Pierce Charming Academy 2: Kissing the Demigod King & Other Bad Decisions
Author
F. R. Black
Reads
18.6K
Chapters
61
Spiro has hunted Smera since the day she walked into the Academy, taunting her, pinning her in the training ring, telling her she is far too sheltered to survive an Alpha mission. So when she finally lands one, she takes it purely to spite him, and lands in a Greek fantasy world as a princess of Athens with a demigod prince to seduce and a war with Sparta to stop. Then Spiro follows her, giving up an entire galaxy to be trapped on this planet forever, and Fate makes him her target instead. Now the man she swore she hated is the man she has to make love her, while a goddess demands his death and the god-killing power waking inside Smera decides it wants him gone too. And one of them is going to have to die so that the other one can live.
Chapter 1: Cheap Shots
SMERA
Sweat drips into my eyes, stings the fresh split on my lower lip. I taste copper and salt as I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth, smearing crimson across my knuckles.
“That was a cheap shot,” I grit out, the words muffled by the throb radiating from my jaw.
Spiro stands opposite me, chest heaving, skin gleaming with sweat that traces every carved ridge of muscle. At six feet six, he’s a solid wall of titanium—broad shoulders rolling like tectonic plates, arms thick enough to snap a spear shaft.
He’s stripped to the waist, black combat pants low on his hips, every inch of him radiating coiled power. His storm-hazel eyes are alight with something wild, something almost feral.
Excitement.
He’s enjoying this—besting me, a woman half his size, without pulling a single blow. The realization makes my blood sing even as my jaw screams.
He circles me steadily, fists still raised. A slow, wicked grin splits his face. “Cheap?” he laughs. “You left your chin wide open, love. That’s not cheap—that’s an invitation.”
I spit blood onto the ground, narrow my eyes, and reset my stance. My ribs ache from the earlier body shot he landed, but the pain only sharpens everything.
I lunge first this time.
Feint left with a jab, then drop low and drive a hook toward his floating ribs. He reads it—damn him—and twists just enough that my knuckles graze his side instead of sinking in. His forearm slams into my guard like a battering ram, forcing my arms wide.
I duck under his counter strike and drive a vicious uppercut toward his chin. My fist connects—solid, satisfying crack of knuckle on bone. His head snaps back half an inch, but he laughs—deep, delighted, the sound vibrating through the courtyard.
“That’s more like it,” he growls.
He doesn’t give me time to savor the hit.
One massive hand snakes out, catches my wrist mid-recoil, and yanks. He spins me like I weigh nothing, arm wrapping around my throat from behind in a loose rear choke—not tight enough to cut air, just enough to remind me he could. His chest presses hot and hard against my back. He leans down, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“Yield?” he murmurs, voice dark with amusement and something hungrier.
I drive my elbow back hard into his solar plexus. He grunts, grip loosening enough for me to twist free. I sweep his lead leg with a scything kick. He hops over it—barely—but I’m already surging up inside his guard, driving my shoulder into his midsection.
We crash together.
He staggers back two steps—enough to make me grin—then catches me around the waist and lifts me clean off the ground. He slams me down onto my back—not hard enough to wind me, but hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs.
Before I can roll, he drops his full weight on top of me, pinning my wrists above my head.
Our faces are inches apart. His breath fans hot across my split lip, hazel eyes blazing with triumph and raw want.
“Still think that was cheap?” he asks, lips curving.
I arch beneath him, testing his hold, feeling the iron cage of his fingers around my wrists. Pain flares in my jaw, in my ribs, but it only makes the fire in my veins burn hotter.
“No,” I breathe, meeting his gaze without flinching. “But next time I’m putting you on your ass.”
His laugh is low, wicked. “Looking forward to it.”
He doesn’t move to let me up. Not yet.
Neither do I.
And for this moment, nothing else exists but the two of us—locked, sweating, alive, and nowhere near finished.
But then I shake him off, rolling out from under him.
I have heard he’s a half-breed. Only his mother was human and from Earth. Who knows what breed his evil Titan father was?
His terrible behavior in the ring is well known throughout the academy. Even my mother inquired about the rumors, asking if she needed my father to break his arm.
Every chance he gets, Spiro tosses out barbed taunts—telling me I’m not as tough as I pretend, that I’m living in my mother’s shadow, or the classic daddy issues line. As if. My father could wipe the training floor with his ass without breaking a sweat.
What’s almost pathetic is that his relentless teasing isn’t about rivalry. It’s a transparent attempt at flirtation. He has been obsessed with me since I arrived.
My roommates speculate endlessly about Spiro’s fixation. They whisper that his obsession borders on something unsettling, that if he doesn’t rein it, the Pierce Charming Academy administration might have no choice but to expel him. Instructors have noticed too, wary of how his intensity sometimes crosses from competitive to possessive.
In theory, the academy has strict policies against any form of harassment or intimidation, but Spiro has the beauty of an Alpha target, which is why he gets away with a lot more than regular students would.
He’s an important agent to have. I get it.
Actually, that fact makes me hate him more.
Let him chase, let him try to provoke. My focus is elsewhere—on training, on strategy, on earning my place among legends.
“Come onnnn,” he laughs softly, holding up his hands in surrender as I walk off. “Don’t be mad. Babe, you’ll live.”
Asshole.
He almost knocked a tooth out.
I turn, touching my nose to make sure it’s not bleeding. “I’m done,” I get out, feeling my muscles shaking.
“Smera, baby,” he coos, and my eye twitches. “I thought you could take it. I was making it hard for you,” he murmurs, and I can hear the smile on his stupid face.
I force a laugh, knowing he’s a lost cause. I can’t let him get to me—once he lands a mission, he will be gone forever.
“Maybe try fighting a man for once.” I look back at him, knowing his eyes were glued to my ass as his gaze slowly rises to mine. “Besting a female will not land you an Alpha mission, Spiro.”
He stares at me like my taunts are foreplay, then peels off his sweaty shirt to reveal his godlike physique. I roll my eyes, averting my gaze. “Baby, you know I will get an Alpha mission from just my looks alone.”
Spiro is fucking handsome, fine, but I’d swallow glass before admitting it. I throw him an annoyed look and see him smiling at me, knowing he is trying to taunt me.
He might turn some heads, but he doesn’t do it for me. I’ve set my sights far higher than trading flirtations with some cocky academy hopeful.
My ambitions stretch beyond romance. I want the kind of victory that gets my name etched into the Hall of Fame, a legacy like my mother’s, who won an Alpha mission.
What can I say? I’m my mother’s daughter.
I don’t express emotion well like her, and I can sometimes come across as overly confident.
I know my flaws.
And I don’t care.
Living in the shadow of my parents isn’t easy. The whispers follow me, the expectations weigh down every step. But here, on the training grounds, I have a chance to carve my own path, to prove that I’m more than Zoya’s daughter.
Even as my parents try to shelter me, to keep me safe and close, I push forward. Every bruise, every aching muscle, is my refusal to be held back. I’m determined to shine, even if it means defying them for a real shot at an Alpha mission.
But I’m the eldest, so it’s hard for them to let go.
Zoya has worked for FGI for years and received a golden letter before the fall. She told me she thought it was a joke, that staff members couldn’t receive letters.
She was wrong.
She was thrust into a dangerous mission to take down a mad scientist: my father. Obviously, she won the Darling necklace, and FGI was so impressed with my father that they employed him.
A true happily-ever-after.
Now, I’m following in my mother’s footsteps. I’m eighteen; they can’t tell me no anymore. Plus, my godmother—the actual Fairy Godmother—has given me her approval, so that’s all I need.
I turn and flip off Spiro.
“You’re such a bitch,” he mutters, half-joking. “You think you’ll land an Alpha mission with that attitude?!”
I flip him off again.
“You’re just a baby!” I hear him yell after me. “Most of the targets from these worlds are fucking ancient! These targets are going to destroy you!”
I turn to glare at him. “I’m a baby? And you’re so much older than me?”
“I’m twenty-eight-ish—give or take,” he says, running his hands through his chestnut waves as he walks toward me. “You are a sheltered baby bunny, Smera.”
“You fucking wish,” I seethe. “I don’t know what this obsession with me is—”
“You think I’m obsessed?” He’s smiling now, and I hate it.
I swallow, trying to slow my pounding heart.
“Yeah,” I say, walking up to him, ignoring how he looms over me. “You’re just sad that I don’t fall for your attempts at trying to—you know what?” I say, frowning at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do. Maybe you’re just sad that I’m the only girl who can’t stand your face.”
In a second, he reaches out and grabs my waist, pulling me toward him and making me gasp. “Are you a virgin, baby?”
I grip his hand, surprised. “None of your fucking business,” I hiss. “Let go of me.”
“You are,” he whispers, hazel eyes lighting up. “You should let me train you. These missions require a lot of seducing—it’s not all sword playing. You need experience.”
“I would rather die than sleep with you, Spiro,” I hiss, though it’s hard to breathe with him so close.
Something is not right about the way he looks at me. If I were a psychologist, I’d say his obsession with me makes him unfit for missions. “And it’s against the rules. I can turn you in and get you expelled.”
His jaw flexes, anger flashing over his face, his hazel eyes shifting color in a way no human eyes could.
“I bet you won’t get picked for an Alpha mission due to your lack of experience,” he says with a cold smile, his gaze lowering. “I can…train you,” he whispers, his eyes raising to mine. “No one would have to know.”
His hand drifts from my waist toward my chest, and I hate how my body reacts. He’s never touched me like this before. He’s grabbed me, shoved me, pinned me in the ring more times than I can count—but this is different. This is just him touching me because he wants to, and I have no idea what to do with that. I give myself a mental shake, knowing Spiro is testing me.
“You’re wrong. I hear men love to be the first. Being a virgin might get me picked faster,” I counter. “I will leave here and never see you again.”
Something shifts in his expression—a storm behind his eyes, his jaw tight, a shadow of danger crossing his face. He glances around like he knows he’s crossing a line, then brushes his hand over my hard nipple, his thumb pushing into it, making me gasp.
“Scared that you will love what I can do to you? I’ll have your eyes rolling in the back of your head…”
“Spiro!” a coach’s voice booms across the courtyard. “Step away from her, you know the rules!”
His hand leaves me with a harsh laugh.
“She had something on her shirt! Calm down!” He winks at me. “See you later, baby.”
He backs away, hands raised, gaze still on fire.
I, on the other hand, am mortified.
My face is flushed, my breathing ragged, and I’m squeezing my legs together—and he can see all of it.
Spiro knows that he’s completely undone me with one touch. The shiver that ran through my body, the breath caught in my throat; the heat in my chest. The dark, knowing grin he flashes before he turns to leave is a final confirmation that he’s fully aware of the effect he has on me. My inexperience is laid bare.
No one has ever dared to cross that line with me before, and the sensation lingers long after his hand is gone. I can’t help but replay that moment, hating how much I reacted to him. How much I liked it.
Shit.
I try to brush it off, try to tell myself that it was just a first brush with a bad boy. I try to tell myself that if anything, I should thank Spiro for this experience, since it prepared me more for the Alpha mission to come. I try to tell myself that it means nothing, my feelings mean nothing.
But somehow, I’m not convinced.
