Page 4 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Three (The Paranormal Elites of Wicked Academy #3)

"Don't try to shift back," Zeke instructs, his hands glowing with soft blue light as he works. "The dragon form is the only thing keeping your organs in place right now."

The serpent circles us, clearly preparing for a final strike.

We're wounded, scattered, vulnerable.

This is exactly what these trials are designed to do— winnow out the unworthy through systematic destruction.

"Fuck this," Atticus snarls, vampire nature fully surfacing. His fangs extend completely as he bites into his own wrist, blood flowing freely. But instead of offering it to someone, he flings it toward the serpent in a wide arc.

The blood ignites mid-air, becoming a crescent of crimson flame that makes the serpent rear back. Not in pain—but in recognition .

"Blood of the ancient lines," it hisses, voice different now. Less hostile, more... curious? " You carry the old contracts in your veins, vampire."

"Damn right I do," Atticus responds, though I can see the effort that display cost him. "And those contracts include passage rights that predate your posting here."

The serpent's head tilts, considering.

Its attention shifts between Atticus and Gabriel, who still holds the claimed key.

"Interesting," it finally rumbles. "The heir returns accompanied by contract holders. The laws are...unclear on this scenario."

Hearing its odd speech makes my head hurt and my ears ring, but my attention remains on Gabriel as he straights his posture further, his eyes narrowing in competitiveness.

"Then let me clarify," Gabriel steps forward, his voice carrying that same ancient authority stops the volcanic beast. "They travel under my protection. All of them."

The weight in those words makes even the massive serpent pause.

For a long moment, the only sounds are Nikki's labored breathing and the soft whisper of Zeke's healing magic working on Mortimer's wounds.

"You claim them?" the serpent asks, and there's something almost like hope in its voice. "Truly?"

"I do." It’s all he says, looking boldly at this creature as if it can’t destroy all of us with its best magic.

Two simple words, but the serpent's hostile posture shifts to what I’d deem as reverent?

Its massive head lowers until it nearly touches the scorched ground.

"Then the old laws hold," it declares. "Protection claimed by rightful heir supersedes trial requirements. Pass, young master. But know the second guardian will not be so easily swayed by words alone."

Just like that, the serpent coils back around its pillars, returning to its guardian position but no longer threatening.

It seems to easy.

Too simply to not think there’s some underlying motive.

We've won, per se, but the victory feels hollow given our injuries.

"Is everyone mobile?" Gabriel asks, his tone businesslike but unable to hide underlying concern.

"Define mobile," Nikki groans from where Zeke has moved to tend her after stabilizing Mortimer. "Because I'm pretty sure several parts of me are actively trying to secede from the union."

"Your ribs are cracked but not fully broken," Zeke reports, healing magic flowing from his hands to her torso. "Though how you're even conscious with this level of Fae energy suppression..."

"Pure spite," she wheezes, then glares at the burning sky. "Seriously, fuck this place. I've done way better than this shit before, but this Fae-hating environment is so unfair."

"Life is unfair," Gabriel states bluntly. "Suck it up."

The casual dismissal should anger her, but instead, Nikki laughs—a pained sound but genuine.

"Spoken like true royalty," she mutters. "Compassion of a brick, empathy of stone."

"I prefer efficiency," Gabriel counters, but there's the slightest quirk to his lips that suggests he's not entirely serious. To see him not being as ruthless to Nikki is a hint of improvement. "Mortimer, status?"

"Functional," the dragon shifter responds, though he's leaning heavily on Zeke. "The healing is holding, though I'll need time before attempting another full absorption."

"Time we don't have," I point out, gesturing toward the path ahead where the second structure is already visible. "If the patterns hold, the next guardian will be worse."

"Significantly worse," Gabriel confirms. "The trials escalate in both power and intelligence. The fire serpent was a test of magical might. The second will test?—"

A sound cuts him off.

Not a roar or explosion, but something far more unsettling.

Laughter .

Deep, grinding mirth that seems to come from the very stones around us.

In the distance, something massive shifts. Volcanic glass catching the hellish light, moving with deliberate purpose.

"It knows we're coming," Mortimer observes, scholarly curiosity overcoming his pain. "It's waiting ."

"Good," Gabriel says, and there's something dark in his smile. "I prefer opponents who think they're ready."

He starts walking, still carrying the first key like it weighs nothing. The rest of us exchange glances—wounded, exhausted, but somehow still united by stronger than logic or self-preservation.

"You know," Atticus says conversationally as we follow, "most people try to avoid walking toward the giant monster that's actively planning their deaths."

He’s right, but then again, we really don’t have a choice in the matter.

"Most people aren't us," I respond, shadows coiling despite their recent burning. "Besides, where would be the fun in that?"

"Your definition of fun needs serious recalibration," Nikki mutters, but she's moving under her own power now, Zeke's healing having worked its magic swiftly.

"Says the Fae who charged a fire serpent with wind magic in a realm specifically designed to hate her existence," Zeke points out mildly.

"That was tactics," she protests. "Completely different."

"It was brave," Mortimer corrects, golden eyes meeting hers with unexpected warmth. "Foolish, but brave."

A faint blush colors her cheeks despite the oppressive heat.

"Yeah, well, someone had to do something. We can't all stand around looking mysteriously powerful and gawking at the pretty guardian serpent ready to kill us."

"I don't know," Atticus muses, "I think I pull off mysteriously powerful quite well."

"You pull off annoyingly arrogant," I correct. "There's a difference."

"Only to those lacking appreciation for nuance," he shoots back.

The banter continues as we walk, a familiar rhythm that somehow makes the hellscape around us more bearable. Even Gabriel seems affected, his rigid posture relaxing fractionally as he listens to us trade barbs and observations.

We slow as we approach what must be where the second guardian resides, our eyes scanning around the desolate space of blistering heat.

"Ready?" Gabriel asks, pausing at the crest of a rise that will bring the second guardian into full view.

"No," comes the unanimous response.

His smile is sharp as the obsidian beneath our feet.

“Wickedly good,” he responds. “Just don’t die.”

We can only hope…