“Any volunteers?”

Morgan’s head snapped forward to find Kincade’s eyes locked on her…challenging her. She wondered if it was payback for interfering with his capture last night.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped onto the mat.

Ignoring his men, not even sparing them a glance, Kincade stalked toward her. He bent his head from side to side, flexed his shoulders, never once looking away from her, as if she was a dangerous animal.

Without hesitation, he launched himself at her. Morgan slid out of the way, lashing out with her foot, landing a blow to his thigh. She spun, barely dodging away from the fist aimed at her face, then leapt away from the hand aimed at her solar plexus.

She didn’t spar with others very often, and had trouble gauging how much to pull her punches. He scowled at her, accurately guessing she was holding back, and threw himself into the battle, pushing her for more.

She played defensive for the first few minutes, familiarizing herself with his movements, taking a glancing blow to her jaw and shoulder in the process. When he swung to cuff her ear, she caught his arm and twisted, wrenching his shoulder, nearly taking him to the mat. She only let go when his foot lashed out and she flung herself out of the way.

He wasn’t pulling his punches, instead doing his best to beat the crap out of her, like every other soldier she’d ever run across.

He didn’t think she was worthy.

To hell with that.

She was done playing.

She picked up her speed, ran forward and dropped to the mat, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the mat hard, grunting when he smacked the floor. She kicked out, aiming for his face, only to have him bring both arms up to block her foot.

Her muscles warmed up while they moved back and forth, exchanging blows. The more they fought, the more liquid their movements became, until they were a blur, their dodging and thrusting a complicated dance.

While the students remained quiet, his teammates cheered at every blow she landed, heckling Kincade every time she blocked him.

As if sensing her distraction, he growled at her. “You’re holding back.”

Without giving her a chance to counter, he doubled his attack, until she could barely keep up with him. It was only then that she realized he had been going easy on her.

Like all of them, he was a creature of the primordial realm.

The next blow he landed was on her shoulder blade, right over the wound she took fighting the wraith. Her already protesting muscles screamed for mercy, and she struggled to remain upright.

While his hits were hard enough to crack bone, whatever he was doing also made his movements slightly sluggish. “No fair to use your powers in a fight.”

Up until now he’d been mostly silent, and he scowled at her. “Fighting isn’t fair. If you want fair, I suggest you go home.”

His words stung, but he was right.

Morgan used her advantage of speed against him, which gave her a slight edge. Unfortunately, he was so good he still managed to land one blow for every two of hers. Her knuckles hurt like she was punching stone, the impact of her blows reverberating up her arms.

She danced away, circling him, searching for an opening.

She wouldn’t win fighting him in a fair match. Since she couldn’t guess his breed, she had no way of knowing his weaknesses. She was guessing something stone, but not an ogre or troll. She needed to restrict his movements, limit the force of his hits.

Not giving herself a second to hesitate, she ducked under the fist that had the power to crack her jaw, grabbed his wrist, then twisted and tossed him over her shoulder.

Only he reversed the grip, dragging her down with him.

They landed with an audible thud, the floor actually bouncing underneath them.

The men in his group cheered. Then he rolled until she was under him, every inch of him pressed against her, the warmth and weight of him threatening to distract her.

Their eyes locked, and he hesitated for a second, looking almost as confused as she felt.

Not willing to be distracted from the fight, she quickly jerked her arm up, slamming her elbow against his jaw.

“Son of a bitch.” It felt like she cracked her bone instead of his face, her arm going numb.

Kincade grunted, but acted like she’d given him a love tap. Wanting to get away from him and her conflicting emotions, she heaved up, flinging him off her. Morgan didn’t waste time and flipped to her feet.

To her chagrin, he spun effortlessly midair, landing on one knee, his foot planted, and then glared at her. “Stop holding back.”

The growl made her flinch.

Like he knew something.

The threat of discovery had bloodlust thickening in her veins, and she curled her fingers into fists as she battled the need to rip him apart. To keep him safe, she backed away, putting distance between them. If he touched her again, she was afraid she would snap.

“What breed are you?”

Morgan gritted her teeth, wanting to refuse to answer, but knew they would find out eventually. “I’m a mutt.”

She didn’t know her heritage, and without proof, they would not categorize her as anything other than a mongrel.

For the first time, genuine emotions showed when he snorted. “You’re the least mutt-like person I’ve ever met.”

His comment was almost complimentary, his eyes warming as he slid them over her body, and she nearly tripped over her own feet.

She narrowed her eyes, her fury building at the blatant lie.

The runes on her back heated in warning, but Morgan paid them no attention. Moving almost faster than the eye could see, she darted forward, and used him as a punching bag. Though he was fast, he wasn’t able to block all her blows. She ignored the pain, fed off it, gratified when he began to retreat.

“She could take him.” The shifter spoke for the first time, the one who barely escaped being gouged by the minotaur, his voice sounding awed.

Morgan wasn’t impressed.

She should already have won.

She studied her opponent, narrowing her eyes when he seemed to almost know her moves before she made them.

No one was that good.

While she was distracted, Kincade did something she wasn’t expecting. He wrapped her in a bear hug, pinning her arms at her side, squeezing the breath out of her.

Only after a minute of struggling, when black dots began to dance in her vision, did she realize he was talking to her. “Stop.”

She gave one last wrench, trying to fight free, but to no avail.

He picked her up off her feet and flung her to the ground, knocking what little remaining breath she had out of her. Her back arched off the mat, the pain nearly shutting down her brain. Not willing to give in to it, she slowly rolled to her side and pushed up on her feet, swaying as she tried to remain upright.

“Shit.” Draven rubbed his jaw, and they all gaped at her in disbelief.

Kincade shook his head. “You’re vicious and fearless. You don’t know when to back down.”

This time, his words didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Those traits will get people around you killed.”

For some reason, she felt like she let him down.

“You’re used to the luxury of fighting with a team,” she replied, “but you don’t allow for those who are forced to fight alone. If I give up, it means I’m dead.” Her legs became steadier as they began to circle again. “If I give up, it means I’m not doing my job, and humans will pay for my failure.”

“It’s suicidal.” His disdain hurt more than the bruises on her already-aching body. “We can’t risk you fighting on another team. I won’t be responsible for you getting other people killed.”

Morgan stood in stunned silence, unable to believe he was dismissing her on the first day. The back of her throat ached at being rejected once again.

“That’s why you will be assigned to my team. If you can’t learn to work with others, you will be dismissed.” Her head snapped up to stare at him, uncertain she heard him correctly. “Understood?”

Morgan was poleaxed, and it took her another few seconds for it to sink in—that it had been a test—before she gathered her wits enough to give him a curt nod.

Morgan limped toward the edge of the mat and took a seat on the unforgiving, folded-out gym seats, watching Kincade and his team systematically beat the rest of the kids black and blue. The other students kept glancing at her, some with awe, some with pity, while a few were downright jealous.

She ignored them and watched her new team, her stomach fluttering at the prospect of working with Kincade and his men.

Not wanting to mess up this opportunity, she used the time to study how each one fought, cataloging their strengths and weaknesses.

The giant shifter took the next competitor. She expected him to use his strength and size to win, but he was more cunning and ruthless, landing two easy blows that dropped his opponent.

The elf strode out next, appearing bored with the whole process. After a quick perusal of his opponent, he didn’t even wait for his student to attack, viciously taking him out with one blow, never once revealing any emotions.

The last member strode out for his match, the one who called himself Draven. Instead of a direct approach, he danced and played with his opponent. At first she thought he was giving the student a chance to fight back, but in the next second, he rendered his adversary unconscious, and the kid had to be dragged off the field.

They were all brutal and efficient and deadly.

Then it was Kincade’s turn again. After a few minutes, she began to realize what bothered her about him—he wasn’t mimicking her unique fighting style—they fought the same way. While her movements emphasized speed and agility, he changed them slightly to make the best use of his enhanced strength.

She couldn’t help wondering who taught him.

By the end of the second hour, everyone was groaning, sweating and cradling their bruised body parts, while the bastards had barely broken a sweat.

In the end, she was the only one assigned to Kincade’s team.

Only two others were assigned a team at all.

While it was gratifying to be chosen, it would also make sneaking around all the more difficult.

After everyone had their asses handed to them, the hunters strode toward the center of the mat, not even winded. “Those assigned to a team—your first assignment will be tonight. Think of this as an internship, where you will get one chance to prove to us you really belong here. Study up and be ready to go. We will be leaving the compound at dusk. The remainder of you will remain behind on guard duty.”

With that, they turned and headed toward the door.

The students began to file out…well, limp out.

Morgan detoured, quickly grabbing her weapons, ignoring the rest of the class. When she was the last one remaining, she headed toward the door.

Only to stop short when she saw all four of her new team members waiting for her.

When no one spoke, she shrugged. “When should I be ready to go?”

Draven’s lips quirked in a smile, and he lazily pushed away from the wall. “We head out at dusk to clear a gaggle of gremlins out of an abandoned warehouse.”

Morgan grimaced, and he laughed. “So I take it you’ve dealt with them before?”

She turned and began walking down the hall. “They stink, and if you touch them, that stench will follow you around for weeks. Not to mention they’re a bitch to clear out. Miss just one, and they will infest the whole building again in a matter of days.”

He winced when she mentioned their number one defense mechanism, as if remembering his own experience of being doused in urine, and she couldn’t help but chuckle when he fidgeted with his clothes.

As she turned the corner, strong fingers grabbed at her elbow, sending a bolt of static up her arm. She jerked away, instantly knowing who had touched her, disturbed by her instinctive urge to lean into him and seek more.

It was him.

Kincade.

“Don’t.” She wasn’t used to people touching her.

After so many years of nothing but painful pinches or slaps or fists, any touch now made her uncomfortable.

Made her want things she couldn’t have.

Like friends.

Or lovers.

While he obeyed, he wasn’t deterred, keeping pace with her step for step, so close he was practically frog-marching her. “What were you doing in the basement last night?”

“Why were you there?” She countered. She didn’t think he could be the killer, but she had to know.

“I was searching for missing artifacts. Weapons.” He raised a challenging eyebrow at her. “Your turn.”

The rest of the men fell silent, glancing between the two of them, none of them looking inclined to interfere, all seemingly fascinated by the exchange.

Except for the big man in the back. He kept his attention locked on her, the warmth in his eyes bringing heat to her cheeks. Uncomfortable under his regard, she quickly began walking again as she debated her answer. After a short, internal debate, she saw no reason to lie. “It’s a new location. I went out to explore. Don’t tell me the first thing you do when you’re unfamiliar with your surroundings isn’t to get the lay of the land.”

He ignored her retort, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her. “Why the basement?”

She rolled her eyes at the interrogation, but decided to play along. “The school has a mind of its own, and I was curious enough to follow where it led.”

Her answer only made him glower more.

Draven whistled, lifting his brows. “I can’t say I expected that.”

It was her turn to gawk at him. “What do you mean?”

“While the Academy is sentient at times, it hasn’t been active in decades. It only obeys certain people.”

“I wouldn’t call leading me into a dark, dank dungeon obeying me exactly, especially when I didn’t give it any orders.” Although she protested, part of her mind hesitated. She had wanted to find out more about the school. Maybe it picked up on her intentions. Or maybe it wanted her down there to help capture the morpheus creature.

Her curiosity got the best of her, and she hesitantly asked the question she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to. “What kind of people?”

“A champion.” The elf spoke for the first time, the spark of interest in his eyes sending a chill down her spine. There was nothing human in his look…more like a scientist examining a specimen, wanting to take her apart to see what made her tick.

She quickly turned away. “And what exactly is a champion?”

“A warrior who can control anything that originates in the void.” He paused, his deep, forest green eyes softening slightly, his voice emerging as a soft whisper. “Royalty.”

Morgan stared at the elf blankly, then she shook her head and picked up her steps. “That’s a myth. Everyone with the royal bloodline died out more than a decade ago.”

“Not everyone agrees.” He spoke so softly, she almost missed it.

She wished she had.

As she turned the corner, the door to her room came into view, and she picked up her pace, practically jogging to get away. She grabbed the doorknob like a lifeline, blocking their entrance by standing in front of it. When no one seemed inclined to leave, she leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re all awfully young to be training new recruits. Where are all the adults?”

“They are all assigned to covens and protecting the gates. While they’re doing their duty, the kids are sent to the Academy to be trained and protected.”

Morgan was appalled. “You take away their children?”

Kincade scowled down at her, and she winced, clearly having offending him.

“It is considered a privilege to be accepted into the Academy. They will receive the best training, and training is what will keep them alive out in the real world. Every year there are more and more humans, but fewer of us to protect them. Every creature who wants to remain Earthside has to serve their time. Those with training are ninety percent more likely to survive any confrontation with the creatures from the primordial realm. Lone hunters don’t survive long. If given a choice for your child, what would you decide?”

Morgan lowered her eyes at his intensity.

He was right.

“Sorry.” Needing time to gather her wits, wanting to escape their attention and rebuild the walls between them, she open the door and sidled through the small crack. They were muddying her thoughts, and she couldn’t have them distracting her.

But before she could shut the door firmly, a hand slapped against the wood. She jerked her head up, her senses crackling to life, her hand automatically dropping to her knife, when she saw Kincade’s maddening face peering through the narrow opening. “What do you want?”

“You live here?”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “What gave it away?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Open the door.”

The rough voice was an order, and before she could check herself, she obeyed. By the time her brain caught up with her and she caught the door, Kincade shoved his foot in the crack, and she knew it was too late.

All four men barged into her room.

“What the hell!” It was all she could do not to drop into a crouch, her hands itching for her blades to draw blood.

The men kept a careful eye on her as they systematically took apart her room, one even slipping into the bathroom to search.

“What are you doing?”

In seconds, they began to pull out the weapons she’d so carefully hidden and set them across the mattress.

“Again. What the hell?!?” Morgan straightened, turning to keep them all in sight.

None of them answered her or even acknowledged her existence. Very carefully, she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall to watch, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop them if she wanted to stay at the Academy.

It was proof of why others couldn’t be trusted.

Why she preferred her own company.

She would say they were thorough, though. They found the blades under the bed, the dresser, and the one behind the door—even the one under her chair. They found the blade above the dresser, the one hidden in the curtains, the one she’d stashed under her pillow. Another guy slipped under the bed, locating the second weapon, and pulled out her bag of backups. The big guy cast her a startled look but quickly dropped his gaze, a slight blush on his cheeks as he slipped his hand between her mattresses and pulled out another. He studied the weapon in his hand, brushing his fingers reverently over the pummel. She shivered, easily imagining how he would be with a woman. Almost reluctantly, he gently placed the blade next to all the others.

The bed was covered when they were done.

“Jesus.” Draven ran a hand over his head in awe, gazing at her small arsenal. “Where you expecting to go to war?”

All the guys looked at her and she could only shrug, feeling slightly embarrassed and a tad defensive. “What? A girl’s got to protect herself.”

“Against what?” the elf asked, watching her appraisingly, more curious than ever.

Kincade didn’t join in the teasing. “Is this all of them?”

“Shouldn’t I at least know the names of the guys who’ve had their hands in my underwear drawer?”

Draven gave her a wicked grin, sauntering forward to whisper in her ear. “Any time you want to return the favor and search my drawers, I’m game.”

Morgan couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. She pulled out the ten-inch blade she kept at her lower back, holding it under his chin, then trailed it down his chest suggestively. His laughter faded, his eyes turning cold as he backed away and raised his arms in surrender. “I would, but I doubt your blade would be able to compete with mine.”

He blinked once, then burst out laughing. “Oh, I like you. I truly do.”

Without taking his eyes away from hers, he pointed around the room. “I’m Draven. The asshole is Kincade. The big, strong silent type there is Ryder. The fairy is Atlas.”

“Tuatha Dé Danann.” The elf scowled at Draven before giving her a short bow.

“Is. This. All. Of. Them?”

Much to her consternation, Kincade was not to be sidetracked. Conceding to the inevitable, she shrugged. “Mostly.”

One of the guys snorted, then cleared his throat when Kincade glared at the lot of them.

“What else?”

Morgan gave one last ditch attempt to distract him. “I’m going to miss my orientation.”

“Then I suggest you stop stalling.”

She slumped against the wall in defeat. “You missed the one taped to the top of the inside of the closet, the one in the light fixture and the one in the bookshelf.”

Instead of being appeased, Kincade crossed his arms. “What else? Or did you want me to do a more thorough search myself?”

Hating the thought of him touching her things, she mimicked his stance and looked down, admiring the tip of her boots. “You missed the one in my left boot, and one in my jacket on the back of the door.”

“Jesus.” Draven shook his head in awe, while the other three retrieved the remainder of her weapons.

“And the bathroom?”

Bastard.

“Since when is it illegal for hunters to bring their own weapons?”

When he made to enter her bathroom, she sighed in defeat. “One in the toilet tank, one under it, another under the sink, taped behind the pipes.”

“She’s even worse then you, Kincade.” Draven sang from the bathroom, quickly returning with her small stash.

When he finally turned away from her, he studied her small armory.

He touched a few of them—she wanted to say admired them, but he didn’t say it in so many words. When he straightened, he gave her a hard look. “You are responsible for your weapons. You’re here as a hunter. Don’t let me catch you fighting another hunter using your weapons without supervision, or you will be penalized.”

Surprise shot through her, along with a curl of pleasure that she would be allowed to keep her blades—then she realized why he’d searched her room in the first place. Her good mood vanished, and her fascination with him cooled, offended by his implications. “I’m not your thief.”

His eyes softened, but before he could speak, Neil stopped in the doorway of their shared bathroom. His face brightened when he saw her, then he scowled when he spotted the others. His crooked glasses gave him a harmless, hapless expression, but he appeared willing to help her if she needed it, a small spark of energy snapping between his fingertips, but the frightened, glazed look in his eyes said he was praying she didn’t. “You okay?”

“Of course. In fact, they were just leaving.” She grabbed the door and held it open, giving them a pointed look. “Right?”

They obediently dragged their feet to the door…all but Kincade.

He continued to stare at Neil, his eyes a frosty, hard green.

It made all his critical glances at her look like he was a lovesick fool.

When his eyes swept over her, she quickly lowered her gaze, uncomfortable with her train of thought.

She heard his boot scuffle over the floor as he neared, and cursed when he stopped in front of her, resting his hand on the edge of the door above her head, leaning into her, silently demanding she acknowledge him.

Morgan wanted to resist the temptation of him, resist the heat radiating off him that invited her closer, the fresh earth smell of warm stone making her want to linger and stretch against him to bask in his warmth.

When the silence stretched awkwardly, she reluctantly raked her eyes up, skimming over his impressive chest, those broad shoulders begging her hands to explore, the stubble on his jaw making her fingers itch to touch, past those luscious lips so temptingly close, and landed on green eyes so warm she found her staunch resolve to maintain her distance softening. “Huh?”

His lips quirked at her reaction, and she stiffened her spine, wincing at her obvious response to his nearness. “We will meet out front at dusk. Be prepared to move.”

He walked out the door, passing much closer than necessary before disappearing down the hall.

Leaving her completely flustered and confused at the mixed signals he was throwing at her.

“I thought I would walk you to orientation, maybe give you a few pointers.”

When she peered at Neil, he was politely staring at the bed, sparing her embarrassment.

She could’ve kissed him. “Sure, that would be great. Why don’t I take a quick shower and meet you in the hall in five minutes? I’ll knock on the door when I’m done.”

“Sure.” His pale skin flushed at the mention of their shared shower, and he hastily backed away, tripping over his own feet in the process. “Sure. I’ll…uh…just…um…get ready.”