Page 9 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Blood pounds in my ears.

Damien's eyes lock with mine, and I feel an answering surge of predatory instinct. The vampire in me recognizes him as both kindred and rival.

The witch in me catalogs a dozen ways to tear him apart with magic.

"Miss Graveshadow." Mortimer's voice sharpens. "Are you listening?"

I shake my head, trying to clear it.

"What? Sorry, can you repeat that?"

"I asked why you seem to be having trouble concentrating."

A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep and dangerous inside me.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'd really enjoy destroying these ropes and tackling the shit out of this vampire prince if he doesn't get the fuck out of my personal space!" The words come out in a snarl that doesn't sound entirely human.

I’m losing control…

I feel the change as it happens — my eyes shifting, the world taking on that familiar crimson tinge. Power pulses through the room, different from before.

Darker.

Wilder.

The kind of magic that predates civilization, that remembers when we were all just monsters in the dark.

The others feel it too. Nikolai's vines shiver. Cassius's shadows writhe faster. Even Mortimer takes half a step back.

“Fuck…he’s a vampire?” Nikolai releases, the state of calm in his voice finally faulty in the realms of empowerment.

"We need to keep her," Mortimer announces to Cassius, his voice pitched low and urgent.

"Him," Nikolai corrects automatically, though he sounds distracted by the effort of restraining Damien.

Mortimer ignores him completely.

"Mortimer…what is she and why are you suggesting we keep her?”

“Waltzed into Wicked Academy unharmed, glamor tainted by the very magic that keeps this place alive and thriving against the various threats that tackle these walls on a daily basis. Tainted blood of a hybrid with magic forbidden in many lands, and we’re tipping her over the edge into vampire territory,” he summarizes with some odd sense of pride.

His cold fingers find my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

The touch sends ice through my veins, but not enough to cool the fire building in my blood. I glare at him through eyes I knoware now completely red, feeling my fangs lengthening against my will.

Control it.

I tell myself desperately. I know this shit is my fault. I hadn’t thought of the possibility of confronting another vampire within the boundaries of Wicked Academy, but I didn’t think I was needy of blood.

Control it!

I went to the blood bank a month ago. I’ve thrived on one pack…which is very little I guess,but why now?

Is it because I used too much magic energy? Or maybe something to do with the glamors’ constant pull of my magic?None of them are going to give me blood now…fuck!

Panic consumes me and yet that thrilling boil of power and the idea of freedom being at my fingertips seems to override everything.

Control it….please…control?—

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