"You're up late. Did your alarm not go off?"

Kion's eyes cut to his roommate Desmund as the red-skinned male wanders into the kitchen, tying the drawstrings of his loose-fitting grey cotton pants. "I've got to escort the Seraphim ambassador's daughter to Administration," he grumbles, setting the coffee pot on the hob. "I'll hit the gym later."

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Desmund says, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a cup. He leans against the counter and takes a sip. "What's she like? I heard angelic women have small tits."

Kion sighs. He's saved from answering by the sound of Desmund's door opening. A lavender-skinned female exits, tying her white hair into a messy bun as she walks toward the front door. Her blue skirt is wrinkled and stained; she pulls a black cardigan over a torn white blouse.

"Leaving so soon?" Desmund asks, winking over the rim of his coffee cup.

Kion rolls his eyes as a sultry smile plays on the girl's lips. The semester hasn't even started and Desmund's revolving door of co-eds has kicked into full gear. That's the third girl he's brought back to the apartment since they moved in last week.

"I'll see you around," the girl replies with a low chuckle. She pauses to blow Desmund a kiss before leaving.

Desmund grins and drains his cup, placing it into the sink. "I think I'll see her again. She did this thing with her fingers last night that just made my head explode—"

"Stop—just ... stop," Kion growls. He likes Desmund, but he already had to listen to their activities last night. He doesn't need a play-by-play of the events—and being lopresh has nothing to do with it either. It's just common courtesy.

Desmund stares at Kion, frowning. Kion matches his gaze, silently challenging the other male to continue with his lewd descriptions. A heavy silence descends on the kitchen, broken only by the tapping of their tails on furniture. Kion narrows his eyes and folds his arms, biceps bulging. Desmund capitulates first and shrugs carelessly. "Fine, fine. So, come on, tell me about the angelic girl. What's she like?"

Kion sighs and picks up his cooling cup of coffee. "Extremely talkative—and naïve. Walked around looking at everything with these big eyes like she'd never been outside before."

"Sounds annoying," Desmund remarks, but his eyes crinkle in amusement. "If you don't want to take her to Administration, I'm free this morning."

Kion nearly chokes on his coffee. He slams the cup down and coughs, clearing his throat. Tears form in his eyes as Desmund reaches out and pounds him on the back. "No fucking way," Kion rasps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You'd eat her for breakfast."

The other male barks a laugh. "I thought she was annoying."

Kion scowls. The girl is annoying, but he's damned if he lets Desmund anywhere near her. She's too vibrant, too innocent.

Desmund raises his eyebrows. "Did you grow a cock overnight?"

Heat builds in Kion's chest. He grabs his mug and pushes past Desmund to toss the contents into the sink, tail lashing his ankles. "I've got to go."

"Mm-hm," his roommate mutters, shaking his head. "Maybe Miss Naïveté can improve your disposition."

I doubt it, Kion thinks, shoving his feet into his boots and grabbing his keys from their peg on the wall.

He leaves the apartment and exits the building, skirting the crowd of last-minute arrivals and their parents by avoiding the main paths and cutting between units.

Kion kicks a bush out of his way, emerging onto the main path—and stops dead. Siah waits outside her building, talking animatedly with his father.

Oh, no.

He picks up the pace and skids to a stop in front of them. Father turns slowly, false affection infusing his tone. "Good morning, son!" His expression may be inviting, but there's nothing but judgment in Father's eyes. He reaches down to brush bits of foliage from Kion's trousers. "My, you certainly came here in a hurry."

"Yes," Kion temporizes, pulling his leg out of reach. "I didn't want to be late."

Father straightens, tail-tip twitching. He gestures to the angel. "Miss Umbrath and I were having a nice chat while we awaited your arrival."

Siah turns, hitting Kion with the full force of her sunny smile. "Yes, your father was telling me all about Cinderforge." She's in a backless flower-patterned blouse and pressed grey trousers today. A black bookbag hangs from her right shoulder. If he's honest, he prefers the dress from the other day.

Kion blinks. Since when has he cared about what females wear? "Thanks, Dad," he says in a clipped tone, reaching for the angel's hand. "We'd best get going or she'll miss her appointment." He doesn't know what his father's endgame is, but he isn't going to leave Siah in his presence any more than he'd leave her in Desmund's.

Father grunts, tail beating a tattoo on the backs of his legs. Siah twists in Kion's hold to wave at his father with her free hand. "Thank you for the chat, Mr Fellrose! We'll talk soon."

As they walk, Siah gently extricates herself from Kion's grasp. He glances down at his empty hand, wondering what to do with it now they're not touching.

Stars.

Where the fuck did that thought come from?

"Your father seems nice."

Kion blinks. "Huh?"

She giggles, tiny wings fluttering, and repeats her question.

"Hardly." Kion stuffs his hands into his pockets. "He's just putting on a show."

"Oh, that was obvious," Siah replies, shocking him with the statement. "He's a politician after all. Hence, the emphasis on seems."

Stars. He feels like smacking himself in the forehead. She's a diplomat's daughter. Of course she'd be wise to their tricks. Perhaps his earlier assessment was incorrect. Could there be a calculating mind behind those guileless eyes?

"What classes are you taking this semester?" Siah asks, pivoting swiftly from one topic to another. She looks up at him, swinging her arms back and forth.

She's giving me whiplash, Kion thinks, rubbing his temples. How the hell does her brain work? "Just some business classes required for my degree, literature, and intermediate magic."

Her eyes widen, mouth rounding in an "O". "You can do magic? What kind? I read that demons are either pyrokinetic or shadow-weavers. My roommate Celyse is a shadow-weaver. Kesiray and Aspen are levrash."

Kion starts, nearly tripping over his own feet. A shard of ice shoots up his spine. "What did you say?" he asks carefully.

"Levrash? Oh, that's an old Seraphic word. It means 'non-wielder'."

He breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing. For a moment he thought she'd said "lopresh". There was no way in hell he was explaining that term.

"Most people use 'nullard' or 'null'," she explains, gesturing broadly. "But I think it's too offensive."

"Oh." He nods absently.

"I'm a water-weaver and healer," Siah continues blithely, full steam ahead like a one-woman conversation train. "It comes from my mother's side. See?" She tugs at her heavy white-blonde hair, pulling it aside to reveal a small swirling black tattoo on her neck.

Kion grunts noncommittally.

Siah lets her hair fall back into place. "It's the sigil of the Tribe of Morael. We carry our fathers' names, but we trace our tribes through our mothers."

Stars, Kion sighs. If he wanted a lecture on angelic culture, he'd go to the library.

"Do you have anything like that? I did some research before coming here, but mastering your alphabet took up most of my time."

"No," he replies tersely, hoping she'll shut up.

"Oh." Her big blue eyes scan his face, white wings fluttering before being drawn up tight against her spine. "I'm sorry. I'm talking too much again." The light suffusing her face fades as she looks away.

Great. Now he feels like an asshole.

"No—not really," Kion backtracks quickly.

Siah flashes him a wry smile. "That's okay. You don't have to apologize. It's something I have to work on." She says this flatly as if it's a mantra she's been forced to repeat.

You're a big asshole, Kion tells himself. Thankfully, he's saved from shoving his foot deeper into his mouth as they arrive at their destination. He grabs the door handle and holds it open for her. "Counselor Trazath's office is this way."

Demonic students stop and stare at Kion's angelic companion, some more intently than others. He finds himself acting as a sort of bodyguard, looming over her slender form and using his shoulder to push males out of the way if they get too close.

"Right here," Kion says, gesturing to a closed door with the counselor's name etched on the glass. "I'll wait outside for you."

Siah pauses with her hand on the doorknob. She looks up at him, the light returning to her face. "Thank you."

Kion nods, watching her knock and open the door a crack. Counselor Trazath responds, calling her inside.

He waits a moment in case he's needed, but no one calls for him. Taking a deep breath, Kion navigates the crowded hallway and exits the building. He claims one of the many benches outside and sits down, watching the tree branches sway in the breeze.

A leaf from one of the silverbark trees breaks off from its branch and slowly drifts to the ground, coming to rest by Kion's foot. He bends down and picks it up, turning it slowly in his hand. The white edges are dried and curled, its purple center dull.

What am I looking for? he wonders. The object in his hand provides no answers. Grunting, Kion tosses the dead leaf onto the ground. He taps a foot and glances behind him. Maybe he should have grabbed a book before leaving the apartment.

Well, it's too late for that. Sighing, Kion tips his head back, focusing on the clouds. Why does it feel like he's being punished?

Perhaps it's because he is.

Father never forgave him for going to live with Mom after the divorce. He certainly hasn't forgiven Kion for being lopresh, either. Well, blame the stars for that quirk of biology. If Kion had his way, he'd prefer being whole instead of ... this.

A rumble of disgust rattles his chest and Kion shakes his head to clear it. Ever since he crawled to his father begging for assistance getting into St Sybil's, Orion Fellrose has been making him pay. Whether turning over a portion of his competition winnings, gathering dirt on faculty, or escorting an angel around campus, Father made it clear what he thought of his only son.

Well, Kion only has to get through this year and then he'll go somewhere far away from Cinderforge. Father can get his payments from the other side of the country.

"Why so broody, handsome?"

Kion lowers his chin to see a brass-skinned female with wavy silver hair standing far too close. "Not interested," he grumbles, closing his eyes and leaning back against the bench.

He can feel her standing there, waiting. Well, two can play this game. He folds his arms and drops his chin.

"Asshole!" she exclaims. Stone scrapes under her shoe as she turns and stomps off in a huff.

Ugh, Kion sighs. He can't wait to graduate.