I enter into the dark classroom and wonder where the heck the light switch is. It’s almost pitch-black in here.

I feel across the wall blindly for the switch, when someone grabs me from behind and throws me. I prepare myself to hit hard ground, but instead hit a soft, cushiony feeling . . . a mat? A light flickers on, and Mr. Daniels is standing over me, holding a hand out.

“You need to work on your awareness, Miss Crowe. Had I been an actual attacker, you would be dead right now,” he says softly, a satisfied-looking smile on his face. As if he finds that amusing. I’m seeing why Logan said that the other students are scared of him. He’s every bit a dangerous animal. I notice he is wearing gym clothes: light-grey joggers and a clingy, white t-shirt. No shoes on, and no glasses either. His eyes look even more enticing without his glasses on. I take his hand nervously and allow him to pull me up. The second I’m on my feet, he blasts me back onto my ass with a gust of air magic.

“What the fuck!” I shout. “Why help me up just to knock me back down?” I question, feeling baffled at his logic.

“You’re going to end up on your ass a lot today, Miss Crowe. In fact, for the rest of the year unless you improve,” he answers. The look of disdain on his face says just how much he thinks that is likely to happen.

“Any reason you are knocking me on my ass? What kind of detention class is this?” I snap.

“There are several reasons we are knocking you on your ass, Miss Crowe,” he says, offering out his hand again. I take it and stand, this time quickly moving as far across the room as possible to get away from him. He smiles somewhat devilishly at the sign of my quick retreat. “Better,” he says quietly. A gust of air hits me from behind, pushing me to my hands and knees. Fucking asshole. “But, my magic can hit you even if you do try and hide on the other side of the room. You need to be prepared to block my magic, to attack back.”

“I barely know how to use any of my powers yet, let alone know how to block someone else’s! This isn’t fair,” I spit, standing up without his assistance this time.

“Life isn’t fair, Miss Crowe,” he replies, not seeming the least bit bothered by my anger at the situation. “My job is to teach you just that, and other things. You wanted to know why you will be falling on your ass every Sunday for the next year?” he asks.

“Yes,” I admit begrudgingly.

“First, thanks to your twelve marks, you’re a target. You need to know how to protect yourself. Second, because falling on your ass is the best way to learn. And, finally, because we are going to see if we can trigger your twelfth mark,” he answers smoothly. I try and process his answers, feeling my heart beat faster at the mention of being a target, but something else sticks out more.

“Trigger my twelfth mark? But, we don’t even know what it does,” I question.

“Exactly. The headmasters have asked me to try and assist you in finding that out.”

“And, knocking me on my ass is supposed to answer that question? Nobody knows what the bloody twelfth mark is!” I reply. “Me falling on my ass is so likely to change that, right?” I add sarcastically.

“Yes, it will. Because right now, Miss Crowe, tell me how fast your heart rate is? Tell me, are you feeling panicked, can you feel the adrenaline running through you?”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with the mark?” I ask, watching him slowly stalk closer toward me.

“Marks can be triggered accidentally. Normally, when the person in question is feeling a surge of adrenaline,” he answers quietly. I go to respond, but he moves so quickly I barely register the attack. He’s grabbed me and spun me around, holding me locked against him, my back to his front. “We need to get your pulse racing, Miss Crowe,” he whispers in my ear. He pushes me harshly away from him, and I turn back around to face him feeling stunned. I notice that his white workout top is clinging tightly to his impressive body. I can think of a few better ways he could get my pulse racing.

The sound of a throat clearing makes me look back up at his face, he raises an eyebrow questioningly at me. He wants me to attack, right? I can do that. I plant an innocent look on my face, as I’m thinking of the air mark in my head. I call on it, hoping it’s more responsive than it was last night. He gives me a curious look, and I feel the power answer me. Without hesitating, I direct it to knock into the back of his legs. He sidesteps my tiny gust with ease, like it would have knocked him anyway.

“Damn it,” I curse.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he says.

“Before you, you know, knock me on my ass again, can you please show me how to protect myself against pain magic?” I ask, remembering what Logan said earlier. He frowns at my question.

“You won’t need that in your pain lessons for a few weeks at least, Miss Crowe, why would you like to specifically know that right now?”

“No reason,” I answer too quickly.

“You do seem a little worn down,” he says softly, approaching me slowly. He rests a hand against my forehead and closes his eyes, as if concentrating. I feel a slight wave of magic roll through me, a probing feeling.

“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, not wanting to put him off and have him accidentally fry my brain or something.

“I’m using my healing ability to sense for illness or injury in your body,” he answers stoically, opening his eyes. “Now, Miss Crowe, I am only going to ask you once, so think very carefully before you try and refuse to answer me.”

“Um . . . okay?” I mumble, stepping back slightly.

“Who the fuck used the pain mark on you? I know it couldn’t have been in a class, you haven’t had that lesson yet. Not that anyone in a class would be pumping that much juice into it,” he says.

I think about it for a moment. There is no use denying it happened, but that doesn’t mean I need to tell him anything. I can deal with bitches like Stella myself.

“I smacked someone, they used pain on me. I’m not telling you who, or why, it’s none of your business,” I respond, narrowing my eyes at him. Just daring him to try and push me on the matter. He takes me by surprise, when instead, he just nods his head slightly, as if accepting my answer.

“Did you have a good reason for hitting them?” he asks.

“Yes, I think I did,” I answer.

“Well, considering their means of retaliation, I would believe it.” He sighs and runs a hand through his sexy hair.

Damn it, Kenzie, stop checking your teacher out. I look away, trying not to stare at him any more than is appropriate to look.

“Look at me, Miss Crowe,” he demands. I turn my head back towards him, and stare into his determined, green eyes. “You know what the protection mark looks like, yes?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, nodding. It would be hard not to, considering it’s on my skin.

“Describe it to me, as you picture it,” he says softly, taking my hand in his. I shiver from the touch.

“Um, it looks like a shield. A shield with an eye on it,” I say, trying to picture the exact image in my head.

“Now imagine that shield in front of you, protecting you,” he softly instructs.

“Okay.” I close my eyes.

“Are you doing it now?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer. Suddenly I feel slight, tiny pinpricks stabbing into my hand. I gasp and try to pull my hand away from him, but he holds on tight.

“Sorry, but you have to feel a slight pain to defend against it. Imagine that shield, call on your mark.” I do as he says, but still I can feel that same pinprick pain on my hand.

“It isn’t working,” I moan.

“Try to imagine the shield changing shape, imaging it growing, and surrounding you completely in a bubble. Tighten the bubble to your skin. Visualisation is key,” he coaches me on. I do as he says.

“Still not working,” I mutter.

“Call harder on your mark, the visualisation may have taken your concentration away from the mark itself.” I do as he says, and the pinprick pain stops. I open my eyes and smile at him.

“Got it,” I say happily. He releases his hold of my hand, and I rub it with my other one, still feeling tingly.

“You’re a quick learner,” he remarks, making me smile. I go to reply, when suddenly a gust of wind knocks me on my ass again.

“You ass!” I snap, and then a mortified expression takes over my face. Oops? I wait for him to tell me off for back chatting, but he just laughs.

“You really need to work on your awareness,” he says, and then laughs some more.

Yeah, laugh it up now, Mr. Daniels. I narrow my eyes on him. I’m going to get you back one day, and it won’t just be you landing on your perfect ass.