Page 14 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

"The control required for that level of restraint while blood-starved..." I murmur. "It's unprecedented."

Damien, still restrained by Cassius's other arm, has gone eerily still. His eyes track every movement Gwenivere makes, but the mindless bloodlust from before has been replaced by something more calculating.

"She's drinking Duskwalker blood," he says slowly. "And she's not dead."

The observation sends a chill down my spine.

He's right – by all known laws of our world, Gwenivere should be writhing in agony right now.

Duskwalker blood is anathema to vampires, a poison that kills within seconds of consumption.

Yet here she is, not just surviving but seemingly drawing strength from it.

The runes on her skin grow brighter, spreading up her arms like burning vines. The school's magic responds, those invisiblethreads I noticed earlier beginning to pulse in harmony with the ancient markings.

It's as if two separate magical systems are learning to dance together, creating something entirely new in the process.

"Look at the patterns," I say, pointing to where the runes intersect with particularly strong concentrations of the school's energy. "They're adapting to each other. This isn't just feeding… it's synthesis."

Nikolai's eyes widen as he follows my gesture.

Even through his anger, I can see the scholar in him emerging, fascinated by the unprecedented magical phenomenon unfolding before us.

"That's impossible. The school's wards are unchangeable. They've remained exactly as they were cast five centuries ago,” he argues with confidence.

As he should…however, it’s rather obvious this woman is a form of new territory no one has gotten the privilege to explore.

A domain I’d love to be permitted to surpass.

"Yet they're changing now," Cassius murmurs. Despite the drain of blood loss, his voice remains steady. "For her."

I watch Gwenivere closely, noting how her frenzied feeding begins to slow.

If this was some elaborate ruse to escape, now would be the perfect moment – all of us distracted, guards lowered, attention split between the unprecedented magical phenomenon and her apparent immunity to Duskwalker blood.

But she doesn't run.

"How is this not killing you?" Nikolai demands, his vines still hovering uncertainly in the air.

Cassius doesn't answer, his usual reticence seemingly amplified by blood loss. I can see the slight strain around his eyes though – the only tell that this is affecting him at all.

The manic energy in Gwenivere's crimson eyes gradually dims, like a wildfire banking down to embers. When she finally retracts her fangs from Cassius's wrist, her expression shifts from predatory to puzzled.

She wrinkles her nose, looking up at him.

"You smell funny."

Cassius's response is a simple frown, the kind that would send most students running for cover. But Gwenivere seems immune to his intimidation –or perhaps just too blood-drunk to care.

"That's not what you say to someone after you bite into them and drink their blood!" Nikolai exclaims, sounding personally offended on Cassius's behalf.

Gwenivere spins to face him, hands on hips, which must look amusing to them with the male image.

"Well, if you'd believed me in the first place, none of this would have happened!"

"IfI'dbelieved you?—"

"Yes!" She stomps over to him, finger raised accusingly. "If you'd just freed me after I explained my situation the first dozen times, we could have avoided this whole mess!"

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