Blood War (Book 1, the Halfblood Chronicles)

2.1 | Diary of a Dead Man

A quick note before you continue reading:

Please be sure to check out the free chapter titled "Pronunciations | Glossary | Playlist" for help understanding and navigating the supernatural world of Halfblood Chronicles. If you still get confused, feel free to comment or PM me with your questions.

That's all. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

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Moments of silence passed as Nika processed the headmaster's words.

We don't have any new students.

"But . . . "

As she struggled to create a viable sentence, Kovachev scrutinized her, probably deciding whether or not this was an act. Nika couldn't have been more confused. He hadn't yet explained the school's lockdown, nor what rule she'd broken and how it connected to the security measure. And now this—a revelation that the new boy was, in fact, not a new student at all.

"Tell me what happened with Dante Azzara," Kovachev said. "From beginning to end."

Despite wanting to throw her fist on the headmaster's desk and demand to know what crime she'd supposedly committed, Nika leashed her outrage. Inhaling a long breath, she remembered . . . 

Lounging in a bean bag chair inside one of Konstantin Academy's abandoned dormitories, Nika watched a moth flutter around a ceiling light. She envied moths. They didn't have to worry about boys. Especially one named Miles Crane, whose heart was too big and whose lips were too loose.

She ran his words over and over in her mind: I love you, Nika.

It was an effort not to cringe.

In retrospect, she knew she'd been a fool to think their no-strings arrangement would work. Every semester, Miles seemed to fall for a different girl. Sooner or later, he was liable to turn those feelings toward Nika.

Unreciprocated feelings, of course. Miles had been one of her first friends at Konstantin. She'd never denied her physical attraction to him, but that was as far as it went. Because Miles, despite his ridiculous comedic skills and endearing loyalty, would never be right for her. Not unless he abandoned the fanatic political opinions that had become an intrinsic part of who he was.

"Hello?" said an unfamiliar voice, yanking her out the daze.

Nika stiffened and surveyed the cabin interior—dark wooden walls covered with tribal paintings and animal skulls, the Aztec rug beneath her feet, the rickety ping pong table at the far end of the room.

But no signs of people. Was she hearing things?

A knock on the door. "Out here."

Nika squinted at the windows, but thanks to the pitch-black night beyond, she only saw her reflection. She approached the door and opened it.

On the lightless porch stood a boy, Nika's age or a little older, with a bronze face and eyes like liquid cinnamon. He struck a sideways smile, and Nika's heart fluttered. Whoever he was, he wasn't a difficult specimen to observe.

His expression bloomed into awed delight. "Are you . . . " A deep breath. "You're Nika Dimitrovich."

Just like that, her admiration dissipated. She scarcely met a new person without remembering her identity. A halfblood born out of wedlock to a leader of the Daemonstri government. No one ever saw her as Nika—girl, novice, normal.

"The one and only," she said with forced politeness. "And you?"

"Dante." He extended a hand, and Nika shook it. "Dante Azzara."

Azzara—she'd never heard of that family before. It must not have been a prominent one.

While Dante continued staring with that look of stupid awe, Nika stepped out of the cabin and shut the door behind her. Then she crossed her arms and shrugged, feeling his attention like an itch she couldn't relieve.

"Are you a new student?" she asked.

"Just started classes today."

Nika looked him over. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, both speckled with holes and frayed edges.

Strange. Most Nefili students—herself included—opted for athletic wear because of their highly physical class schedule. From the time they could walk, novices prepared for a career of villain-fighting in the Vigil.

And Dante had to be a Nefili. Despite his attractiveness, his appearance was too dull for a Serafi. Had he belonged to the angelic witch race, he would have emitted a halo—a faint inner glow of the skin.

"Are you lost?" Nika said, gesturing to their surroundings.

The abandoned dorms had gone unused for decades. Located on the edge of the forest, they were separated from the main campus by a grove of assorted trees. All that connected the two areas was a dirt path. The cabins sagged in disrepair, weeds and shrubs littered the uneven glade, yet it was still a peaceful place, and Nika loved the remoteness. The solitude.

Dante scratched behind his ear. "This school is such a maze. Can you tell me how to find the library?"

She gave the directions, and they began to part ways until Dante said, "Can I ask why you're out here?"

"I like to get away sometimes."

He lingered near the porch steps, those red-brown eyes swimming with something she couldn't identify.

"Stop staring." The words were out before she'd even thought of them.

Dante looked down. "Sorry, you just . . . "

"I just what?"

Again, he flashed that crooked grin and dragged his eyes up her body. "You're prettier in person."

Nika's face heated, and she turned toward the forest, scoffing.

"You can't take compliments, can you?"

"Not exactly used to them."

In fact, it was the opposite of what she was used to—insults, ridicule, condemnation. The Halfblood Bastard was the shame of Daemonstri society: Tainted blood. A blight to our kind. How dare she call herself a Dimitrovich!

"It's criminal," Dante said, his tone harsh, "how people treat you."

Nika couldn't bring herself to look at him. These were radical ideas he'd just offered to the discussion table.

"It's certainly not fair," she said, "but what can I do about it?"

"More than you realize." He descended the stairs, backing away from her. "I hope to see you again, halfblood."

She flinched at the name, but when that smile crept onto his face again, she knew he was teasing. Or perhaps, she thought as he vanished into the trees, it was a compliment. She supposed she'd never know for certain.

Nika relayed the encounter from beginning to end, just as Kovachev had instructed. He squinted at her for several moments before saying, "Early this morning, while you skipped class, the library was burglarized."

This school is such a maze. Can you tell me where the library is?

Nika's mouth went dry. "What was stolen?"

Kovachev leaned back in his swiveling chair. "You tell me."

She snorted. "Breaking into libraries isn't my signature offense."

Kovachev scowled. Apparently, he could have gone without the reminder of Nika's previous infractions, most of which involved humiliating staff members or damaging school property. She'd never stolen anything, though. Nothing at Konstantin was worth the fuss. At least, not to Nika.

"Well?" she pressed.

A sigh. "The journal of Konstantin the Keeper."