The Struggle: Hellbent Academy, #3

By Val St. Crowe

Black magic.

I hate it, but it's mesmerizing. It makes me feel the most powerful I've ever felt, like a dark goddess, and I can't seem to fight it. It's all I think about. It's all I want.

And that's not good, because I need to be focusing on the conflict between the demonborn and occultists. Since Phist killed the potentate, we're basically at war now. Everything's in jeopardy, especially if anyone discovers that we're on the side of Resistance.

When my obsession with black magic goes too far, the worst thing happens.

Phist is captured.

Now, I can only focus on one thing. I have to save him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Punk Rawk Books
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201010508

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THE BARK OF the tree trunk bit into the palms of my hands, where I was bracing myself against it. There was a cold wind out here in the woods, cutting through the trees around us, biting into my bare skin. And most of my skin was bare. My shirt was pushed up around my armpits and my pants were off one leg and stuck around the knee of my other leg.

Phist’s body barely made contact with mine, even though he was inside me. He was spearing me, splitting me open, slamming into me again and again, and I had my eyes shut and my teeth bared, gasping with every thrust.

The cold wind blasted both of us—Phist was wearing less clothes than me. I’d ripped his shirt and dragged my nails over his chest. He had no shirt and his pants were around his ankles. He shuddered against me.

I moaned.

The air was cold, but it was colder in my veins, where black magic from the sacrifice we’d done together was squirming and fizzing all through my body.

The sex was supposed to warm us, but it wasn’t working. It was supposed to take my mind off the black magic, but that wasn’t working either. I’d never had sex like this, never done anything quite so dirty or rough or intense, and it was like I could hardly feel it.

I wanted more than this.

I wanted…

Blood.

Phist’s hands traveled over my skin. He clutched at my breasts, squeezing them, pinching them.

I let out a guttural sound, trying to surrender to the sensation of this but knowing I couldn’t. I’d had an orgasm already, and it had been fierce and powerful. I’d twitched and spasmed and writhed and moaned and it had left me still as cold and bloodthirsty as before it came.

Phist had come once too, and he was still going.

The magic that was riding us was pitiless and horrid. I needed it out of me. Was there no way to get it out?

Phist’s fingers crawled between my thighs. I was sensitive there, having already had one release, and he didn’t have to do much before I was suddenly climaxing again.

I shuddered, crying out, arching my head back as it ripped through me, brutal and unrelenting.

He grabbed a handful of my hair.

Yes! I groaned.

He tugged.

The pain was perfect. It was exactly what I needed. Between the orgasm, crashing in hot waves in my thighs and the tiny points of pain in my skull, the black magic was wiped out. I didn’t feel it at all. I felt—

Phist let go of me.

He detached from me, stumbling away, leaving me sagging against the tree trunk.

No.

No, no, no, I could feel it again. I could feel the way the black magic was crawling around inside me. It was like my veins were full of squirming insects.

I clenched my hands into fists, getting to my feet and yanking my clothes back into place.

Phist was on one knee, his head down, long hair going every which way.

I looked down at him. You stopped.

He raised his head, hair tangled over his face. Had to, he choked.

I brought my fists up to my mouth. I shut my eyes.

Phist coughed.

I opened my eyes.

He was standing up, zipping his pants. His chest was still bare. I could see the place my nails had dug into him.

I reached out and touched one of the angry raised lines.

I can heal it, he muttered.

I retracted my hand.

He ran a hand through his hair, surveying me.

What? I said.

Nope, not saying anything, he said. I got the message earlier. You’re tough.

I swallowed.

His hand came up jerkily and he put his palm to my cheek. His fingers were cold. Sometime, he said in a grating voice, I’d like to make love to you when we’re not under the influence of drugs or black magic or something, you know?

Suddenly, I wanted to cry. I took two wobbling steps closer to him, and I pressed my face into his bare chest, wrapping my arms around him.

He hesitated, and then he folded his arms around me too.

For the first time since we’d done the sacrifice, I felt a little bit warm. Hugging him was good. Maybe we went about it all wrong, I mumbled into his chest.

What? I can’t understand you.

I looked up at him. Maybe we just played into it, being all hard with each other. Maybe the way to fight the black magic is to be soft.

He kissed my forehead. You can’t fight it, baby. It eats you. It’s the way it is.

I smiled a little. What did you just call me?

He grinned. Sorry.

No, I like it, I said. We could say that to each other. That’s… that would be good.

We kissed again, a softer kiss.

He pulled back. We’ll be all right. The magic goes away. It’s best to stay busy, though. I got an idea of something we could be doing. He let go of me and scoured the ground for something. Then he picked up his shirt. He turned it this way and that and then saw that it was really ripped.

Sorry, I said.

It’s fine. He balled it up and stuck it in his back pocket. Come on, let’s go. He started walking away.

I looked back at the remnants of the altar we’d used. The deer we’d killed was gone, completely consumed by magic—skin, guts, and all.

Inside me, the magic writhed.

I hurried to catch up to Phist. I pressed against him, picking up his arm and putting it around my shoulder.

He wrapped his fingers there and squeezed. We stay together, okay? We’ll get through it together.

I liked that idea.

CHAPTER TWO

BACK IN THE Black Circle house, Phist and I split up. He told me to shower and change and meet him in his room as soon as I was ready. I was happy to have the shower. I felt gross after wrestling with the deer and getting blood all over myself. It was doubly gross that we’d had all that sex after killing an animal.

I hated black magic.

It was awful. Everything about it sucked.

The worst thing about it was that I wanted more of it, right now. It was insidious. I hoped that the hot shower would make me feel warm, but it didn’t do anything. The heat didn’t seem to penetrate my skin. The cold blackness had overtaken me from the inside.

I dressed in layers, trying to warm myself that way, even though I knew it was a lost cause.

When I got back to Phist’s room, he opened the door only in a towel.

My gaze skittered over his bare chest, and it still had the power to take my breath away. He was such a beautiful man. I gaped at his broad shoulders and at the way his muscles were knit together. I’d had my hands all over those muscles and shoulders. I’d had sex with this man. More than once.

Heat rose in my face, and I looked down at my shoes, a silly grin stealing over my features.

What? said Phist, looking down at himself.

Nothing. I stepped inside his room, shutting the door behind myself.

Are you laughing at me for some reason, Astaroth? Phist arched an eyebrow.

No. I said, forcing myself to stop smiling, and also to look at his face, not all his… flesh. Definitely not.

He eyed me for several moments, as if trying to decide if he believed me or not.

Did you just call me by my last name?

He undid the towel at his waist, rubbing at his skin, exposing himself to me as if it was nothing.

I let out a little breathy sound. I couldn’t help it.

That made him look up at me. One side of his mouth quirked up. Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?

I folded my arms over my chest. No, it’s fine. Nothing about seeing your genitals has any effect on me.

He smirked. Clearly. He threw the towel over his shoulder and stood there, grinning at me, everything on display.

My mouth was dry. I gripped my elbows, hugging myself.

I’m up here, Suther, he said, pointing at his eyes.

I’m going to hit you, I said.

I thought we were finished with the violence portion of the evening, he said in a low voice.

Bile rose in the back of my throat, and that was when I noticed that those scratches on his chest that I’d given him, the ones he said he could heal? They weren’t healed.

I lurched closer and touched them again. Blake, you left these.

He caught my hand. Trying to conserve magic a little. Besides I don’t mind being, uh, marked by you.

Something went through me at that. I looked up at him.

I should get dressed, he said in a dark voice.

Okay, I squeaked.

He caught my chin and kissed me—quick and hard. Then he let go of me and disappeared into his bathroom. When he came out, he was dressed and he was tying his dark hair back into a bun at the nape of his neck. He scratched at the stubble on his cheek. So, I got an idea of something we can do with the black magic.

How do you stand this? I said. I mean, how many times have you had to do it?

He grimaced. I don’t know. Too many. It’s fine. The first time’s the worst. It gets easier to handle, I promise.

I bit down on my lip. I get why people are like they are. Why everyone in the Circle is so horrible. It’s because of this magic.

It’s because of a lot of things, he said.

But the way it feels, I said. I can see why you’d do things, things you didn’t think you wanted to, just so that you could feel something other than the coldness inside.

He looked away, swallowing.

And then it was quiet.

Phist? I said. You were going to tell me what we were doing?

He met my gaze again. Maybe you, uh… maybe you should just go to bed or something.

I raised my eyebrows. What? Are you trying to protect me again? I thought we talked about this.

You’re not okay, Suther, he said. You’re all fucked up, and I got you into this, and maybe it would be better if—

I got myself into it, I said. What are we doing? Come on, talk to me.

He just shook his head. Everything about this is wrong.

Phist, I mean it, I said. You’re not leaving me here to deal with this alone.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Yeah, okay, I guess you’re right. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. So, Gatmos.

Gatmos, the guy we killed earlier today?

I killed him. You watched, said Phist.

"Yeah, but I have killed people, Mr. You-Should-Go-to-Bed."

We going to have a pissing contest about whose the badder badass, Suther? That what you want?

I glared at him. What’s your problem? I got in here, and he was teasing me while toweling off, but now, he was all closed off again. This guy, I swear. I could not figure him out, and it was worse now, because we were intimate, and he was still utterly confusing to me.

It’s just the black magic, okay? He hunched his shoulders.

Fine, I snapped. What about Gatmos?

That stuff he was talking about in the president’s house. Buying boy demonborn, turning them into cage fighters for occultists to bet on.

Yeah, it was disgusting.

Well, he’s dead now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean all those demonborn are free.

My lips parted. Oh, hell, you’re right. He probably kept them locked up somewhere. You want to get them out?

Yes. Phist nodded. See, the thing with the black magic we did is that the memory-wipe spell didn’t use it all up. That’s why it’s still in us. If we can find something to do with it, we can use it up, and then it’ll be gone.

Really? I was super excited at that thought.

It won’t get rid of the addictive part. You’ll still have that longing, the ache for more of it.

Oh. My face fell. For how long?

He didn’t say anything.

It does go away, right?

He looked up at me. Yeah. Sort of.

Oh, I said. Great.

I should never have let you help out with the spell. He clenched his hands into fists.

I can handle it. I said, my nostrils flaring.

When you agreed to go undercover, you said you could do black magic. I figured it would be better if your first time was with me and not someone else in the Circle. I thought that—

"I’m fine. I sucked in a breath. Let’s go use up the magic. Where do you think that Gatmos kept the demonborn?"

Well, I’ve been thinking about that a lot, said Phist. And he could have kept them anywhere. Maybe he has some secret, underground lair out in the middle of nowhere.

How will we find that?

But I don’t think so, said Phist. Because that would imply that Gatmos was trying to hide what he did, and I don’t think he was. I don’t think he was the least bit ashamed of anything he did. I think he was proud of it. So, I’m thinking he kept them somewhere in his own home. He would have wanted them close so that he could craft his disgusting spells on them.

Yeah, I could see that, I said. So, do we know where he lives?

IT TURNED OUT that the Resistance kept detailed records on where all known occultists lived. The files were all on a website that Resistance members could log onto and get in and see whatever it was that they wanted to see.

So, Phist had already found out Gatmos’s address.

We left the Circle house and got on his motorcycle. We drove. Gatmos lived outside the town of Westfield, where Hellespointe was located, out on the outskirts in a country manor.

We drove down a tree-lined driveway to get there, and when we did, the place was quiet and dark. The house was massive, with a double-story balcony running around its gray, towering mass. Next to it was a big barn.

Phist and I didn’t even discuss it. We got