Page 13 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Then they move.

It happens faster than thought – two apex predators launching at each other with lethal intent. Damien's movements are a blur, centuries of royal vampire training evident in every perfect line of his attack. Gwenivere matches him with raw instinct and power, her form less refined but somehow more primal.

But they never connect.

Cassius steps between them, one arm extended to catch Damien across the chest. The movement is smooth, casual almost, but I can see the tremendous power required to halt a vampire prince mid-strike. Shadows curl around his arm like living armor, absorbing the impact.

What none of us expect –least of all Cassius himself, I suspect– is Gwenivere's reaction.

Instead of pulling back or redirecting her attack, she grabs onto his extended arm. Her movements have a desperate edge now, driven by something deeper than mere bloodlust. Those ruby-red eyes lock onto the exposed skin of his wrist where his sleeve has ridden up.

"Don't—" Nikolai starts to warn, but it's too late.

Gwenivere's fangs sink into Cassius's flesh with decisive precision. The Duskwalker prince flinches – the smallest tell, but from him, it might as well be a scream. His jaw clenches as hefights to maintain his composure, while shadows writhe around him in agitated patterns.

"Are you mad?" Nikolai's voice cracks like a whip. "Stop her! Duskwalker blood is toxic to vampires. It'll kill her instantly!"

The Fae prince's vines surge forward, ready to tear Gwenivere away from certain death. But Cassius's voice, rough with strain but unwavering, stops him cold.

"Do not interfere."

The command freezes Nikolai's magic mid-strike, his vines hovering mere inches from Gwenivere's face.

I watch, fascinated, as ancient runes begin to surface on her skin, glowing with internal fire. The markings are familiar – old magic, the kind that predates our modern understanding of spell craft.

She could have turned those vines against him at any moment…

The realization dawns on me, which I could only assume was predicted by Cassius which is exactly why he told Nikolai to stand down in the form of protecting his fellow prince ally.

Nevertheless, the implications are staggering, because this woman is not simply a human…nor just a vampire, but something far more complex.

A hybrid whose magical abilities might rival those of the most powerful practitioners.

"Cassius," Nikolai grits out, clearly struggling with the order to stand down. "What are you doing?"

A ghost of a smile touches the Duskwalker's lips.

"She's hungry."

No shit, Paranormal Sherlock.

It takes a lot for me to not sigh at such a dubious response.

Despite it all, the simple statement carries layers of meaning. We've all dealt with Damien's blood-starved states, and seen how dangerous an unfed vampire can become.

But this...

"Let someone else feed her then!" Nikolai snaps, his vines trembling with restrained power. "My blood won't kill her. Even Mortimer's would be safer than?—"

Cassius shakes his head, the movement slight but definitive.

"We provoked this," he says, his voice carrying an odd note of understanding. "Any vampire running on empty would react similarly. We've seen it with Damien often enough."

His eyes never leave Gwenivere as she continues to drink, her grip on his arm white-knuckled with desperate need.

"But she's more than that. The magic in her blood...she could have turned your vines against you at any moment, Nikolai. Yet she didn't."

I step closer, studying the scene with growing fascination. The runes on her skin pulse in time with her feeding, creating patterns that speak of transformation and balance.

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