Page 4 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Once, it would have.

Before Darius, before Wicked Academy, before watching my bond mates stand idle while I was humiliated.

Now, it feels like justice waiting to happen.

The pathway narrows as we approach what appears to be the entrance to a cavern. Heat radiates from within, carrying the scent of sulfur and something metallically sweet that makes my vampire senses tingle with recognition.

Blood.

Year Two isn't going to be a gentle introduction, then. Not that I expected anything less from a place called Wicked Academy.

Atticus' hand remains firm in mine, his thumb occasionally brushing across my knuckles in a gesture so subtle most would miss it. But I feel it – the silent reassurance that I'm not facing this alone anymore.

The contrast between now and mere hours ago is staggering.

Then, I stood drenched in humiliation while those who claimed magical bonds with me watched from afar. Now, I walk toward danger with someone who fought his way out of imprisonment just to stand beside me.

Someone who saw me at my very worst and decided I was worth protecting anyway.

The cavern mouth looms closer, its edges lined with what appears to be molten gold. Characters in an ancient language I don't recognize spiral along the archway, glowing with internal fire. Their meaning eludes me, but the power they radiate is unmistakable – this is no ordinary entrance.

This is a threshold.

A boundary between what was and what will be.

"Do you recognize those symbols?" I ask, nodding toward the glowing script.

Atticus studies them for a moment, his expression revealing nothing.

"Old magic," he finally says. "Blood rites from before the vampire courts established their rule of law."

A shiver runs down my spine.

"What do they say?"

His lips curve into a smile that carries no warmth.

"They're a warning. 'Abandon compassion, all ye who enter here. Only the wicked survive what lies beyond.'"

"How fitting," I mutter, eyeing the entrance with renewed wariness.

"Indeed." Atticus squeezes my hand once. "It seems your academy has quite the sense of humor."

My academy.The possessive makes me pause.

This place has never felt like mine – I came here as an intruder, a thief in the night seeking a magical chalice to save my sister. Somehow along the way, I became entangled in its web of power plays and survival games.

Now I'm officially a Year Two student, with a uniform to prove it and trials awaiting my participation. All while maintaining a male disguise that grows both easier and harder to wear with each passing day.

Easier, because practice makes perfect.

Harder, because every moment as Gabriel feels like another opportunity to lose myself.

"Hey." Atticus' voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Where did you go just now?"

It’s amusing how he’s able to read me so easily despite so many years away from one another.

I shake my head.

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