Witch Born - LJ Swallow Page 0,6

uniforms, black clothes and heavy boots, with a blue castle symbol embroidered on their shirt. The closest watches us through narrowed eyes—the one who accompanied me from the boat last night. His abnormal features are clearer in daylight and I try not to stare at his golden scales.

“Morning, sunshine of my life,” calls Oriana.

He nods, but the mid's focus switches to me. His opinion is difficult to read in his hybrid face.

“Are all guards mids?” I ask Oriana as we reach the dining hall.

"Yeah. Rory is one of the nicer ones. Make sure he’s on your side.” I look over my shoulder at Rory, who carefully watches each person walk downstairs.

“And the other guards?”

“Arseholes, mostly.” She strides ahead and stops in front of a doorway with open metal doors. Oriana waves a hand in front of her, introducing me to the canteen. "Mindless and vicious."

Oh, great.

White tables line the large room, rectangular and bolted to the floor, with shiny, orange plastic benches attached to the metal. We approach one and sit on the hard seats.

I chew my lip and look around. There aren’t many people here yet, so why has Oriana seated us front and centre. In full view.

I wrinkle my nose at a strange smell—burned and stale food mingle into an unappetising odour. There's a small, open hatch set into a magnolia-painted wall beside tall trolleys which hold spaces for empty trays. My stomach rumbles and I think it'll be disappointed at what I eat.

“I hope arriving first helps,” she says. “If you walk in last, everybody will stare at you.”

“I expect they’ll stare anyway.”

Oriana blows air into her cheeks. “True.”

I listen as Oriana gives me a run down on people as they enter the room. In most cases, she doesn’t need to—vamps are distinctive and similar-looking, and shifters are taller. No hemia, of course—the blood drinkers are night walkers. As witches look like normal humans, they’re easily distinguished too.

They move into established groups, taking their tables and chatting. My mind works overtime trying to figure out what these kids did to end up at Ravenhold.

A small altercation takes place as a skinny vampire kid yells at a burly shifter whose group have taken the wrong table—his. The opposing groups square off and a guard walks over to break up the fight. How much fighting happens here?

Zeke and Kai stride in, flanked by two other shifters, a group who could easily take any space they wanted. I sneak a look at Zeke again. He’s less bulky than the three with him, but more than makes up for it in his big presence. People watch him with wary eyes, some dipping their heads so as not to come under his scrutiny. He pauses by a table with younger kids and their faces flicker between terror and relief as he walks away smiling.

He eases himself gracefully onto the plastic bench, and my chest tightens with anxiety as his surveying of the room stops at me. Zeke leans over to whisper something to Kai beside him, and winks at me. I turn away.

“Should I avoid Zeke?” I ask Oriana.

“He won’t hassle you. Zeke’s focused on controlling the shifters, not witches, and Dorian allows him to keep his kind in check."

"Allows?"

"They're at stalemate. Before Dorian, Zeke ran the academy. Dorian took over because Zeke's no match for his powers. They fight, usually so Dorian can remind Zeke he can't have the academy back under his control.” She tips her chin. “He’s interested in you though; be prepared how you want to handle that.”

Great. My stomach growls again, loud enough for Oriana to hear, and she laughs at me. “Don’t anticipate anything worth eating for breakfast. Or any meal.” She looks up to the round white clock ticking on the wall. “Five minutes.”

A queue already forms in front of the closed hatch, growing as the minutes tick by. I study my fingernails instead, where the red nail polish has chipped. I should remove the colour, since I’m wiping away the rest of my life.

The noise level grows as students fill the seats until there are few left. One table catches my eye, because a single person sits there, arms resting on the table in front of him. The guy is massive. Those biceps alone are twice the width of my arm. I moisten my lips and stare at how his expansive chest stretches the black T-shirt to the point I can see the muscle defined underneath.

I can't see his face clearly and desperately want