Page 59 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

My wrist remains extended, the offer unchanged despite the charged atmosphere. Her eyes return to it, and I watch as she swallows hard, her throat working with the motion.

The hunger in her gaze is unmistakable now.

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting to see what she'll do. Even Damien's usual restlessness stills, his attention fixed on the tableau before him.

Mortimer watches with his usual analytical intensity, while Cassius...Cassius's silver eyes never leave Gwenivere's face, his expression unreadable but his focus absolute.

The mark on her neck continues to pulse, a steady rhythm that seems to match her heartbeat. Whatever this bond between her and Cassius might be, it's clearly active even when she contemplates drinking from another.

An interesting detail that we'll need to explore later…assuming we survive the trials.

I’m debating whether we tell her before hand. Though promised, the path to the trial entrance is tedious in itself, butmaybe it would benefit letting her be aware of the implications prior to the madness that will ensue with the challenges ahead.

The air grows thick with anticipation as she leans slightly forward, her breath ghosting across my skin. The sensation sends an unexpected shiver down my spine, though I maintain my composure.

After all, I'm the one who offered.

But watching her hesitate, caught between need and uncertainty, I begin to wonder if perhaps I've underestimated the complexity of what I'm proposing.

Fae blood is potent — filled with ancient magic and the essence of nature itself. Combined with her unique hybrid status and whatever connection she shares with Cassius...

Too late now.

Gwenivere's eyes meet mine one final time, seeking permission in their depths. I allow my expression to soften, dropping the careful masks we royals tend to wear like second skins.

Leaning in, I whisper words meant only for her.

"You won't hurt me, Gwen. Have a taste and see if it's to your liking."

She swallows hard, nodding slowly as gratitude fills her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispers back, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. The gesture is unconscious but draws my attention nonetheless.

With a deep inhale and gentle exhale, she takes hold of my wrist. Her touch is surprisingly delicate, at odds with the raw power I'd witnessed her display earlier. I watch in fascination as she leans in, feeling the initial brush of extended fangs against my skin.

It's not as if I'm unfamiliar with vampire bites. I've allowed Damien to feed from me in special circumstances, whennecessity demanded it. But this... this feels different. More intimate somehow.

Almost sentimental.

When she finally sinks her fangs into my flesh, the sharp pierce of pain is expected.

What follows is not.

Heat floods through me instantly, my body lighting up like a midsummer bonfire. Every nerve ending comes alive, tingling with a potent mixture of power and...unexplainable potential? Something that makes my blood sing and my magic surge beneath my skin.

Her moan of relief vibrates against my wrist, the sound pure satisfaction. Like a wanderer in the desert finally finding water, she drinks with desperate gratitude. The raw need in her response stirs something primal in me, something I usually keep carefully contained.

It’s hard not to get hard from the glorious sound.

I close my eyes, trying to maintain control as my cock hardens against my will. The reaction takes me by surprise — I've never been particularly attracted to hybrids. Rarely feel attraction at all, if I'm being honest, though like most Fae I'm fluid in my preferences when I do.

But this...

I endure it, determined to let her take what she needs. But just as the sensations threaten to overwhelm me, Cassius's voice cuts through the haze.

"Little mouse," he says, the nickname carrying an edge of command."Slow down."

She obeys instantly, her pulling becoming gentler even before I can open my eyes. Then Damien's startled gasp breaks through my concentration.

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