Page 17 of Academy of the Wicked (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #2)

Shadows Surrendered

~ C ASSIUS~

"Mine," I whisper against her throat, the word carrying centuries of longing I've never allowed myself to voice.

When my lips touch the bond mark at her neck, the connection between us flares with incandescent intensity, sending shock waves of sensation through my system.

Her reaction is immediate and devastating — a gasping moan that arches her body into mine, her hands clutching at my shoulders as if seeking anchor in a storm of feeling.

The sound of her pleasure resonates through me, awakening something primal that Duskwalkers typically keep carefully contained.

My shadows respond instinctively, tendrils extending from my form to surround us in protective darkness that hums with vibrational delight. They move with purpose beyond my conscious direction, caressing her skin through the borrowed shirt with almost reverent appreciation.

"Cassius," she whispers, my name on her lips carrying notes of surrender that make my control fray further at the edges.

My shadows grow bolder, slipping beneath fabric to trace patterns against her bare skin. The tendrils seem to sing with satisfaction at each shiver they draw from her, each breathy sound of appreciation.

They move with increasing purpose, gradually gathering the material of her shirt, lifting it with deliberate slowness to reveal her form inch by exquisite inch.

I pull back just enough to witness the revelation, to watch as my shadows strip away the final barriers between us, leaving her gloriously bare beneath my gaze.

The sight steals whatever breath remained in my lungs — silver hair spread across my pillow, skin like moonlight given form, curves that would inspire poetry if I possessed such talents.

Relief floods through me with unexpected force, nearly overwhelming in its intensity. This moment — her surrender, her forgiveness, her willingness to reconnect despite my failures — feels like salvation I never dared hope for.

The weight I've carried since the cafeteria incident, the crushing guilt of inaction when she needed protection, lightens with each passing second.

I hadn't realized how heavily her pain had pressed upon me, how the possibility of her hatred had become a shadow darker than any I command.

The thought of permanent fracture between us had haunted me more thoroughly than I'd allowed myself to acknowledge. Now, with her beneath me, eyes reflecting desire rather than disappointment, I feel something I'd thought lost to me centuries ago.

Hope…

Hope for connection beyond mere alliance.

Hope for understanding that transcends the careful distances I've maintained for so long.

Hope for a future where shadows need not always represent isolation and coldness.

"You're beautiful," I tell her, the simple truth emerging without the filters I typically employ. "More than I deserve."

Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, touch feather-light yet burning against my skin.

"Let me decide what you deserve," she responds, voice carrying stubborn determination that reminds me why I first called her Little Mouse — small yet fierce, determined beyond all reason.

I can't resist her invitation, lowering my mouth to hers once more in a kiss that carries both gratitude and hunger. My tendrils continue their exploration, wrapping around her wrists with gentle restraint as my lips begin a journey downward.

I trace the elegant column of her throat, pausing to lavish attention on the bond mark that pulses in time with her racing heart.

Each kiss draws new sounds from her — sighs and gasps and broken whispers that guide me to places that bring her greatest pleasure. I map her body with devoted attention, committing every response to memory, learning the unique language of her desire with the same focus I bring to shadow manipulation.

My Little Mouse, writhing beneath me as I cover her in kisses, each one a silent promise of protection and pleasure. The sight of her — abandoned to sensation, trusting me despite everything — sends fresh waves of emotion through my chest that have nothing to do with mere physical desire.

When I finally pull back to remove my own clothing, her gaze follows every movement with hooded intensity that makes my hands less steady than I'd prefer.

I unbutton my shirt with deliberate slowness, watching her watch me with growing anticipation. The garment falls away, revealing the markings that cover my torso — tattoos that most never see, as Duskwalkers rarely expose bare skin to others.

Her eyes widen slightly, taking in the intricate patterns that spread across my chest and arms. These aren't the markings she's glimpsed before during training or combat — those are mere surface decorations, statements of rank and lineage visible even through clothing. These deeper inscriptions remain hidden except in moments of greatest intimacy or magical working.

I move to my pants next, unbuttoning them with unhurried purpose before slipping them off completely.

I kick them from the edge of the bed with casual disregard, then deliberately stand beside the mattress, allowing her to take in my fully revealed form.

The markings covering my body respond to her attention, pulsing with subtle luminescence as magic flows through the intricate designs. Shadows rise from the tattooed lines, creating patterns of darkness that dance across my skin like living extensions of the ink itself.

"I knew you had tattoos from last time we fucked," she says, voice hushed with fascination, "but these seem different. Deeper somehow."

I nod, appreciating her perceptiveness.

"These are Nachtlied markings," I explain, using the ancient Duskwalker term. "They're created using the essence of Nachtlied flowers, blended into ink that's carved into our flesh. Each pattern connects us to different aspects of shadow strength and ability."

Her eyes track the movement of darkness across my skin, genuine curiosity evident beneath desire.

"Is that why your shadows can create those sounds? Why they seem almost independent sometimes?"

"Yes." I extend my hand, allowing a tendril to curl around my finger like a pet seeking affection. "Each marking grants different abilities…some allow for sound, others for manifestation beyond my physical form. The most complex ones enable various levels of summoning and manipulation."

Her fascination is evident, gaze moving between my face and the markings with undisguised wonder.

"It's beautiful," she says with unexpected sincerity. "Like living art."

The simple appreciation in her voice touches something deep within me.

Most find Duskwalker markings disturbing, evidence of our connection to realms of shadow and darkness. Her ability to see beauty where others perceive only threat reminds me why this bond between us feels so different from any connection I've experienced before.

I allow a genuine smirk to curve my lips, enjoying the way her breath catches at the expression.

"What does my Little Mouse want?" I ask, deliberately using the endearment that seems to affect her so profoundly. "Slow or rough?"

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, the unconscious gesture sending heat coursing through my veins.

"Rough is always my first choice," she admits with refreshing honesty, "but... maybe for this sunrise, I want nice and slow." Her gaze softens, vulnerability showing through desire. "Because I don't want it to end. Don't want to return to reality just yet."

The admission makes something in my chest tighten, understanding perfectly what she means.

Outside this room awaits Year Two trials, the quest for her sister's chalice, the complications of multiple bonds, and whatever hidden agendas surround us. Here, in this moment, exists only connection — simple yet profound in its purity.

I allow myself a genuine smile, one uncalculated and raw, responding to her honesty with my own.

Her eyes widen at the sight, a soft gasp escaping her parted lips.

"Don't smile like that," she protests weakly, "or I'll probably get pregnant or something equally impossible."

The unexpected humor makes me chuckle, the sound rusty from disuse.

"That would be...interesting," I acknowledge, moving back toward the bed with predatory grace. "Though you're protected, aren't you?"

"I am," she confirms, watching my approach with visible anticipation. "But the idea is intriguing, isn't it?"

I crawl across the mattress until I hover above her once more, my body creating a cage of protection around her smaller form.

"Very," I agree, genuinely contemplating the possibility. "A shifter blended of such unique traits. Duskwalker, witch, vampire hybrid. The power alone would be extraordinary."

Her smile transforms her face, softening it into an expression of such sweetness it makes my chest ache.

"Technically pureblood vampire too, apparently, from Atticus' interference," she adds. "Essentially a badass, if you ask me." Her expression turns thoughtful. "But I see your point."

Her hand rises to trace one of the markings on my chest, the touch sending more sparks of sensation cascading through my system.

"I wouldn't want that unless I could create an environment welcoming for all creatures," she says softly. "Duskwalkers, purebloods, Fae of all kinds. Where any type of hybrid would be praised and embraced."

The vision she describes catches me off guard with its beauty and impossible optimism.

"Where there wouldn't be such divided unity," she continues, voice barely above a whisper. "Where we could all just be paranormals striving to be elites in our own right without hurting each other."

My smile returns, genuinely moved by her vision despite centuries of cynicism regarding inter-species relations.

"A beautiful dream," I acknowledge, meaning it despite its improbability.

Our gazes lock, and something passes between us — understanding deeper than words, connection beyond mere physical attraction. This is why the bond formed between us despite all odds.

This is why a Duskwalker prince found himself drawn to a hybrid witch who defied every convention.

Why a heart long frozen has begun to thaw against all reason.

I lower my mouth to hers once more, the kiss carrying tenderness I've rarely allowed myself to express. Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer as she melts beneath me with willing surrender that makes shadows sing with satisfaction.

Reverence guides my movements as I worship her with deliberate thoroughness, every touch a tribute, every kiss a promise.

My tendrils join the exploration, wrapping around her limbs with gentle restraint that leaves her gloriously exposed to my attention. The contrast of shadow against her pale skin creates a visual symphony that steals my breath — darkness and light finding harmony rather than opposition.

When I finally join my body with hers, my veiny cock that’s been hard for far too long gliding into her slick entrance that’s pulsing with heat. The sensation is beyond anything I've experienced in centuries of existence, even better than when we first became one in that frantic heat of lust.

The bond mark at my neck pulses with almost painful intensity, creating feedback loops of pleasure that flow between us like living current.

Her silver eyes widen at the connection, pupils expanding until only the thinnest ring of color remains visible.

"Cassius," she breathes, my name emerging as both prayer and demand.

I begin to move with deliberate slowness, each careful thrust guided by the rhythm of her responses.

The pace feels excruciating yet perfect, building pleasure in gradual waves rather than sudden storm. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails leaving crescents in my skin that will fade too quickly, making me wish for marks that would linger as evidence of this connection.

My shadows swirl around us, responding to emotions I typically keep rigidly contained. They form patterns that match our movements, darkness dancing to the ancient rhythm our bodies create together.

Some wrap around her wrists and ankles with gossamer gentleness, while others trace patterns across her skin that draw gasps and shivers of heightened response.

The bond between us amplifies every sensation, creating feedback loops of pleasure that build upon themselves in ever-increasing intensity. I can feel her reactions not just through physical cues but through the magical connection that links us — each spike of pleasure, each moment of perfect alignment.

Her moans guide me like the sweetest music, each sound a direction that leads us deeper into shared ecstasy.

I match my pace to her breathing, to the subtle shifts of her body beneath mine, finding perfect harmony that feels both inevitable and miraculous.

Time loses meaning in this slow exploration, minutes stretching into what could be the last peak of hours as we learn each other with devoted attention.

The shadows surrounding us create a cocoon of privacy, a world containing only us and the connection building between our joined bodies. Within this darkness exists not isolation but intimacy deeper than mere physical pleasure — a sharing of something essential that transcends ordinary understanding.

“Cassius,” she warns, that build up after so many undoings only makes me work harder, faster, as droplets of sweat drip down my face and slide along my chiseled body. Her beautiful soft and slightly curved frame is glistening with sweat and various markings.

Many bites from my endless issues and need to mark her anyway I can, while my tendrils leave bruising that will surely remind her of the heightened moments of fast fuckery we pulled in the mix of passionate love making.

The perfect lustful balance in the deep surrender of our swirling shadows.

When she finally reaches her peak, the sight steals whatever breath remained in my lungs. Silver hair spread across my pillow in wild disarray, head thrown back in abandoned pleasure, my name on her lips like benediction.

The bond mark at her neck pulses with vivid light that matches the rhythm of her release, sending waves of answering pleasure cascading through my system.

“So close,” I confess, knowing I’m coming undone in mere moments.

My own completion follows immediately, triggered by the magical resonance between us that makes separation impossible. For endless moments, we exist in perfect synchronicity, pleasure flowing between us in a continuous circuit that blurs boundaries between separate beings.

As the intensity gradually subsides, I gather her against me, unwilling to allow even minimal separation. My arms wrap around her smaller form with protective instinct I've never felt so strongly before, shadows extending to create a canopy above the bed that shields us from the strengthening daylight.

Her breathing gradually steadies, head nestled against my chest where my heartbeat gradually returns to normal rhythm. I don’t know how long we lay there, just catching our breath, allowing our bodies thrilled with passion and lust to subside, and enjoy the golden lights with hints of unique purple and orange seeping through the room that cradles what we just did in these quiet hours.

One of her hands traces idle patterns across my skin, fingers following the lines of Nachtlied markings with gentle appreciation.

"Thank you," she murmurs, the simple words carrying weight beyond their syllables. I press a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair — silver moonlight and magic, strength wrapped in unexpected softness.

"For what?" I ask, genuinely curious about which aspect of our connection has prompted this gratitude.

She shifts slightly, tilting her head to meet my gaze. The vulnerability in her expression makes something in my chest tighten almost painfully.

"For letting me back in," she says softly. "For not giving up when I pushed you away."

Understanding flows through me, the realization that her fears mirror my own in unexpected ways. She had feared permanent rejection as much as I had, worried that bonds once broken could never be repaired.

“I should be thanking you, Gwenivere for not pushing me away,” I reiterate, not hiding my emotions. "I will never give up on you, Little Mouse," I promise, the words emerging with weight I rarely allow my statements to carry. "No matter how far you run or how hard you push, I will always find my way back to you, even when I’m in the wrong."

I pause, wanting to make sure I say the right words.

“I’m not perfect. I’m far from it. I’m learning a lot…learning how to interact as a Duskwalker who assumed to be alone as a life punishment,” I confess. “I’ll make mistakes. Constant ones, and my reactions may not make sense at times, but I’m willing to learn. To adapt. To be the best I can be while attempting to stay true to what I do know can be positive to your viewpoint from my shadowed world that embraces a variety of unique traits that lack ‘others’ in the equation. I wish to find balance…and I hope you’ll be okay with coming with me on that journey. Wherever it takes us…as long as we stay alive, of course.”

The smile that blooms across her face carries sunshine rarely seen in Duskwalker realms, yet somehow perfectly suited to the shadows that surround us. In this moment of perfect contradiction — light embraced by darkness, strength wrapped in softness, hope blooming in realms of cynicism — I find something I'd thought lost to me forever.

Peace.

Not merely the absence of conflict, but positive presence of connection that transcends ordinary understanding. A belonging that asks nothing beyond mutual acceptance, that places no conditions on continued proximity.

As dawn strengthens outside our shadow-veiled sanctuary, I allow myself to acknowledge what I've been avoiding since our bond first formed: this connection between us isn't merely magical fate or chemical reaction, but something both simpler and more profound.

An experience Duskwalkers rarely name, believing its acknowledgment creates dangerous vulnerability. A possibility Wicked Academy seeks to eliminate through trials and tribulations designed to harden hearts against its influence.

Something I never expected to experience, especially not with a hybrid witch who crashed into our carefully ordered existence with fire in her eyes and determination in every line of her body.

I don't speak the word aloud — c enturies of caution prevent such open declaration — but I allow it to form in the privacy of my thoughts, a truth I can no longer deny despite all attempts at rationalization.

Love.

The realization should terrify me, should trigger immediate retreat behind carefully constructed walls of Duskwalker reserve. Instead, it settles in my chest with surprising rightness, as if a puzzle piece long missing has finally found its proper place.

My Little Mouse shifts in my arms, body relaxing into the beginnings of contented sleep. The bond mark at my neck pulses with gentle warmth, matching the rhythm of her breathing with perfect synchronicity.

My shadows settle around us, less agitated now, more content in this strange harmony we've created together.

Outside this room awaits Year Two trials, the quest for her sister's chalice, the complications of multiple bonds, and whatever hidden agendas surround us.

But here, in this shadow-veiled sanctuary, exists something unexpected yet undeniable:

Hope for a future beyond isolation. Possibility of connection that transcends inherent differences. Love blooming in realms where such emotion typically withers before taking root.

As she drifts toward sleep in my arms, I make a silent vow that burns through my being with intensity beyond mere promise:

I will protect what we've built here, Little Mouse. Whatever trials await, whatever forces seek to separate us, I will stand between you and harm — not from distance forced by circumstance, but directly at your side where I belong.

My shadows coil with renewed purpose, responding to this internal oath with surge of protective determination. They form barriers around the bed, not merely shielding us from daylight but actively guarding against potential threats.

What’s destined for us to prevail, we face it together.

My Little Mouse. My bonded. My Wicked heart.

Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine to love, though that word may remain unspoken for now.

The peace that settles over me as dawn fully breaks beyond our sanctuary carries sweetness I'd forgotten could exist. I allow it to flow through me without resistance, embracing this unexpected gift with the same thoroughness I bring to shadow manipulation.

Duskwalkers are creatures of night, of isolation, of careful distance maintained through centuries of practice. Yet here I lie with sunrise flooding the world outside, holding light itself in my arms, discovering connection more powerful than solitude.

Perhaps most surprising of all: I have no wish to return to comfortable darkness, to familiar isolation.

This territory — unexplored, fraught with potential pain, gloriously unpredictable — calls to something long dormant within me.

As she settles more fully into sleep, her breathing deep and even against my chest, I allow myself to follow her into dreams. For once, I seek not solitude but shared rest, not separation but continued connection even in unconsciousness.

My last thought before sleep claims me carries both wonder and certainty:

This is only our beginning.