Her Forbidden Mate

First Class

CAROLINE'S POV

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I changed into the dark brown cotton top, my fingers trailing over the little ripples, the material soft under the tips of my fingers. It's a tight fit.

My parents must have already noticed I was gone by now, and the thought of the sadness in my mother's sea-green eyes has my chest walls crumbling in on my heart. Exhaling a shuddered breath, I make my way down to the commons hallway as I braid my hair. The tight, crossed-over locks hang down my back, swaying a little as I dart down the steps. Once I'm in the hallway, I brace against a wall as others pass me without glancing in my direction.

They don't even know that I'm new here.

'Or they don't care,' Clara adds, finishing my main thought.

Why would they even care?

This place wasn't built to make friends.

A tall shadow falls over me, blocking the light from the large window between the staircases. "Come," Professor Walter nods his head toward the staircase leading down, and I follow him out to the courtyard, where every single elite warrior that hasn't found a mate in the last two years is gathered. "What are we learning today?" I ask, sweat breaking out at the back of my neck.

"You'll only observe," Disappointment mixed with relief washes over me. 'Did you really expect to do some fighting today, you're weak!' Clara laughs.

Who knew my biggest enemy would live inside of my head?

'Like you're any better,' I scoff. 'I have sharp teeth and deadly claws. I can at least defend myself,' Her ego is higher than the mountain we're on.

The warm sun bakes my black leather pants, my skin on fire just below the thick fabric and I probably look like a lost pup following the Professor around.

Out of place, that's what I am, even if the girls are wearing the exact same clothes, and the guys too. All of them wear black leather pants with dark brown cotton shirts. The side of my face tingles, and I glance to my right, finding Lucian standing with his friends, their arms crossed, and his steel hues are pinned right to me. "Groups of three, go," He announces, and I glance around, watching people move into three groups. "A threesome, I love it," Mac mocks, rubbing his hands together as he glances between Lucian and Rust.

Rust grimaces, and Lucian just rolls his eyes. I stay put at Professor Walter's side, and he waves me off toward the small bench under the tree before he starts throwing orders around, using terms I don't understand, and I realize that I have no clue what's going on. They move in sync, the harmony lethally beautiful.

Half an hour passes of just watching, observing the movement, and focusing on the terms, trying to memorize the action with the word, but it's intense to figure it out all in one sitting. My heart races when Lucian leaves his friends, and marches right over to Professor Walter with deadly grace, his strides precise, the movements screaming power.

When he starts to speak, I listen in.

"Professor, I'd show the newbie a few techniques, since I am her floor leader."

Floor Leader?

What the hell does that mean?

"Lucian," there's a warning in Professor Walter's tone. "What is your goal with this girl? You know the rules." He hisses, authority laced in his voice. "Professor Walter, I'm just trying to be more generous this year." he shrugs, "Plus, you made me the floor leader because I'm great, and I'd like the opportunity to teach. Isn't that what you always go on about?" he quirks a brow at Professor Walter challengingly. "I did say that," Professor Walter nods, his ego clearly boosted now that Lucian is listening to him.

Something tells me that Lucian never listens.

"Go ahead, but try not to break her spirits." Professor Walter dismisses him, and as if knowing that I was listening, his eyes flit over to me, narrowed and cold.

What is he up to?

My breath gets caught in my throat at his first step toward me, a devilish grin playing at his lips. The edge of his soft-looking lips lifts and falls as he tries to control his expression. "Come," he nods toward one side, far from the rest. I force my tight fingers to release the grip I have on the bench. Standing, I pull on the hem of my shirt that has lightly ridden up and strut over to him. He pulls his sword from the scabbard strapped to his side, my bones becoming rigid. He's going to hurt me. I relax when he bends down, putting the sword on the ground, "Step on it, and you'll maintain it for the rest of your life," He warns.

So he's not going to kill me, but take me as a slave, for his damn sword.

Goddess, I'm worth less than a sword to him.

Ignoring his comment, I stay frozen in my spot. At least this way I can get to know him, even just a little, but I fear that will just shatter my already broken heart. "Are you just going to stand there?" He quirks a brow. "Are you even going to help me?" I counter. His lips press into a thin line, his eyes matching the movement. "Yes," He nods, at that one little word sparks hope inside of my chest.

He's going to help me, that must mean he cares.

'He does seem to care...' Clara's voice is a mere whistle of wind in my head. She's agreeing with me, for once. Perhaps this day isn't as bad as I thought it would be.

"I can't help you from there,", "I don't need to be close to you to observe." It comes out harsher than I intended, but with the impressed look coating his face, I'm glad it did. He looks...impressed? I can't tell. "Fine," his shoulders dip in defeat. "Defense is easiest, we all learned it since we were young," His feet part, his hands raising, but he doesn't fist them. "You should fist your hand," I advise, but his scoff knocks my confidence down. "Why?" his head tilts, giving him an innocent glow, but those eyes are vicious, challenging. He's testing me.

"Because you could break a finger, and it's a distraction." My explanation suddenly feels stupid as he stares me dead in the eye, and then starts to laugh before straightening himself. "What?" I hiss, my cheeks reddening with embarrassment. "You are tiny," he states the obvious. "Are you fast?", "I don't run for a living." Bored. I am bored.

What is he even trying to teach me?

"But are you fast?" He quirks a brow, and a knife comes right at me. I dip to the side, watching the blade glint as the sunlight dances on its reflecting surface. "Well, now you know that you are," he clears his throat. I don't miss how his heart rate slows. Was he worried I wouldn't move?

No. He might not want to see me dead, but he doesn't care if I actually get hurt.

"What the hell? You didn't need to do that!" I snap, anger bursting through me, and it's not because he threw the knife, it's because he doesn't care if I get hurt.

I try to manage the anger, but the hurt in my heart fuels the fiery flame. "You are letting your emotions take over, that will get you killed," He warns with no regret. I inhale a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.

Screw you.

"So do you now know why I used an open hand in my stance?" he quirks his brow again. Defeated, I shake my head, focusing ahead instead of the past. "Because a fist..." he lifts his hand in the air, slowly curling his fingers to form a fist, "It fights against wind, and wind is created by fast movements," he swipes his arm in front of him, "But with an open hand," he gestures, pressing his fingers together tightly, "It cuts through the wind with ease, and doesn't fight you," His arms drop to his side, and the smug look on his face has anger clawing at my throat.

Alrighty, mister know it all.

"Now, stand like I showed you," he rolls his eyes.

Following every movement he instructs, I start to get it, but the terms are still a bit confusing.

"You're weak," He steps back from out light sparing. Of course I am. I haven't trained in a few years, I used to paint portraits for money, and help my mother sow whenever she needed help. I wasn't physically active a lot, and all my strength is in my legs from standing and squatting while painting.

"Thanks," Sarcasm drips from my tone, causing Lucian to scoff, "I'm trying to help," he grits out, inching closer. I do the same, standing toe to toe with him. "If you want to help, you'd reject me." I hiss in a whisper so soft that no one could hear except him.

His eyes flare, anger radiating off him in heat waves that attack my body like a hot flame. He grabs my arm, twists it backward, and my body jolts to the side when my bones refuse to bend to his will. He grabs my fingers, and the crack of bones pierces my ears as pain shoots up my arm, agony ripping from my throat in the form of a shriek.

He broke my fingers.

Letting go of me, my knees buckle under the weight of the pain consuming me. "What the hell happened?" Professor Walter roars as he charges over, but doesn't run. He's not that concerned.

Nobody is.

They all watch from afar. "She fell the wrong way," Lucian explains before I can even get words out. My gaze flicks up to him, and he just stands there, arms crossed with a void in his eyes. He's truly heartless.

Professor Walter kneels beside me, gently grabbing my wrist to inspect my broken fingers that hang limp. "Lucian, take Caroline to the infirmary." He stands, dropping my hand, the fast way it falls sending pricks of pain up my arm. Lucian stares at me for a moment, since it's the very first time he heard my name, and leans down toward me, grabs my arm, and pulls me to my feet.

"Come on, Careless."