Page 27 of Academy of the Wicked (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #2)

"Are you in trouble for associating with our group?" he asks Mortimer directly. "Could your position among the Seven be compromised?"

Smart question. The dragon's involvement might be the variable that changed everything.

Mortimer's expression turns contemplative, scholarly assessment clearly weighing various possibilities before responding.

"I've received no notification of rule violations," he says carefully, "but to exile me from the Seven would be rather..."

"Wicked if you ask me," I mutter, the comment emerging before I can properly censor it.

The quip draws grimaces of acknowledgment from everyone, the dark humor landing precisely because of its uncomfortable accuracy.

Cassius's shadows writhe with increased agitation.

"We've broken their expectations repeatedly," he observes, silver eyes narrowing in thought. "What if we're doing the same now and they want to end it?"

He's right. We've defied every statistical probability they likely calculated for our advancement. First surviving the trial that should have eliminated at least two of us, then maintaining bond coherence that should have fractured under stress.

Gwenivere looks genuinely perplexed.

"But what could we have done this time?" she questions, frustration evident in the slight furrow between her brows. "Is it because we're in the Archives? It can't be the Abundance Tree that showed up at lunch..." She pauses, reaching into her pocket. "Which reminds me, I still have a peach."

She extracts what is unmistakably the most extraordinary piece of fruit I've ever witnessed.

Far from an ordinary peach, the object gleams with internal luminescence, golden veins pulsing through its perfect surface like living circuitry.

An ethereal glow emanates from its core, creating the impression of a captured sunrise rather than mere edible matter.

That's no ordinary fruit. It practically radiates ancient power.

"That's one fancy peach," Cassius observes with characteristic understatement.

"Are you going to eat it?" I ask, genuinely curious about her intentions for something that appears more magical artifact than food.

Gwenivere shrugs with a casual nonchalance that belies the object's obvious significance. "I wasn't hungry at the time, but if anyone wants it, we can share."

She has no idea what she's holding.

The abject horror that instantly transforms both Mortimer and Zeke's expressions confirms my suspicion. Their reactions go beyond mere surprise into territory suggesting genuine alarm at what might have been a catastrophic mistake.

"What?" Gwenivere demands, frustration edging into her voice as she glances between their stricken faces. "What did I do wrong now?"

Maybe this is why the Seven have appeared.

The realization forms with disquieting certainty. If that "peach" represents what I suspect — an artifact of significant magical importance rather than mere sustenance - its removal from designated containment might have triggered security protocols beyond standard academy operations.

"That's not a peach," Mortimer states carefully, each word measured as if handling volatile explosives.

"Then what is it?" Gwenivere demands, impatience momentarily overriding the caution any rational being would exercise when confronted with the scholar's evident alarm.

Zeke steps forward, those extraordinary eyes fixed on the glowing object with what appears to be both fascination and dread.

"It's a fragment of the royal essence," he explains, voice dropping to near whisper despite our temporal bubble's supposed security. "The literal heart of what powers the throne."

Fuck.

"And I just...carried it around in my pocket all day?" Gwenivere asks, horror dawning across her features as implications register fully.

My Queen of Spades, accidentally pocketing one of the most powerful magical artifacts in the academy. Of course, she did.

I can't suppress the laugh that bursts forth, earning immediate glares from everyone present. The sheer absurdity of the situation — infiltrating the academy for a healing chalice only to inadvertently steal the throne's power source while thinking it's a piece of fruit - strikes me as cosmically hilarious despite the obvious danger it represents.

"I fail to see the humor in this situation," Mortimer states with an academic precision that only intensifies my inappropriate amusement.

"Of course you don't," I respond, finally regaining control over my reaction. "You haven't spent centuries watching destiny unfold through paths no one could possibly anticipate. The universe has a particular fondness for ironic delivery methods."

Cassius's shadows coil with evident concern.

"How serious is this?" he asks, practical assessment overriding potential philosophical exploration of cosmic coincidence.

Zeke and Mortimer's exchange looks laden with unspoken communication before the cat-boy responds. "The Abundance Tree only offers what someone truly needs," he explains carefully. "That it gave Gwenivere the royal essence suggests she's destined to?—"

"No," Mortimer interrupts with uncharacteristic abruptness. "We can't make that assumption yet."

Interesting. The dragon is deliberately preventing certain conclusions from being verbalized.

"Destined to what?" Gwenivere demands, her silver eyes narrowing with the determined focus I've come to both admire and occasionally fear. "What aren't you telling me?"

I step closer to her, instinctively protective despite knowing she's perfectly capable of handling whatever revelation might follow.

"No matter the implications…," I state with quiet certainty, "it changes our immediate priorities."

Zeke nods, attention shifting back to the glowing "peach" with evident concern.

"We need to integrate the essence back into the throne before attempting activation," he confirms. "And we need to complete the bonds first to ensure we all advance together."

"How exactly does this bonding process work?" Cassius inquires, practical considerations clearly taking precedence over theoretical implications.

"Blood exchange," I explain, knowing this territory better than anyone present. "Direct consumption rather than mere contact. The intent matters as much as the physical act…a deliberate choice to form connection rather than accidental transfer."

Gwenivere straightens, determination replacing momentary confusion. "Then let's do this properly," she states with characteristic decisiveness. "Zeke first, then Mortimer if he's willing."

She turns to the cat-boy with an expression I recognize as her "no arguments" face — the one that somehow transforms her relatively diminutive stature into an imposing presence even hardened criminals would hesitate to challenge.

"Are you ready?" she asks him, the question carrying weight beyond mere inquiry into immediate preparedness.

She's giving him a final opportunity to refuse. To choose a different path than service to another after apparent abandonment by a previous master.

Zeke's extraordinary eyes widen slightly, apparent surprise at being offered choice rather than commanded despite her obvious determination. The reaction confirms my suspicion that his previous "service" involved considerably less autonomy than Gwenivere naturally offers those in her orbit.

"I am," he responds with a quiet dignity that reluctantly elevates my assessment of his character despite lingering territorial irritation at his presence. "Though I should warn you…familiar bonds differ slightly from traditional blood exchanges."

Gwenivere's expression shifts to curiosity.

"How so?"

"The transfer is...reciprocal," he explains, choosing words with evident care. "You'll gain certain awareness of my condition, location, and general emotional state. In return, I'll experience a similar connection to you, though with additional service obligations that manifest instinctively rather than through conscious command."

Service obligations. Interesting terminology for what most would simply call servitude.

"Are you comfortable with that arrangement?" Gwenivere asks, characteristically more concerned with his consent than the potential advantages the connection might provide her.

Zeke's smile carries genuine warmth that transforms his features from merely interesting to undeniably appealing. The observation irritates me beyond reason, though I maintain careful neutrality in my expression.

"More than comfortable," he assures her. "Honored, if I'm being honest."

Gwenivere nods, turning toward me with an expression that clearly seeks approval despite her determination to proceed regardless. The consideration touches something ancient within me — the recognition that she values my opinion even when her course is already decided.

My Queen of Spades always surprises me with small kindnesses even amid world-altering decisions.

"Do what you must," I tell her, making peace with the inevitability of expanding our unusual bond network. "We'll need every advantage to escape this system. Just before we go, we’re gonna have to ‘talk’.”

Her smile carries gratitude beyond mere acknowledgment of permission that was never truly required, and she nods, confirming that we will speak before we dive into this maddening chaos.

I’m sure she’s probably assuming it’s something quick or preventative.

We’d have to make it quick because we don’t really have time otherwise.

She turns back to Zeke, who has already extended his wrist with practiced precision that suggests familiarity with the required ritual.

"How much do you need?" he asks, practical concerns apparently taking precedence over ceremony or hesitation.

"Just enough to form the connection," she responds, her fangs descending with delicate precision rather than predatory display. "I'll be careful."

I watch with complex emotions as she takes his slender wrist in gentle hands. The care with which she approaches the exchange speaks volumes about her character — even in necessary feeding, she maintains consideration that most vampires abandon in their fixation on the blood itself.

When her fangs pierce his skin, I half-expect some dramatic magical discharge given the peculiar energy he radiates.

Instead, the connection forms with subtle elegance - golden light briefly illuminating the point of contact before sinking beneath their skin to form what appears to be an intricate pattern resembling interlocked chains.

Zeke's eyes widen, pupils expanding to nearly eliminate the iris completely.

The reaction suggests intensity beyond anticipation - genuine surprise at whatever sensation the connection has triggered.

Gwenivere pulls back after several moments, careful not to take more than necessary despite the evident quality of what's being offered. A small drop of blood escapes the corner of her mouth, which she wipes away with uncharacteristic self-consciousness.

"Your turn," she states, extending her own wrist toward him. "Though I'm not sure what familiar bonds require in return."

Zeke's expression carries reverence that momentarily transcends his usual carefully maintained composure.

"Just a small taste," he assures her. "The connection will form naturally once reciprocity is established."

Instead of biting as expected, he places his palm against her offered wrist. For a moment, nothing happens.

Then his hand transforms partially — human fingers elongating into the more feline configuration, sharp retractable claws extending just enough to pierce her skin without causing unnecessary damage.

The precision of the movement suggests practiced control rather than instinctive response, further evidence that whatever Zeke represents extends beyond ordinary cat shifter capabilities.

When blood wells from the small punctures, he lowers his head with a grace that somehow balances respect with necessity.

The connection that forms when his tongue touches the crimson droplets manifests visibly — threads of golden light extending from the point of contact to wrap around both their forms in elaborate patterns that resemble Gothic architectural support structures.

Interesting. Vampiric bonds form internally first, then manifest externally. This connection seems to operate in reverse — external manifestation preceding internal integration.

The magic settles beneath their skin within moments, leaving behind only a faint golden shimmer that fades to invisible as the bond completes its formation.

Zeke straightens, his eyes now carrying a subtle glow that wasn't present before.

More significantly, his physical appearance has subtly changed. Though still thin, the unhealthy gauntness has diminished slightly, as if the connection itself provides nourishment beyond mere symbolic exchange.

"Done," he announces, voice carrying new resonance that suggests the bond's effects extend beyond mere physical manifestation. "The familiar connection is established."

"How do you feel?" Gwenivere asks, characteristic concern for others evident even amid magical exchanges with potentially world-altering implications.

Zeke's smile transforms his features completely, joy replacing careful composure with an expression of such genuine delight it momentarily disrupts my instinctive dislike of his presence.

"Complete," he admits with disarming honesty. "Like finding a piece I didn't realize was missing."

Damn. That's a good line. I'll have to remember it for later.

Gwenivere turns toward Mortimer, a question evident in her expression before she can verbalize it.

The scholar appears conflicted, scholarly assessment clearly weighing potential benefits against risks neither Zeke nor she might have considered.

"After careful consideration," he states with an academic precision that barely conceals evident emotional turmoil beneath, "I must decline the bond offer."

"Why?" Gwenivere asks; disappointment is evident despite her obvious attempt to respect his decision without pressuring reconsideration.

Mortimer sighs, the sound carrying centuries of considerations impossible to fully articulate within our limited temporal extension.

"Dragon bonds are different from familiar connections," he explains carefully. "Once established, they fundamentally alter the bound individual's magical signature in ways that cannot be reversed without significant consequences for both parties."

His expression softens slightly, scholarly detachment momentarily replaced with something approaching genuine affection.

"While I appreciate the intention," he continues, "my position among the Seven provides unique advantages that would be compromised by such connection. I can better serve your collective escape by maintaining my current status, particularly with the Headmaster's unexpected appearance."

He's protecting her at his own expense. Interesting.

The realization shifts my assessment of the scholar yet again.

His refusal stems not from rejection of connection but a deliberate choice to preserve the advantages his current position provides our collective effort.

"I understand," Gwenivere acknowledges, disappointment evident despite an obvious attempt to mask it. "Though I hate leaving you behind."

At this point, I feel we all do because nothing is guaranteed.

We don’t know if he’ll be able to follow us or if he’ll truly be stuck between the realms of Year One and Two…

We also don’t know if we can come back…

Mortimer's smile carries unexpected warmth that transforms his typically scholarly features.

"Who says I'm being left behind?" he counters with surprising mischief lighting his expression. "The Seven have certain privileges that extend beyond ordinary advancement restrictions. I'll find my own path forward when the time comes."

Zeke clears his throat, drawing attention back to the most pressing concern.

"The temporal extension is nearing its limit," he warns. "We need to finalize our plan regarding the throne and Nikolai's participation."

Right. The temperamental Fae prince turned reluctant princess remains unaccounted for.

"Can we use the bond to locate him?" I ask, strategic assessment overriding lingering territorial concerns regarding expanding connections.

Gwenivere nods, expression suggesting already considered this approach. "With Zeke's help, I think I can follow the connection directly to him, yes?" she asks for confirmation, which makes her feel the familiar bond is working because it’s as if she already knew what she was capable of doing.

“Yes, Zeke reveals. Once I get the image of you, you can come down and we can head there together.

We all nod, knowing we have a game plan that will serve a purpose for both our missions. We really only have one shot at this, so it has to go right by any means.

"And the royal essence?" Cassius inquires, practical considerations as always taking precedence over theoretical discussion.

Zeke gestures toward the glowing "peach" still cradled in Gwenivere's palm.

"It needs to be reunited with the throne before the activation attempt," he explains. "Otherwise, the energy signature will remain incomplete, preventing proper integration with whoever attempts to claim it."

"So we find Nikolai, locate the throne, return the essence, and coordinate the activation while capturing photographic evidence of the entire process," I summarize, reducing complex magical operations to achievable sequential steps. "Sounds straightforward enough."

"When has anything involving this academy ever been straightforward?" Cassius counters with characteristic dry humor that draws unexpected appreciation despite our occasionally tense relationship.

He's not wrong.

The timepiece above our heads chimes a soft warning, indicating our temporary exclusion from normal temporal flow approaches its conclusion.

"We need to move," Mortimer states, scholarly precision momentarily replaced by genuine urgency. "Once we exit this space, return to the designated meeting point near the central observatory. The aerial perspective and throne location likely converge at that junction."

Gwenivere nods, determination replacing lingering uncertainty with focused resolve I've come to admire perhaps more than any other quality she possesses.

"One last thing," she states, turning to face all of us with an expression that accepts no argument. "Whatever happens with the throne, with the Seven, with the Headmaster…we stay together. No one gets left behind this time." She pauses to look over to Mortimer to add, “Including you, Mortimer. You find us as soon as you can.”

“I’ll communicate with Zeke if I may,” he reassures her. She nods before looking over at me as if she wants all of our verbal agreements.

My Queen of Spades. Always caring for her pieces even when the board itself threatens to burn.

"Agreed," I respond immediately, Cassius echoing with equally firm commitment.

Zeke's expression suggests surprised gratification at inclusion in this collective promise, further evidence of previous abandonment that somehow manages to trigger sympathy despite lingering territorial irritation at his presence.

"Together or not at all," he affirms, a newfound bond apparently already influencing his typically cautious demeanor.

"Now," I state with quiet certainty, "we find our reluctant Fae royal and make history."

Or break it completely.