Page 98 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

No danger of that.

I drink deeply, probably more than my fair share, but his blood is addictive in ways human or even vampire blood never is. Each swallow brings heat that has nothing to do with temperature, pleasure that has nothing to do with simple feeding.

"Easy," he murmurs, voice rough with something that's not quite pain. "You need to leave me with some blood."

The reminder penetrates the haze of feeding.

I force myself to slow, to savor rather than devour. My fangs retract carefully, tongue swiping across the wounds to seal them—and to taste the last drops of blood that well up.

I barely have time to lift my head before his mouth crashes into mine.

The kiss is nothing like the scholarly Mortimer would deliver.

This is dragon kissing—possessive, overwhelming, designed to claim rather than seduce.His tongue sweeps past my lips without asking permission, tasting his own blood in my mouth with a sound that's pure possessive satisfaction.

I respond with equal fervor, hands fisting in his hair—when did the ponytail come undone—pulling him closer like proximity could solve the problem of physics keeping us separate.

We move without conscious thought, bodies seeking surface to press against. My back hits the wall—or maybe his does—or maybe we're both against walls that exist in the same space despite being different walls.

Dimensional collapse makes everything possible and nothing certain.

I climb him like a tree.

The description is inelegant but accurate. My legs wrap around his waist, his hands supporting me with strength that makes his lean frame deceptive. He might look slim, but there's power there, dragon strength that could probably bench press buildings if necessary.

He presses me against the wall—definitely wall this time—and the kiss deepens into something that threatens to incinerate higher thought entirely.

His fire doesn't stay hidden now.

I can taste it on his tongue, feel it in his skin, see it dancing behind his eyes when we break for unnecessary air. This is Mortimer unrestrained—centuries of power and knowledge focused into this moment, this kiss, this claim we're making on each other.

My hands map the territory revealed by his unbuttoned shirt, tracing tattoos that pulse with heat at my touch. Each design tells a story—battles won, knowledge gained, power inherited, and earned. The dragon script rewrites itself as I read it, showing different truths depending on the angle of observation.

He makes a sound when my nails drag down his chest—not pain but encouragement. His own hands are busy, one tangled in my hair while the other grips my hip with possession that will definitely leave bruises.

Good.

I want bruises. Want evidence of this moment that can't be dismissed as a dimensional hallucination or even a desperate, horny dream.

The kiss breaks when oxygen becomes non-negotiable, both of us gasping like we've run miles rather than made out like teenagers with supernatural powers.

"Can we—" he starts, then stops, seeming to realize what he's asking.

We're both breathless. His shirt is more off than on, my jacket discarded somewhere between the wall and wherever we started, floating like everything else but us. His hair is completely loose now, silver-white strands framing his face in ways that make him look wild, untamed, nothing like the careful scholar who's guided us through trials.

The question hangs between us—can we take this further?

Spontaneous Possessiveness

~MORTIMER~

The pain is exquisite.

Not the usual dull, unfocused ache of a vein pierced or a wrist opened, but a twin-lanced, clarion agony that flares and fades and returns again, each pulse a call to something ancient in my blood. She is hungry—far hungrier than I anticipated—and the strength of it floods my system, making my pulse stutter, my breath hitch, every muscle tighten as though I were the one drinking, not being drained.

I should stop her…But I do not.

Instead, I tip my head back against the floating library shelf behind me, bare my neck to the hungry little predator, and allow her to feed some more; our question as to whether this should continue only ignited a heated kiss and another bite that draws blood for my needy hybrid Heiress.