Page 3 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

The temperature hovers at the edge of uncomfortable, as if purposely designed to keep us alert.

With a deep breath, I trigger the transformation.

My body shifts, curves flattening, jawline hardening, height increasing slightly. Gabriel emerges where Gwenivere stoodmoments before, the glamour settling over me like a familiar, if somewhat suffocating, blanket.

Glancing down, I notice I'm still gripping Atticus' hand.

The realization makes me frown –Gabriel, the tough new student making his way through Wicked Academy, shouldn't be holding hands with anyone.

Internally shivering at the haunting laughter that tries to plague me, I shake off the feeling before deciding we shouldn’t really be holding hands. Be “intimate” in any way when this is an apparent trial where anything can be used against us.

I start to pull away, but Atticus simply tightens his hold, his gaze scanning our surroundings with predatory focus, alert for any sign of danger.

Still protective and loyal as ever…

"I don't want you getting bullied," I mutter, eyeing our joined hands with unease. This new trial will surely be as unpredictable as the last and I can’t afford him getting hurt or plagued because I seek his touch, even though I shouldn’t in times like these.

Atticus turns to me, one eyebrow raised in sardonic amusement.

"Let them try and see how far they get."

When I don't respond, he fully faces me, those crimson eyes capturing mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter despite my testosterone self.

"Chubby Atti can handle a few douches with big egos and small cocks," he says with a wink, noticing the dissatisfaction in my expression.

He leans closer, his breath tickling my ear as he whispers.

"Besides, my cock is bigger than both those jerks combined. So let's get this trial over with so you can find out for yourself."

Heat rushes to my face before I can control it. Gabriel shouldn't blush, but here I am, cheeks burning as Atticus pullsback to admire his handiwork, looking tauntingly pleased at my reaction.

It pisses me off enough that I yank my hand free, which only makes him chuckle – a dark, velvet sound that somehow manages to be both comforting and infuriating.

"Don't be in such a sour mood," he teases, sliding his hands into his pockets with casual grace. "It's only going to make you fall for me faster."

"I'm a HE right now," I remind him sharply, "not your Queen of Spades."

"You can be my King of Spades, then," he counters without missing a beat.

"That doesn't exist," I argue, frustration mounting.

"It can if we make it so." His expression turns thoughtful, almost philosophical. "We control these worlds of magic and discovery, after all."

"I hate that you're still a smart bastard," I grumble, looking away to hide the reluctant smile tugging at my lips.

He simply chuckles before reaching for my hand again, his fingers entwining with mine as he takes the lead. The gesture is so casual, so natural, as if we've walked hand-in-hand through a thousand trials before this one.

Whether it be when I was female…or currently as a male…

"They're going to think we're gay," I warn, glancing around nervously despite the current absence of other students.

There’s only a matter of time when we’ll see who has been partnered with us on this next challenge ahead, so contributing to the idea of us being “together” can serve as a disadvantage, especially at this academy that enjoys penalizing anyone who doesn’t fit their perfection box.

Atticus shrugs, unconcerned.

"I don't give a hoot about what anyone thinks," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that reminds me whathe's capable of. "By the end of this, the only ones deserving of thinking will be whoever I deem worthy of continuing to have access to the oxygen we live and breathe on."

The casual way he mentions potential murder should disturb me.

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