Page 8 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Multiple eyes blink at me in an unsettling pattern, and what might be mouths twist into expressions I can't begin to interpret.

Don't sneeze…don't sneeze…don't sneeze?—

Something warm trickles down my nose. Panic flares as I try to sniff it back, but it's too late. The metallic scent seems to hit me as fast as realization settles in the depths of my brain.

Nosebleed…

Blood…

Oh…no…

Cassius's curse makes the shadows themselves shudder.

"Nikolai, hold Damien, NOW!"

Time crystallizes into a series of heartbeats.

One:The blood trickles down my nose, warm and damning.

Two:A low, feral growl fills the room—a sound that shouldn't come from any human throat.

Three:Damien's head snaps toward me, and I see the exact moment his control shatters.

His pupils explode, consuming the violet of his irises until only a thin ring remains, blazing blood-red. Veins darken beneath his skin like ink spreading through water.

His lips pull back, revealing fangs that extend with predatory purpose.

Nikolai's shout comes too late:

"Damien, don't?—"

The vampire prince moves faster than thought, crossing the space between us in less time than it takes to draw breath.

One moment he's across the room, the next he's inches from my face, close enough that I can see the individual threads of crimson threading through his eyes.

Green light explodes through the room. Nikolai's magic manifests as vines that sparkle with golden luminescence, whipping through the air like living things. They wrap around Damien's torso and arms, yanking him back mere inches before his fangs can find my throat.

The scent of my blood has transformed the composed prince into something feral and ancient.

Something that speaks to the darkest parts of my own nature.

"What is this?" Nikolai demands, strain evident in his voice as he holds the writhing vampire prince. The vines pulse with emerald fire when they touch Damien's skin. "He shouldn't lose control like this. He'sroyal."

Magic crackles through the air, different flavors of power colliding and reacting.

Nikolai's forest magic is sharp and vital. The cold tomb-stillness that emanates from Mortimer. The writhing darkness that is Cassius's signature.

And underneath it all, the copper-penny taste of blood —myblood—making the air thick and electric.

Cassius takes a step forward, his shadow creature rippling above us like a storm cloud.

"It's not just blood," he says quietly. "It'staintedblood."

Mortimer leans in, positioning himself between me and Damien like some sort of supernatural referee. The movement brings another wave of that tomb-scent washing over me, but I barely notice it now. My attention is locked on Damien, still straining against Nikolai's magical restraints.

Something dark and hungry unfurls in my chest, responding to the threat.To the challenge.Every muscle in my body coils tight, ready to spring. The ropes around my wrists suddenly feel like nothing more than minor inconveniences.

"Miss Graveshadow?" Mortimer's voice seems to come from very far away.

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