs ached but nothing broken.

Around me, more students tried their luck. Isabella moved like liquid silver—dodging Kara’s first strike, then the second. Her tail feinted high while she dropped low.

Kara caught her anyway. Faster than Isabella expected. Three rapid strikes to pressure points and Isabella folded.

“Better,” Kara said. “You’ve had actual training.”

Isabella coughed, trying to rise.

Aria darted in while Kara was distracted. Bold. Stupid.

She made it two whole dodges before Kara’s wing swept her legs and a tail strike caught her mid-fall.

Aria hit the ground. Stayed there.

The last few students charged together. Desperate group assault.

Kara went through them methodically. No flourish. Just brutal efficiency.

Ten seconds later, silence.

Bodies groaning across the obsidian. The scent of sweat and sulfur thick in the air.

Kara walked among us, wings relaxed, not a scratch on her.

“Pathetic,” she said. “But that’s why you’re here.”

I sat up. My everything hurt.

Across from me, Valentina clutched her ribs. Blood trickled from her nose. She glared at nothing in particular.

That satisfied feeling returned.

Kara’s boots stopped in my line of sight.

“On your feet,” she said. “All of you. I’m only starting.”

* * *

The next round, Kara didn’t even bother with technique demonstrations. Just pointed and said “Again.”

We went at her. She went through us.

Then again.

And again.

By the fourth attempt, I stopped trying to predict her movements and just reacted. Let the body do what it wanted. Nails sharpened without conscious thought. My tail coiled and struck on instinct rather than calculation.

Lasted maybe two seconds longer before she put me on my back.

Still didn’t land a hit.

Nobody did.

Valentina kept getting up. Had to admire her persistence, even if I enjoyed watching her get tossed. She threw herself at Kara with the same aggressive confidence each time. Same result too—face meeting obsidian.

After the seventh attempt, Valentina’s nose streamed blood and her wings hung crooked. She still stepped forward when Kara called for volunteers.

Almost felt bad for her.

Almost.

“Enough.” Kara surveyed the groaning mass of students scattered across the grounds. “You’re all useless, but I’ve seen enough to know where to start.”

She rolled her shoulders. Not even winded.

“Be ready Mournday. I’ll have actual training prepared.” Her tail flicked. “Dismissed. Get out before I decide to continue.”

Students limped toward the exit. Some supported each other. Isabella moved stiffly, one arm pressed to her ribs. Aria clutched her stomach but somehow still wore that bright expression.

I stood. Everything hurt in that deep, bone-ache way. My tail throbbed where Kara had caught it during round three.

Worth it though. I’d learned more about this body’s instincts in twenty minutes than weeks of careful observation.

“That was amazing,” Aria said, falling into step beside me.

I looked at her. “You got thrown into a rock.”

“Yeah, but did you see when I almost dodged that wing strike? Almost!” She grinned, then winced and pressed harder against her stomach. “Ow. Okay, that one hurt.”

“You need the infirmary?”

“Nah. Just bruises.” She glanced at me sideways. “Should heal before tonight anyway.”

Tonight. Right. Isabella’s apartment.

Despite the aching ribs and the taste of sulphur and blood, anticipation coiled low in my stomach.

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Pain spiked through my side.

“What?” Aria asked.

“Only you could think about sex after getting your ass kicked.”

“Says the girl whose tail is doing that excited swishy thing.” Aria nudged me with her shoulder. “You’re thinking about it too.”

Was I?

Yeah. Probably.

Fuck.