Page 120 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Bound to two of them in ways I never could have anticipated when I first scaled these walls.

Nikolai's gaze trails down my body with deliberate slowness, his desire unconcealed and overwhelming.

When our eyes finally meet, the intensity nearly buckles my knees. Every fiber of my being screams to cross the kitchen, to press against that golden skin and forget everything else exists.

The tension crackles between us like lightning waiting to strike.

Mortimer clears his throat, lowering his "newspaper" slightly.

"Should we leave?" he asks Cassius dryly. "It feels as though we're disturbing something rather...intimate."

"I don't mind," Cassius mutters, still poking at his eggs. "I hate these eggs anyway."

Nikolai's attention snaps away from me, his eyes narrowing at Cassius.

"You're not leaving this table until you eat those eggs," he states firmly, every inch the commanding Fae prince despite his casual state of undress.

Cassius's pout would be comical if it weren't so genuine.

"No," he grumbles, shadows writhing with increased agitation.

"Why do you even hate eggs?" Mortimer asks, genuine curiosity coloring his tone.

Before anyone can answer, Grim materializes — but not in his usual imposing form. Instead, a miniature version appears, complete with a tiny scythe that he points at the offending scrambled eggs with dramatic flair.

Purple flames erupt from the plate, casting an eerie glow across the kitchen.

Holy fuck!

We all stare in shocked silence for a moment before I break first, a squeal of delight escaping me as I rush forward to scoop up the diminutive death being.

"You're like a little doll!" I exclaim, cradling him close. Mini-Grim maintains his emotionless expression, though the slight pout makes him even more adorable. He seems content to be held, even as his magical flames continue to consume Cassius's breakfast.

"Put out the fire!" Nikolai groans at Cassius.

"I can't," he responds, frustration evident. "It won't go out."

Mortimer's frown deepens as he watches the purple flames spread.

"We have approximately one minute before this gets out of control," he notes with academic detachment.

Cursing erupts as they scramble to locate a fire extinguisher, their usual grace abandoned in favor of panicked efficiency. The fire alarm's shrill warning finally pulls me from my appreciation of Mini-Grim's cuteness.

The scene before me is chaos incarnate — three powerful beings frantically spraying foam at magical flames that seem utterly unimpressed by their efforts.

"Would you like me to put it out?" I ask, trying not to laugh at their disheveled state.

They freeze mid-action, turning to stare at me with varying degrees of desperation.

"YES!"

I snap my fingers, Mini-Grim settling onto my shoulder to watch the show. Water materializes above them, then descends in a torrential downpour that leaves all three thoroughly soaked.

"Oops," I say, fighting back a smile. "Water is the element I have the least control over. My bad."

Cassius spits out a mouthful of water while Nikolai sighs heavily, his golden hair plastered to his chest.

"That was entirely deliberate," Mortimer accuses, looking like a drowned cat in his expensive sweater.

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