Page 3 of Wicked Bonds (Serpentine Academy #1)

“Power,” I say. “The kind your mother tried to keep you from. Come,” I say, extending my hand toward the path leading to the academy. “Dawn arrives quickly, and there is much to prepare before your formal introduction tomorrow.”

She hesitates, then steps forward without taking my offered hand.

As she passes, her shoulder brushes against my chest, the briefest of contacts that sends a shock through my body.

For an impulsive moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to bury my face in the curve of her neck, to taste the elixir that flows through her.

She pauses, looking back at me like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Impossible, but as our eyes lock, something passes between us, a recognition, perhaps, of mutual danger.

“After you,” she says, the challenge in her voice unmistakable.

The massive doors swing shut behind us with a thud that echoes through the entrance hall.

It’s a sound I’ve heard countless times over the decades, and it’s the sound of the sealing of fate, the severing of ties to the outside world.

I watch Rose’s shoulders tense, though she quickly forces them lower.

The blood moon’s light filters through the stained glass windows, each scene depicting a rather macabre story from the past, casting pictures across the marble floor.

Rose turns slowly, taking them in.

“Subtle,” she mutters, eyeing a particularly risque picture of several vampires feasting on the naked body of a young woman, her head thrown back in ecstasy, while witches dance in the background, again completely naked. Her eyes shift to the gargoyle squatting on the newel post.

“The architecture predates the current administration by several centuries. Gothic excess was rather the fashion when immortals designed their homes.”

“Immortals,” she repeats, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “Like you?”

We move deeper into the building, each step tapping against the marble floor.

The particular smell of the Serpentine Academy fills the air, beeswax candles, rare herbs, and the metals and elements used in certain rituals.

Things I’ve grown so accustomed to that I barely notice them anymore.

But tonight, they pale in comparison to the essence that is emanating from the woman walking beside me.

Earth. Fire. Death. Blood. Sex.

The hunger returns, heightened by her nearness and the blood moon’s influence.

“So what’s your deal?” she asks abruptly, breaking into my thoughts. “You’re obviously not a student. Teacher? Guard dog? Creepy butler?”

The accuracy of her last guess perturbs me. “I serve the academy in various capacities.”

“Right. Cryptic and unhelpful. Got it.” She stops suddenly before a display case containing ritual daggers, crystal spheres, a grimoire bound in what only the most discerning eye would recognize as human skin.

Her fingers hover near the case, not quite touching.

“My mother spent her life protecting me from this world. From people like your Coven.”

“Your mother tried to deny what you are,” I correct. “She believed she could contain your nature indefinitely. She was wrong.”

Anger flashes in her eyes. “You didn’t know her.”

“I knew of her,” I counter. “The Coven has monitored your bloodline for generations.”

Her brow furrows at that, questions forming on her lips that I’m not yet authorized to answer. Before she can voice them, movement at the top of the staircase draws both our attention. A tall figure materializes from the shadows.

Soren Malric, one of the instructors. And an incubus. His gaze fixes on Rose with immediate, undisguised interest.

“Lucien,” he calls, his voice carrying the melodic undertone that all his kind possess, designed to entice, to seduce. “A new arrival?”

He descends the stairs slowly, and I watch his gaze slide over Rose like a snake.

It starts at her dirty sneakers, travels up the ripped knee of her jeans to where her thighs meet with a noticeable pause, then continues its leisurely path along the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. When his eyes reach the gin stain on her shirt, his lips curve into a smile.

By the time his gaze reaches her face, it’s become something else entirely, invasive, probing, like he’s already imagining what she looks like beneath those clothes, what sounds she might make if he…

“Eyes up here, professor,” Rose says.

Something angry and possessive twists in my chest. My fangs descend fully before I can stop them, hidden thankfully by my closed lips. The reaction is as unexpected as it is inappropriate. I have no claim on this girl. She is a ward of the academy, nothing more.

“The headmistress asked me to escort her,” I reply, my tone deliberately neutral despite the territorial rage surging through me. “She’s had a long journey and requires rest before tomorrow’s formalities.”

Soren’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. Though I’d be happy to show her to her room.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I say, placing my hand at the small of Rose’s back before I can reconsider the wisdom of touching her. The contact is hot, like my hand is on fire, even through the layer of her jacket. Her breath quickens, and her heart races; I can feel it through her entire body.

Soren’s nostrils flare slightly. A knowing look crosses his features before he inclines his head in a gesture that manages to be both respectful and mocking. “As you wish. I’m certain we’ll become better acquainted soon, Ms. Smith.”

He retreats into the shadows, but the feeling his presence evoked lingers, and I realize I’m scowling.

Rose glances up at me. “Friend of yours?”

“Colleague.” I remove my hand from her back. “One you would do well to approach with caution.”

“Unlike you?” she challenges, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Mr. Perfectly Safe?”

“I never claimed to be safe, Rose.” I hold her gaze steadily. “Merely the lesser of your immediate dangers.”

Her expression changes, a recognition of the truth beneath my words. For a moment, the bravado drops, and I glimpse the vulnerability she tries so desperately to hide. “Your quarters are this way.”

As we walk up the staircase, I’m too aware of every movement she makes, every breath she takes.

The magic within her is like a second heartbeat, stronger with every moment that passes.

The binding spell continues to undo, releasing more of her true nature with every step she takes deeper into the academy’s sinister embrace.

The Coven believes it can control her, shape her, use her. Maybe they’re right. But as I watch her, I’m struck by a sudden certainty. Rose Smith will not be contained. Not by her mother’s desperate spells, perhaps not even by the Crescent Moon Coven.

And God help us all when she finally breaks free.