Page 18 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

But this simple joy in caring for another being?

Never.

This is too dangerous of a temptation to deal with. We don’t have time for distractions. Not with so much at stake.

I try to push away these thoughts, to focus on the practical problems before us.

We need to decide what to do with her.

The sunrise clock is ticking, and if Mortimer is right about her true gender, we're running out of time before the academy's ancient laws demand their price.

But my mind keeps circling back to the moment her fangs pierced my skin.

The initial sharp pain had given way to something else entirely – a connection I still can't fully comprehend. For a brief moment, I felt her desperation, determination, and absolute conviction that had no choice but to succeed.

And underneath it all, something sought the darkest parts of my nature, that makes my spirit stir with recognition and my blood sing with possibility.

That scent...

It shouldn't be possible for someone to smell of both life and death, yet here we are. The dominant note is mahogany – deep, rich, masculine even – but underneath lurks...

Winter roses touched by frost, their delicate petals preserved in the moment between death and decay.

Aged leather bound books whose pages hold forbidden spells, their ink still wet with possibility.

The metallic tang of blood mixing with the sharp bite of ceremonial incense.

But there's more.

Night-blooming jasmine wrapped around ancient tombstones.

Fresh earth disturbed by resurrection rituals.

Darkness given form and function.

The combination should be harsh, discordant, and wrong.

Instead, it creates a harmony that makes my enhanced senses ache with want. A symphony of contradictions that speaks to both the shadows in my soul and something I dare admit should never resurface:a sensation I thought had died when I accepted my Duskwalker crown.

Another flicker of the glamour draws my attention.

For just a heartbeat, I glimpse white hair cascading like moonlit silk, features that belong in Renaissance paintings of angels and demons alike.

Again.

Then it's gone, replaced by the male facade that my rational mind tells me is real.

But is it?

I find myself craving another glimpse of that other form, wondering if my senses have finally betrayed me after centuries of reliability.

Perhaps the blood loss has affected me more than I thought…

"If thishe-sheis really telling the truth about being a girl," Damien interrupts my thoughts, lip curling around the crude term, "why can't we see it? Why maintain the deception now that we've caught them?"

"It could be both a blessing and a curse," Mortimer muses, his pale eyes never leaving our unconscious guest. "The academy's gift...or perhaps its challenge."

Nikolai steps forward, emerald magic still crackling around his fingers.

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