Page 81 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"Thank you," I say simply, the words carrying more weight than their syllables might suggest.

He inclines his head slightly, accepting the gratitude without comment. His crimson eyes watch with quiet intensity as I select a strawberry from the plate, the fruit bursting with sweet flavor that complements the lingering taste of blood in unexpected ways.

"You were quite thoroughly exhausted," he observes, the statement carefully neutral despite implications that make heat rise to my cheeks again.

"It's been an eventful morning," I respond, trying to match his tone while avoiding direct acknowledgment of activities he must surely have sensed through our bond.

His lips curve into that knowing smile that suggests he sees through my attempt at casualness.

"I'd say eventful night and morning, based on the magical resonance alone."

I choke slightly on a piece of melon, his bluntness catching me off guard despite knowing his tendency toward direct speech. The bond mark at my wrist pulses slightly, neither approving nor disapproving of recent events, merely acknowledging their occurrence with neutral awareness.

"Does it bother you?" I ask before I can stop myself, the question emerging from insecurities I hadn't realized ran so deep. "That Cassius and I..."

I trail off, unsure how to complete the sentence without being crudely explicit. Atticus studies me for a moment, his expression thoughtful rather than angry or jealous.

"Your bonds existed before mine," he says finally, selecting his words with obvious care. "Well, sort of.” I wonder what he means by that but he continues, “I knew what I was entering into when I claimed you as my Queen. Your connection withthe Duskwalker and the Fae prince doesn't diminish what exists between us."

The mature acceptance in his voice surprises me, though perhaps it shouldn't. Whatever his appearance suggests about his age, Atticus carries centuries of experience in his bearing, wisdom acquired through lifetimes beyond my comprehension.

"It's unusual," I point out, reaching for a small sandwich to give my hands something to do. "Most paranormals are intensely possessive of their mates."

His smile turns slightly predatory, revealing the barely contained wildness that lurks beneath his civilized exterior.

"Oh, I'm absolutely possessive," he corrects, the casual admission sending a shiver down my spine. "But possession doesn't always mean exclusivity, especially with bonds formed through such unusual circumstances."

He steps closer, movements carrying that liquid grace that marks him as something beyond ordinary vampire. One finger traces the line of my jaw with feather-light precision, the touch sending sparks of awareness through newly energized nerve endings.

"Besides," he continues, voice dropping to a register that bypasses rational thought to resonate directly with more primal aspects of my nature, "I'm quite certain my Queen has enough passion to satisfy multiple bonds without diminishing any single connection."

Heat floods my system at the implication, blood rushing to my face with embarrassing speed.

"You're terrible," I accuse without heat, earning another of those devastating smiles that transform his features.

"I'm honest," he corrects, thumb brushing across my bottom lip in a touch that sends fresh sparks cascading through my system. "And patient, when the situation warrants."

The way he says "patient" carries layers of meaning beyond the simple word — promise and warning combined in equal measure. He's allowing space for existing bonds while making it clear his own claim remains valid, waiting rather than withdrawing.

My body, newly energized by his blood, responds to the subtle promise with interest that surprises me given recent exertions. The bond mark at my wrist pulses with answering awareness, warmth spreading up my arm in tendrils of sensation that make my breath catch slightly.

Atticus notices my reaction with obvious satisfaction, crimson eyes darkening slightly as he steps back to create distance between us.

The deliberate withdrawal feels like its own kind of claim — confidence that the connection between us doesn't require constant reinforcement to remain valid.

"You should eat," he reminds me, gesturing toward the plate of food with casual authority. "Then perhaps actual sleep in a proper bed rather than unconsciousness against bathroom fixtures."

The practical suggestion breaks some of the tension building between us, allowing me to breathe more easily as I select another piece of fruit. The berries burst with sweetness that helps ground me in physical reality after so many hours spent in stranger realms of shadow and dream.

"How did you know I needed blood?" I ask between bites, curiosity overcoming lingering embarrassment. "I didn't even realize it myself until the scent reached me."

"Your magic was depleted," he explains, leaning against the doorframe with casual elegance that makes the simple pose look like something from a fashion magazine. "Physical exhaustion alone wouldn't have affected you so profoundly. Blood hungeroften manifests as lethargy in hybrids, especially those who tend to ignore their vampire nature in favor of other aspects."

The assessment is uncomfortably accurate. I've always prioritized my witch abilities, treating the vampire aspects of my nature as secondary despite their obvious influence on my physiology.

"I've never been good at balancing the different aspects of my nature," I admit, the confession easier with Atticus than it might have been with others. "It feels like they're constantly at war within me, each demanding priority over the other."

He studies me with thoughtful intensity, head tilted slightly as if seeing beyond surface appearance to the contradictions beneath.

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