Ravage (Royal Fae Academy #1) - Lacey Carter Andersen Page 0,20

It’d wanted me to sink into the peace that seemed to tug at my soul.

So I’d gotten the fuck out of there.

I turn off the shower, dry, and get ready for school. More bags had arrived sometime yesterday, and all my clothes had been taken out and hung up in the small closet. My parents must have had a tailor working overtime to make the dozen different pastel gowns that were the favorite clothes of the light fae. But I ignore them and ruffle through the drawers, finding that someone had packed away my favorite items as carefully as they’d concealed my vibrator.

Like they were something I should be ashamed of. Apparently, the staff at this academy didn’t know me at all. Because even though at one time I might have tried to blend in with the light fae, that was the last thing I wanted now.

I take out a dark t-shirt with some swirling lines of graphic art and a pair of dark jeans. I put them on, along with my second-favorite pair of boots. My first were likely still covered in blood and tossed on Lucian’s floor. And there was no way in hell I’d risk running into him just to get them back, not when I was still feeling weird about last night.

Then I snag my backpack. It was actually Rayne’s messenger bag. It was a dark green color with patches sewn along the strap. A patch from every place he visited on his summer road trips with Lucian, Bron, and Dwade. My heart ached a little as I ran my hand over them. I’d been so envious of my brother and his road trips, but he’d promised me that one day we’d take one together.

But I guess we’d never get to see The Giant Causeway in Scotland, or Thor’s Well in Oregon. I guess we’d never see anything more together.

I close my eyes as they begin to burn. But instead I see Rayne’s face in my mind.

My fists clench the strap of his bag. He was so young. He had so much life to live.

Whoever killed him was going to pay.

I’m breathing hard when I open my eyes and head out of my room, locking the door behind me. The living room is still dark and quiet, but I expected it to be. I’d wanted it to be. I had a mission, so the less time I could spend with my brother’s best friends, the better.

I slip outside and walk around the courtyard until I find the dining hall. There, I get a small breakfast and a giant coffee and sit in a quiet corner. To my surprise, the female fae seem to dominate this time of the day. They’re everywhere, their giant pastel dresses making this room like a place straight out of the past. They sit at tables with tiny bowls of fruit or oatmeal, and eat while laughing.

It’s strange. Maybe it’s because I haven’t spent a lot of time around people, but all of this feels so strange. So fake. So forced. Do they really all just feel like smiling and laughing all the time, or are they just better at hiding the darkness beneath?

A woman’s gaze catches mine and the joy dies from her face. Within seconds, the two other women at the table turn and follow her gaze. I can’t help myself. I salute them with my coffee, then stare, waiting.

The first woman stands. Her pale blonde hair is braided down her back, and she has a long face with big blue eyes. Her dress is a light shade of blue that matches her eyes. In all ways she looks like all the other women here, save for the necklace she wears. It’s a familiar dark red stone, but when she moves the stone seems to change, like flowing blood, and I study it as she approaches, recognizing it instantly, even if I can’t decide why a light fae would wear it.

I reach my senses out and taste her emotions: happiness, excitement, with a dash of nervousness. And…sadness? Already this woman feels confusing and complicated, definitely not someone I want to talk to. But unable to help myself, I drink in her nervousness. Not too much. Not enough to make her tired or weak, just enough to sate the hunger that food and coffee can’t fill.

“Hello, I’m Mary Ann,” she says, smiling, even though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Esmeray.”

She looks a little startled, but her gaze moves to my brother’s

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