Page 114 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Another puff of smoke from Grim, and in the span of a few blinks, both he and Gwenivere vanish completely.

"Where the fuck did he take her?" Damien demands, his head whipping around as if they might reappear in another corner of the chamber.

"He's a death bringer," Cassius reminds him flatly. "Transportation isn't nearly as complicated for his kind as it is for other paranormals."

“But,” Damien tries to argue but I have to cut him off.

"That's not the point," Nikolai interjects, his golden gaze finding mine. "Mortimer. Are you in with being our professor and guide?"

The question catches me off guard, especially given my obvious failure to maintain consciousness during the Headmaster's visit. He must see the disappointment in my eyes, the weight of yet another missed opportunity.

"The Headmaster is a prick of mercilessness," Nikolai says softly. "They're very aware of their deliberate dismissal of your studies and research. I believe it's a test of loyalty…seeing how long they can string you along before you break, even as lifetime acceptance dangles just out of reach."

He pauses, his next words careful and measured.

"Yes, you may be seen as our pet because of the original implications and punishments thrown your way for your precious research. But they respect the vast knowledge you carry and how it can benefit the academy, even if you can't always be by our side."

The words strike deeper than I'd like to admit, touching on centuries of frustration, hope, and determination. Years of research, of pushing boundaries that others feared to approach, all while being dismissed by the very being whose attention I sought most.

A test of loyalty, indeed.

"I'll solidify my position with your group," I declare, unable to suppress a slight smile. "The new implications are...tempting. And I must admit, I don't mind witnessing your rather unusual challenges. They seem to bring you an inordinate amount of entertainment."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Damien explodes, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "This girl has triggered more chaos in forty-eight hours than we've seen in decades, and you're perfectly fine with teaching and guiding her?" His crimson eyes flash dangerously. "She could be a spy. Someone sent to ruin us all. Why are you all falling into such an obvious trap?"

"It isn't a setup," Cassius murmurs, his shadows writhing with barely contained agitation.

"Oh really?" Damien whirls on him, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You're the most stubborn one here. You hate anything outside your carefully controlled routine, anything that threatens your precious solitude. Yet here you are, accepting this girl who literally fell out of nowhere." His lip curls into a sneer. "And you had the nerve to bond with her?"

He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its perfect styling in his agitation. Then his expression turns cruel, fangs flashing as he delivers his next barb.

"Was her pussy that good? Got you acting like some drunken sailor who can't break free of his addiction at sea?"

"Damien," I try to interject, keeping my voice level despite the rising tension. "Wicked Academy is about survival above all else. Thanks to Gwenivere, we all survived a trial that's claimed countless lives over the centuries."

"Oh, so that's what this is?" Damien's laugh holds no humor. "We're using the cunt because she's some sort of good luck charm?"

Nikolai sighs, the sound heavy with centuries of patience wearing thin.

"If you're jealous of the attention she's garnered without trying, you can simply admit it. No need to let it affect you so deeply."

The words act like a match to kindling.

Damien stalks forward until he's inches from Nikolai's face, his aura crackling with barely contained fury.

"I'm not fucking jealous of anyone," he snarls, each word sharp enough to draw blood. "This was just a friendship of convenience, wasn't it?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications and unspoken hurt. The raw emotion in his voice betrays deeper wounds than his usual arrogance would suggest — layers of insecurity and fear hidden beneath his carefully maintained facade.

His breathing comes in sharp, angry bursts, his usual perfect composure completely shattered. This close, I can see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his pupils have dilated with more than just rage.

The chamber feels suddenly smaller, charged with centuries of complex dynamics and carefully maintained boundaries now threatening to collapse.

The golden light emanating from Nikolai pulses stronger, responding to the challenge, while Cassius's shadows writhe with increased annoyance.

It isn’t as though this is a new friendship of sorts. They’ve known each other for a very long time, but through my observation and memory, I’m beginning to realize they didn’t share much with one another.

Could you even consider them close on a deeper-rooted level?

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