Page 53 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Looking around at my strange new companions,I realize my random entrance doesn’t defeat the fact I may have just thrown myself into a tricky circumstance.

I just have to figure out how to maintain this charade through whatever trials await us…and hopefully, find some better tasting blood in the process.

The things I do for lust...and revenge... and possibly world-saving heroics.

Though, not necessarily in that order.

I huff, finally turning to face the four men watching me with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and in Damien's case, barely contained rage now that he deems me as some sort of enemy.

I mean…technically I am, but then again, I feel his vampire nerves are tingling with my presence, especially now that my vampire traits have oozed into the atmosphere.

I can already catch onto the shift in my scent, but I decide not to focus on it or else I’ll get so lost in the undertones that I’ll be distracted —as usual.

"So," I begin, crossing my arms over my chest, "I'm going to try these other blood packs and, I suppose, follow you lot to do these trials.”

I pause so I can emphasize my next point accordingly.

“Seeing as you did take care of me, despite putting me in this odd position to begin with because you couldn't handle a woman infiltrating your precious academy to steal a damn chalice."

"Are you going to keep using that against us?" Damien mutters, his jaw clenching visibly.

I level him with a look that could freeze hell.

"Yes. Over your dead body too, so shut the fuck up and change that damn tone when you're talking to the one that just saved your paranormal asses from doing the lovely outcast walk of shame down these halls like the royal bastards you are."

I’m coming to realize out of the three, Damien is the one who’s the most open book and short-tempered. Intriguing when he reminded me of an incubus when I’d dropped onto his bed and saw his naked glory…

Okay. Let’s not.

As a “male-in-training”, if I can even call it that, I don’t want to see or feel what it’s like to be “turned on”.

Let alone get hard with this dingaling hanging between my legs.

Grim releases another puff of smoke, his skull tilting in that now-familiar gesture of curiosity. I pause, looking up at him with a softer expression.

"Okay, except for you and Cassius. He's got a soft spot on me."

"How the fuck does he get off the hook?!" Damien snarls, fangs flashing in the morning light.

"He knows how to use his cock," I reply without missing a beat, enjoying the way Mortimer's mouth drops half-open andNikolai seems to be fighting the hardest battle of his life not to burst out laughing.

I imagine Faes' laughter would be quite something to listen to – probably like wind chimes in a summer breeze.

Moving toward the bedroom, I deliberately avoid making eye contact with Cassius. I can picture his expression perfectly – that same unreadable mask, maybe with just the slightest quirk of an eyebrow that speaks volumes to those who know how to read it.

At the doorway, I pause.

"I guess I'll be Gabriel Hawthorne until we figure this shit out. So let's get these trials over with so I can understand what the fuck is happening between 'us.'"

The humming pulse of the mark on my neck has been very noticeable throughout this confrontation, so that means it has to have some sort of living life force of magic that connects us in some way.

I simply need to acknowledge what exactly this connection pertains to and the weight of such circumstances.

Do the trials and you'll be free to leave. Easy, Gwenivere. There's nothing to worry about.

But as I close the door behind me, I can't shake the feeling that nothing about this situation will be easy.

Life is already a bitch, so being in a space where being “wicked” is praised and celebrated? That’s already asking for trouble and mayhem.

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