Page 36 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Understanding dawns with sickening clarity.

"Me. You want to use me as the vessel."

"You're the only one who can withstand it," he confirms. "Your hybrid nature, combined with the three bonds you now carry, creates a unique conduit that can process the corruption without being consumed by it."

"And if I refuse?" I challenge, though I suspect I already know the answer.

"Then the corruption spreads beyond containment, claiming everyone on the platform," he says simply. "Including your bond mates."

The thought of Cassius, Nikolai, and Atticus succumbing to that malevolent influence is enough to make my decision.

Whatever risk this poses to me personally, I can't allow them to fall victim to corruption because of my refusal.

There’s no choice in this matter…

"What do I need to do?" I ask, resignation coloring my tone.

"Nothing," Mortimer answers, moving closer still. "I'll facilitate the transfer. It's not necessarily romantic," he adds, apparently noting my expression, "but this is the only way for my magic to work fast enough through your body."

Before I can properly process his meaning, he leans forward.

His intention becomes clear as his face approaches mine –a kiss, the most direct method of magical transfer between compatible entities.

"Wait—" I begin, but my protest dies as his lips touch mine with the gentlest pressure.

The moment Mortimer's lips touch mine, time seems to suspend itself.

I expect urgency, perhaps even clinical detachment given his explanation – a purely functional transfer of magic rather than genuine affection.

What I experience instead is tenderness so profound it makes my heart ache.

His lips move against mine with exquisite gentleness, as if I'm something infinitely precious and impossibly fragile. There's reverence in his touch, a careful consideration that speaks of someone who understands the value of what he holds.

Not possession but protection, not demand but offering.

I've been kissed plenty times before – passionate embraces from Cassius in the shadow-veiled darkness, golden-tinged exchanges with Nikolai that burned like summer sunlight, even Atticus's recent blood-laced connection that saved me from corruption.

Each carried their own signatures of desire, power, and purpose.

But this... this feels fundamentally sweet with centuries of longing…

Mortimer kisses me like someone handling a priceless artifact made of the thinnest glass – aware that the slightest miscalculation could shatter something irreplaceable. His magic flows between us, ancient draconic energy intertwining with my hybrid essence in patterns that feel like fragments of a language I almost understand.

This is how it feels to be truly cherished,I realize with sudden clarity. Not desired or claimed or even protected – but valued intrinsically for exactly what I am.

The white void around us pulses once, twice –then shatters.

I gasp, lungs heaving as if I've been underwater for minutes rather than seconds. The return to reality is jarring, my senses overwhelmed by sudden input after the pristine emptiness of that strange dimension.

Something is wrong.

Terribly, catastrophically wrong.

Time appears to have slowed to a crawl, the world moving at a fraction of its normal pace. Yet my perceptions remain accelerated, allowing me to register details with hyperaware precision.

Nikolai stands frozen in horror, his transformed Fae features locked in an expression of absolute dread. Golden light still emanates from his extended hands, but the beam connecting to the blood prison flickers erratically, disrupted by whatever has shifted in our ritual.

Cassius appears equally stricken, silver eyes widened beyond anything I've witnessed from the typically stoic Duskwalker. His shadows writhe with agitated frenzy, stretching toward me in what seems like slow-motion desperation.

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