Page 2 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Three (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #3)

Realm Of Forgotten Nightmares

~GWENIEVERE~

T he Infernal Realm breathes.

Not metaphorically. Literally . The entire landscape pulses with a living, malevolent consciousness that defies every natural law I've ever understood. Crimson skies bleed into horizons of obsidian and molten stone, rivers of magma carving through the landscape like open wounds.

The air itself feels heavy —each breath a battle against an atmosphere designed to consume rather than sustain.

Scent becomes a physical assault.

Sulfur and burnt memories mix with an older, enriched scent I can’t quite recognize and yet triggers uncertainty and longing. The smell of ancient rage, of civilizations reduced to ash, of promises broken across millennia.

My vampire senses, typically a blessing, become a curse— each inhalation a vivid catalog of destruction.

I peer at the others, confirming that I didn’t arrive in this place alone with the descending transition.

We’re all seemingly alive and present, but this new atmosphere isn’t for the average, let alone the weak.

Nikki suffers most visibly.

Her skin blisters and peels, a horrific transformation happening in real-time. Each breath comes as a labored gasp, her Fae heritage seemingly working against her in this unforgiving landscape. Sweat pours down her face, cutting clean trails through grime and desperation.

Atticus's hand finds mine, his grip a lifeline in this hellscape. I’m not sure how I feel about the touch initially, but I don’t push it away.

At least for now.

"Something's wrong," he mutters, crimson eyes scanning Nikki with a predatory intensity. "She shouldn't be this vulnerable."

Mortimer adjusts his glasses, the scholarly gesture incongruous against the backdrop of molten destruction, though they begin to fog up almost instantly.

"The realm is targeting her specifically. Her Fae magic is... suppressed. Neutralized."

Zeke moves with a grace that defies the oppressive environment.

Frost magic erupts from his hands—delicate, intricate patterns of ice that create a protective barrier around our small group. The contrast is stunning. Glacial magic fighting against an inferno that seems alive, sentient.

“Let me assist,” he speaks up, his willingness to help only making me want to make my way and leave them behind.

A part of me feels like they’re baggage, and yet another part, the quieter side doesn’t want to abandon them.

I feel. .. different .

Calm. Detached. Something fundamental has shifted during our transition from Year Two to this realm that will surely trigger the start of Year Three if I can only assume.

The heat doesn't touch me. The landscape doesn't threaten me.

I am separate .

Untouchable .

"I will proceed alone," I announce, the words emerging with a coldness that cuts through the oppressive heat.

Pulling my hand away from Atticus, I’m looking in the direction that is calling me.

"My path is not yours to share."

Cassius's response is immediate. Visceral. His shadows surge forward, living tendrils of darkness that wrap around me—not to restrain, but to anchor .

To remind me that separation is no longer an option.

"You do not walk alone," he states.

Not a request, but what I can only assume is his declaration.

Memories crash through me like waves of molten fury.

Betrayal. Rage.

A conquest buried so deep it threatens to consume everything in its path. My thoughts become a hurricane of remembered pain, each recollection a blade ready to slice open old wounds.

I begin walking, lost in the tempest of my own mind, the shadows suddenly retreating as if I’m too hot to longer hold back.

Cassius calls out for me, but it sounds like a muffled echoed.

I don't hear him initially. The past roars too loudly.

This is all because of her.

She started it all.

Jealousy morphed into silence, manipulation manifested by born traits out of our control.

How dare she cause all of this out of spit, because of my birthright.

My power.

My future legacy!

A hand touches my shoulder, triggering a change in everything.

One of my bond marks seethes with power and warmth. Not a gentle pulse, but a searing connection that forcibly drags me back to reality. I hiss— part pain, part shock —spinning to face whoever was holding me back with a glare that could melt the very foundations of this realm.

My aura explodes .

Magical energy discharges like a nuclear blast. Everyone around me drops . Invisible pressure becomes a physical weight, forcing bodies to their knees. Zeke remains partially upright—his magical resistance a testament to abilities far beyond ordinary understanding.

And the only one to still face me, standing at a height matching mine, is Cassius.

"I need no one," I snarl, the words vibrating with centuries of suppressed fury.

The magic is dangerous — heavy with so much emotional turmoil — but Cassius acts like my tantrum of defiance doesn’t faze him.

He doesn't argue. Doesn't plead.

He acts past my blinded hindsight, doing something I’m not possibly expecting in this haze of treachery.

His lips crash into mine with a force that momentarily stops everything.

Time. Thought. The very fabric of the Infernal Realm itself seems to pause.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not sweet.

It’s raw— feral —a collision of fury and forgiveness, of punishment and plea.

The heat of his mouth slams against mine, and for a suspended breath, I forget my name. My rage. My betrayal. I forget what was stolen from me, and what I was forced to become to survive it. His grip anchors me, hand fisting the back of my neck, pulling me into the reality of now. Of us.

Our teeth clash, awkward, angry, desperate . Like we’re both trying to devour the ghosts out of each other’s mouths.

His breath is hot— tasting of smoke and shadows —and mine?

Mine is nothing but the burn of regret and the ache of wanting something I shouldn’t.

But gods, I kiss him back.

Harder.

Because if this is ruin, then let me drown in it.

Let me burn.

His hand slides down my spine, not tender but claiming. His tongue sweeps in to tangle with mine, pulling a whimper from deep in my throat—one I don’t have time to swallow before he drinks it down like it belongs to him. And maybe it does. Maybe it always did.

There’s violence in the kiss, yes—but not the kind that wounds. The kind that scars . The kind that brands. The kind that says I see you , even when I’m trying to vanish into nothing.

His shadows coil around us, not as weapons this time that hope to hold me back, but a barrier—shielding this moment from the chaos crackling outside. From the ache of past choices and the weight of unspoken things.

He kisses me like he’s starving.

Like I’m the thing he’s tried to resist, and now that he’s tasted, he knows there’s no going back.

And I?

I kiss him like I want to bruise his soul.

Like I want him to never forget this second. This clash of fire and fury and broken devotion made whole by something as fragile and unforgivable as desire.

When the kiss breaks, we’re both breathless.

"We are not separate," Cassius whispers, his shadows dancing around us like living smoke. He speaks loud and clear, without riddles or unnecessary bickering to try to explain why my actions should be questioned. It’s the only way I can comprehend through this spiraling thought process that wishes to consume me.

"A king requires more than a throne. You need purpose . Connection ."

I want to argue.

Desperate to make him understand that my rage is valid in a way no one else will grasp.

But I also know this isn’t the time or place for the matter.

Instead, I mutter, "Your breath is shit."

It’s the most random thing I could say when I’ve been both distant and acting completely different than my usual self, but it seems to work in breaking the tension between us.

His laugh is unexpected.

A sound of genuine amusement that cuts through the realm's oppressive atmosphere.

"We will discuss everything," he states with absolute certainty. "Every. Fucking. Detail. But for now, I need you to trust that we don’t wish to hold you back. We’re on your side, no matter where that will become after all of this."

My response is a half-hearted grumble, but we both know it's more performance than genuine resistance.

He’s right. He’s not my enemy…none of them are. I have to tame this rage…or identity? I just need to balance things until we get to the gates of the academy. Survive what’s ahead that will surely test us.

I pull back my aura, calming down my emotions, knowing despite my desperate urge to leave them behind, that they aren’t the source of my internal dilemma or treacherous agony.

With a huff, it conceals completely, allowing the others to breathe.

The others recover slowly.

Nikki's breathing stabilizes as Zeke's frost magic continues its protective dance. Atticus looks simultaneously aroused and concerned—a combination that's becoming our new normal.

"I can't tell if I want to fuck you or fight you," he mutters to me as he comes to our side, clearly impressed that Cassius was able to I guess “man-handle me”.

Zeke's response is blunt.

"Probably both. That's usually how it works with this group."

Atticus turns to Zeke, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"You're not even in the running for her attention."

Zeke merely raises an eyebrow.

"I don't care about competition. I'm just interested in survival."

I try not to smirk, a bit amused by Zeke’s response which I’m sure they weren’t expecting.

Mortimer's scholarly throat-clearing cuts through their tension.

"We should move. What's behind us isn't merely dangerous—it's hunting ."

Shadow demons materialize as if on cue—living darkness that moves with predatory intelligence. They surge forward like a living tide of destruction.

Guess we should move for our own sake of survival.

Nikki's voice emerges, a thread of vulnerability cutting through her strength.

"Where are we going?"

Atticus helps her up, his movements a complex mix of protection and urgency.

I turn and begin walking, knowing exactly where we were going because it was the designation that begged for my return.

"The Gates of my academy," I announce.