Page 2 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)

Two

Lucien

I stand motionless, watching the bloody moonlight spill across the academy grounds. The night air carries a chill, the kind that seeps into one’s bones regardless of their mortality, or lack thereof. The blood moon is no coincidence, not with the Coven involved.

Behind me, the academy’s towers stretch toward the night sky, their shadows elongating across the manicured lawns. Headmistress Wickersly’s orders were precise. I am to meet the girl, and bring her inside. Simple enough. And yet, I cannot quell this uneasiness.

The forest beyond the gates shifts as a presence approaches, subtle at first, then undeniable. Magic ripples through the wards like a stone tossed into still water. Not the self-aware steps of someone trained, but the clumsy, unwitting power of ability without skill. Untamed. Unpredictable.

“Careless,” I murmur to the empty air, testing the taste of her magic on my tongue.

I close my eyes. Every witch, every magical being has their own flavor. Most are pallid, beige things to me, unremarkable. Bland. But this one. I inhale deeply, drawing her into my assessment.

Earth. An earth witch. But then…

No, not quite that. This is grave dirt, decay but fertile with rebirth. Death clings to her. Her blood. Old, powerful blood. My fangs tingle. And beneath it all, the unmistakable primality of sex.

In other words, trouble.

I need to cut off this line of thought before it leads somewhere dangerous. But too late, because hunger crashes through me like a wave, immediate and vicious. My muscles lock, straining against the sudden, overwhelming desire to feed. To hunt. To take.

The last time I fed properly was three weeks ago.

Some vapid socialite the Coven procured, all false eyelashes and empty giggles.

She’d tasted of champagne and Xanax, artificial and hollow.

I’d taken what I needed, nothing more, and sent her on her way with fuzzy memories of having too much to drink.

Controlled. Civilized. Everything the Coven expects of their tame vampire.

I force my fangs to retract, reminding myself that I am a prince of the night, not some fledgling easily overcome by base hunger.

I straighten my jacket, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the tailored fabric.

My loyalty to the Crescent Moon Coven has never wavered, not in the centuries since my family first pledged our allegiance.

I enforce their will. I maintain their secrets.

I am the sword they swing against those who would challenge their authority.

Yet standing here, feeling her approach, something treacherous stirs within me. A desire not to serve, but to possess.

The wards quiver again, stronger this time. She’s close.

Her abilities have been suppressed, I can sense it from here.

But the binding is splintering. Her power leaks through the cracks like light through a boarded-up window.

There’s no doubt the Coven knows this, and it explains the unusual circumstances of her arrival.

Most students pull up to the gates on their first day having already visited the campus, along with their families.

I roll my shoulders back, feeling my responsibility settle more firmly upon them.

I will meet her with the indifference I’ve perfected over centuries.

I will assess her capabilities, guide her into the academy, and report my findings to the headmistress.

I will not allow her to cloud my judgment.

I will certainly not indulge this inappropriate hunger that claws at my insides.

The forest parts suddenly, the enchantment responding to her approach as it’s been told to do. I catch my first glimpse of her through the trees.

She is… ordinary.

Dark hair pulled back from a face that would be unremarkable if not for the scowl. Clothing chosen for practicality, not style. The backpack slung over one shoulder that has seen better days is her first act of insubordination.

Something tells me it isn’t her last.

I watch her approach, her steps hesitating as she takes in the academy’s imposing exterior. For a moment, uncertainty reads across her face. She’s considering turning back; I can see it in the slight shift of her weight. But she won’t. She has no other place to go.

The blood moon bathes her in its disturbing light as she steps forward, and I prepare to greet the Serpentine Academy’s newest student.

Close up, she’s even less impressive.

The stain on her shirt, gin, going by the smell, means the girl can’t even perform a basic cleaning spell. Or she just doesn’t care how she shows up here. Neither bodes well for her time at the academy, considering who she’ll be living with, staff and faculty included.

I clear my throat, stepping from the shadows into her line of sight.

She startles, nearly dropping her backpack. Her heart rate beats a rhythm that makes my fangs itch.

“You’re late.”

“Late? The invitation said midnight.”

“Punctuality at the Serpentine Academy means arriving with time to spare. A concept I suspect you struggle with, along with proper attire and basic hygiene.” I allow my eyes to linger pointedly on the gin stain.

She follows my gaze down to her shirt and has the audacity to sniff at the spot. “Sorry to disappoint, Your Highness. I was a bit busy getting fired.” She hoists her backpack higher on her shoulder. “Great start to my magical education. Is lesson one how to be an insufferable prick?”

The corner of my mouth twitches disloyally.

I hide it by stepping closer, allowing my height to emphasize the difference in our positions. “Rose Smith.”

Her eyes narrow at the use of her name. “And you are?”

“Lucien.” I offer nothing more. No title, no surname, no explanation of my role.

“Just Lucien? Like Madonna or Beyonce?” She steps forward, deliberately shrinking the space between us rather than backing away as most would. “You the welcoming committee?”

I circle her slowly, taking in every detail.

Her ponytail reveals an unexpected elegance in the line of her neck.

My gaze traces the curve of her spine down to the swell of her hips.

The jeans she wears have seen better days, torn at one knee with a fresh abrasion visible beneath from a recent injury.

I can smell her blood and traces of tar.

Her t-shirt with the offending stain clings to curves that the oversized jacket she wears fails to hide.

But it’s her eyes that have my attention. Shrewd, intelligent, wary. They follow my movements with experienced alertness. This is someone who has had to be mistrustful by necessity.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she says, turning to match my circling. She refuses to let me at her back. This girl is not na?ve, as unskilled and untrained as she may be.

“The academy has extensive records of all its students,” I reply. “Including photographs. So that will be unnecessary.”

“I’m not a student,” she says. “I’m a bartender who got fired tonight and received a very pretentious invitation that claimed I didn’t have a choice about coming here. So how about we skip the creepy circling and get to the part where someone explains what the hell is going on?”

I stop directly in front of her, close enough that she must tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “You are what the Coven says you are, Rose Smith. And they say you’re a student at the Serpentine Academy now.”

“The Coven,” she repeats. “The Crescent Moon Coven. My mother mentioned them once. All I know about this school is that it’s full of snobs. My mother called them ‘elitist assholes with more money than sense’.”

I cannot hide the small smile that forms. “Your mother wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“She usually wasn’t.” A dark look crosses her face. “What do they want with me?”

“Your mother made choices,” I say carefully. “Choices that kept you hidden for many years. But magic has a way of revealing itself, especially when it’s been unnaturally constrained.”

Her brow furrows. “What are you talking about? I can barely keep a plant alive.”

I glance pointedly at the succulent peeking from her backpack. “And yet, it lives.”

“That’s not the point,” she replies, frustration evident in the tight line of her mouth.

“Look, there’s been a mistake. I’m not gifted or special or whatever this place thinks I am.

So, if this is some kind of outreach to the less fortunate and hopelessly tragic, we can stop it now.

Because I don’t have the cash a place like this needs, and I certainly don’t have any real powers. ”

“The broken fingers of the man who assaulted you tonight suggest otherwise.”

Her eyes widen. “How did you know about that?”

“The academy sees many things, Rose.” I gesture toward the imposing structure behind us. “Including the moment the spell binding your magic began to unravel.”

She takes a half-step back. “I didn’t touch him.”

“Precisely.” I allow my gaze to drop to her hands, short, unpainted nails with ragged cuticles. Hands that have never known privilege, yet carry the potential for immense power. “That sort of untrained ability is why you’re here.”

The wind changes direction, carrying her aura more strongly toward me. My fangs ache again, and I force myself to take a breath through my mouth instead of my nose.

“The academy isn’t a safe space,” I find myself saying, the words emerging before I can consider their wisdom. “But at present, it’s safer for you than the alternative.”

She studies me, eyes narrowing and her posture rigid. “And what’s the alternative?”

“Death,” I say simply. “Or worse.”

A bitter laugh escapes her. “Worse than death. Sure.”

“It’s not a threat, Rose. It’s a reality.” I step closer, unable to resist the pull of her. “The academy offers protection while you learn to control what’s inside you.”

“And what exactly is that?” she demands.