When she walked into her history class, the first thing she noticed was a group of girls, their heads bowed together in conspiratorial whispers, gathered around a desk near the front. Ignoring their hushed chatter and sidelong glances, Anya chose a seat in the very back near the window, a deliberate move to distance herself from the social hum. When the bell’s sharp ring cut through the room, and everyone shuffled into their assigned places, the teacher, a man whose voice seemed to possess a natural cadence for monotony, began the familiar drawl of class. However, Anya wasn’t interested in such things. Instead, she fixed her gaze out the window, where she could see a wonderful view of a lone, ancient tree. On one of its gnarled limbs, a small, vibrant bird perched and sang, its melody a delicate, intricate tapestry of sound. Anya closed her eyes, allowing the pure sound to wash over her, listening as it filled her very soul with a sense of peace.
“Anya Springfield.” Her name, spoken with a crisp, authoritative tone, sliced through her reverie and brought her back to the harsh reality of the classroom, the teacher staring her down. “I know it is your first day, but–”
“You were talking about the ancient Mayans and their culture. While it included sacrifices, these acts were often exaggerated by Spanish explorers to justify their subsequent rehabilitation of the land and its indigenous people.” Anya interjected, her voice calm and clear, making the teacher go quiet, his mouth agape.
“Yes, well…” He cleared his throat, a nervous, almost apologetic sound. “Next time, please endeavor to be present in the class, not lost in thought.”
“Duh, teach, she is present.” The guy in front of her snorted out, his voice laced with a playful sarcasm. He was leaning back in his seat, his blonde hair a messy, wild halo around his head. She couldn’t see his face, but from his carefree posture and the casual irreverence in his tone, she knew he had to be one of those easygoing, nonchalant types, who couldn't care less about the rigid structure of their surroundings. “She just schooled you on your own lesson, and you weren’t even listening.”
“That’s enough out of you, Griffin.” The teacher’s voice, sharp and laced with a familiar weariness, cut through the buzzing classroom. His frown deepened, a familiar crease appearing between his brows as he surveyed the restless students.
As the teacher droned on, his words painting a vivid, if somewhat monotonous, picture of the Maya empire, Anya’s thoughts drifted. They soared out the window, past the dusty pane, away from the stuffy classroom and the endless stream of historical facts. Frequently, this provided her escape, a silent mental defiance. These days, such moments of peaceful detachment were rare, a luxury she could afford.
“Yo, wake up already.”
Anya blinked, the sudden, gruff voice pulling her back with a jolt. She toppled from her chair, her heart leaping into her throat, startled by the intense blue eyes that were now boring into hers. The boy, with his messy blonde hair and a smirk playing on his lips, leaned over her, an amused glint in his gaze. It was the guy who had spoken up in class to defend her.
“Sorry.” She gulped, the word catching in her dry throat, and looked around, her eyes adjusting to the scene. The classroom was almost empty, the desks a messy scattering, a testament to the abrupt end of class. A wave of embarrassment washed over her.
“Griffin, leave her alone.” A sharp warning came from the main doorway. Shorter than Griffin, the male held the latter with his hazel stare, his black hair styled in sharp spikes like a small, rebellious crown over his head.
“Forgive him. He’s rock, brutal, hard,” the individual stated, amusement hinted within his tone. “You might have met my brother, Felix, in government class. I am Connor Blackwood.”
Like his brother, gothic was his chosen style, but he projected a more old-world aesthetic, a regal goth almost, with a refined air that hinted at a deeper sophistication.
“Oh, yeah. Hi,” she said, a little surprised. “How’d you know?”
Connor chuckled, a low, smooth sound. “My brother couldn’t stop talking about you at lunch today. I’m afraid you’ve been hooked by the Felix chain.”
“Whatever, school’s over, let’s jet,” Griffin grunted, impatient to leave.
“Indeed.” Connor nodded Anya’s way, a subtle acknowledgment. “Welcome. And by the way.” He gave a slow, knowing smirk. “Brilliant, I must say, what you did in class today. I am a lover of history. I hope we can have discussions later about such things.”
Anya paused, a slight frown creasing her brow. What did she do or say in class? The question hung in the air, a mystery she couldn’t unravel.
Griffin’s eyes gaped. “You’ve got to be shitting me. You don’t remember?” His voice expressed disbelief.
“Uh, sorry. I guess I’m a little spaced out right now.” Anya shook her head, a stray strand of hair falling across her face. “I embarrassed myself, didn’t I?”
“Nah, you put the teacher in his place.” Griffin grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Connor!” came a shout from outside the classroom, followed by a flurry of footsteps.
“Your fan club is here.” Griffin rolled his eyes, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
A group of girls, a whirlwind of giggles and bright colors, rushed into the room, bulldozing Anya in their path to Connor. Anya bumped into Griffin in the insanity. Like Connor stated, he was a rock, standing still as her body fell on him, her hands grasping his arms for support, a jolt of surprise shooting through her.
“Sorry.” She hurried away, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, shocked that it had just happened. However, instead of saying anything, he grabbed her arms, holding her still. For an instant, their gazes met, his widening, revealing something enigmatic. He moved her aside before addressing the gaggle of girls with a look that stated his annoyance.
“Hey idiots!!” His voice, thick with fury, made the girls freeze mid-giggle and turn to him, their faces paling. “Get out! NOW!”
The girls, their earlier bravado shattered, scrambled away, propelled by the raw fear Giffin’s temper ignited. Connor, who had been observing the scene with a detached air, raised an eyebrow at his companion.
“That was uncalled for.” Connor chastised, but Giffin wasn’t listening. He was looking around, his eyes unfocused, and a curse escaped his lips.
“It was her.” Giffin interrupted, his voice a low, intense growl. “I felt it. Her. When she touched me, it was like a jolt, a current of something ancient and powerful.”
Connor’s inquisitive gaze sharpened as understanding dawned. “You mean Anya?” He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “There are no such things as coincidences. We saw the sign two days ago.”
“You guys!” Felix came rushing in, a whirlwind of excitement with Galen in tow. “I think it’s her! I know it’s her!” His voice was a frantic whisper, laced with a giddy disbelief that made his eyes sparkle.
Conner replied, “It seems Griffin agrees as well.” He stared at Griffin, who had gone quiet, an uncharacteristic stillness about him. “She touched him, albeit accidentally.”
“Really!?” Felix, ever the impulsive one, rushed over to Griffin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What did it feel like!? Tell me!” His eagerness was palpable, his hands clasped together in anticipation.
Griffin, however, seemed not to register Felix’s presence. He looked at his hands, turning them over and back, his expression a mixture of profound shock and awe. It appeared he had witnessed a miracle, with the recollection resonating within him.
“Like I was holding the very world in my arms,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, above a whisper. Then his expression hardened, and he grunted as he clenched his hands into fists, turning his knuckles white. “I wanted to kill every one of those brats for ignoring her and pushing her.” A dangerous glint entered his eyes, a raw, primal protectiveness that was both startling and powerful.
Connor chuckled, a low, knowing sound. “Rock is protective, or so it is said.” He placed a reassuring hand on Griffin’s shoulder, a gentle pressure that seemed to ground the volatile energy emanating from him. “We must be patient. Do not steal her away, thief.”
Meanwhile, outside, Anya gripped her backpack straps so strong her knuckles turned white, and she twisted her head away from the imposing brick facade of the school. A wave of relief washed over her, knowing she had slipped out unnoticed. Leaned against the cool brick wall of the school building. So much for her hope of being unnoticed. Another round of people came close to her; already her mind began to dissect every interaction, trying to come up with conclusions that would make sense. Was Felix really as nice as he seemed? Griffin was terrifying, would he unleash his harsh personality on her? Galen seemed gentle but was he masking his true nature? And that other guy, Felix’s brother. What did he want from her? These were the questions her mind traveled through, all in an attempt to protect her from possible underlying messages. This constant thought process was the accumulation of interactions she held all her life, most of those interactions the cause of her and her mother’s nomadic lifestyle.
Her eyes shot open at the remembrance of her mother. Her mother, a stickler for schedules, prided herself on punctuality and loathed it when Anya was late for any reason, no matter how trivial. The thought of facing her mother’s disappointment was almost as bad as the tardiness itself.
“Punctuality is a concept that others use to control us.”
The voice was deep, a rich baritone that held an almost alluring quality. Anya’s gaze snapped towards the sound. In the parking lot, leaning against a gleaming red sports car that looked far too expensive for a school lot, was a tall male. His tanned skin contrasted with the pristine white of his shirt, and his slanted, dark eyes held an intelligent glint. He wore impeccable financier clothing, a tailored suit jacket lounging over his arm, as if he’d just stepped out of a high-powered meeting rather than a school drop-off zone.
“I would not worry about your mother. She will see reason one day.” He spoke to her with a strange familiarity, a comforting cadence that could belong to a protective older brother or a wise, understanding father. She couldn’t quite place it, but the words seemed to flow through her, settling a frantic flutter in her chest and filling her with an unexpected sense of calm.
“Go on now, little bird.” He offered a small, enigmatic smile. “Fly home. Leave your worries behind you.”
Taking the hint, Anya nodded, her shoulders relaxing. She walked past him, her steps growing lighter with each stride as she began her familiar walking journey home, leaving the school and its anxieties behind.
A few moments later, a flurry of activity erupted from the school entrance as four young men rushed out into the parking lot. The shortest of them, bound with restless energy, was front and center.
“Anya! Wait!” Felix called out, his voice tinged with a mix of urgency and frustration. He pouted, running a hand through his hair when she was nowhere in sight, having already vanished beyond the far end of the lot.
“Calm yourself. She is on her way home.” The towering man said, his voice resonating with an almost ancient authority. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the sports car, his gaze fixed on the direction Anya had taken.
Felix turned to him, his pout replaced by a questioning look. “Audric, you saw her?”
“Indeed.” Audric smirked, a knowing glint in his dark eyes. “Did I not tell you younglings she would arrive when she so deems it? He gazed toward the distant horizon, reading the future within the shifting clouds. “I felt confusion, and a bit of fear from her. I feel she does not yet know her worth.”
“You let her go alone!? Are you fucking kidding me!?” Griffin, the most volatile of the group, glared at Audric, his fists clenching at his sides, a vein throbbing in his neck.
“Be still, rock.” Audric said, his tone unwavering, a hint of steel beneath the calm. “She will be fine. I placed a temporary protection spell over her before she walked off the property, a subtle shimmer that will deflect any ill intent.” He then eyed Griffin, whose placid expression was now clouded with concern. “Your protective nature is legendary, rock. However, fire is the more furious one should anyone harm those it cares about. As they say, one should never stoke a blazing flame’s fury, lest they be burned.”