Page 19 of Wicked Vows (Cursed Darkness (DarkHallow Academy) #1)

Lysithea

A t some point, I must’ve crawled into bed, and I fell asleep because I wake up to a low-level burn coursing through my blood. I groan and roll over, only to hiss and roll back. “Damn you!” I roar. “Damn all of you!”

My snake familiar coils at the foot of my bed, its shadowy form solid and agitated. It feels my rage. It is my rage.

I force myself to stand, naked and feverish. A glance in the mirror over my desk shows the Scar, a living, breathing sketch of black and silver, pulsing with a faint, angry light. It’s a violation made beautiful. I hate it. I hate them.

A wave of dizziness hits me, and I grip the edge of the desk.

A flicker of something that isn’t mine rushes through me.

The sharp, metallic taste of hellfire. The cloying sweetness of ambient fear.

The profound, bottomless cold of the grave.

Their power is in me now, a constant, unwanted echo. They’re in my blood. In my magic.

After freshening up, I dress with numb, clumsy fingers.

Another black dress, another day of trying to be invisible in a world that has decided to put me under a spotlight.

As I pull on my boots, my serpent slithers up my leg and coils around my shoulders, a living armour of defiance.

I keep it out of comfort instead of banishing it.

I like it. It’s a defence as well as something that knows me.

Grabbing my bag, I walk out of my room, the serpent’s shadowy head rests near mine. It’s a declaration. One that will probably get me called into Blackgrove’s office, but so be it.

The walk to the dining hall is the same as always.

Students move out of my way. They cross hallways so they don’t get in my line of fire.

It’s business as usual, except for the snake.

No one knows about the Midnight Soul Scar, or the fact that I’ve been claimed in ways that make my skin crawl. I’d like to keep it that way.

I huff out an irritated breath when I see them waiting for me at the entrance to the dining hall like a three-headed guard dog. Dathan grins, a slow, possessive curve of his lips. Verik leans against the wall, all casual arrogance. Evren stands slightly apart, a silent, chilling void.

“Morning, Thea,” Dathan says, his voice a low purr designed to get under my skin. “Sleep well?”

My serpent hisses, its form solidifying. The Scar on my back burns in response to his voice. I don’t answer. I just lift my chin and walk past them, into the dining hall. I don’t look back. I don’t have to. I can feel them fall into step behind me. My own personal, terrifying entourage. My jailers.

The usual morning clamour of the hall fades to a low murmur.

A hundred pairs of eyes lock onto me, then flick to the monsters at my back.

The whispers follow, a sibilant tide of speculation.

They don’t see the brand, but they see the claim.

They see the academy’s three apex predators flanking the weirdo Nox Siren.

I walk to the buffet, my serpent hissing in a silent dare.

I grab a plate and load it with toast and jam, my movements stiff, my hands refusing to shake.

I catch Reena’s eye across the room. She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her expression a mix of pity and morbid curiosity.

I can’t sit with her. I can’t drag anyone else into this cage.

I turn and head for my corner table. My sanctuary.

They follow, their footsteps a rhythmic echo of my own.

I sit. They sit. Dathan opposite, Verik and Evren on either side, boxing me in.

The serpent uncoils from my shoulders and settles on the table, a living barrier of shadow between us, its void-fangs bared.

“The snake a permanent fixture now?” Dathan asks, his silver eyes fixed on the construct. “Does it have a name?”

“Go to hell,” I say, taking a savage bite of toast.

“That’s a bit of a mouthful.”

I give him the finger.

“That’s a symbol, too hard to communicate. We have enough of the cryptic with Ev.”

My gaze lingers on the Harbinger. He meets it and smiles. He holds his hands up, palms together, and then opens them to signify a book.

I frown. “I didn’t see it this morning,” I murmur. “It wasn’t there.”

Evren frowns.

“Books don’t just disappear,” Dathan mutters, but there’s an edge to his voice that suggests he’s not entirely convinced.

“Unless someone took it,” I say, my mind racing. The book was important enough to help me, and now it’s missing. Why don’t I find that a coincidence?

My serpent’s head swivels, tracking movement across the hall.

I follow its gaze and freeze. Blackgrove stands in the entrance, his pale eyes scanning the room with the authority that screams he knows exactly who he’s looking for and where they are.

When his gaze lands on our table, on me, his lips curve in a smile that makes my blood run cold.

He starts walking towards us.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

The entire dining hall seems to hold its breath. Conversations die mid-sentence. Cutlery stops clinking. Even the floating candles dim slightly, as if the air is cowering.

Blackgrove stops beside our table, his presence suffocating. Up close, I can see the ancient power that clings to him like a second skin.

“Miss Lysithea,” Blackgrove says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the stone floor.

My serpent coils tighter, its shadowy form rippling with agitation. The others tense around me.

“Professor,” I say, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my throat.

His pale eyes drop to my familiar, studying it with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen. “A shadow construct at breakfast. How delightfully... dramatic.”

The word hangs in the air like a blade.

“I can’t… It won’t…” I mutter, trying to lie but failing miserably.

He smiles, but it’s the smile of a creature who can smell a lie a mile away. “Be very quick with figuring out how to make it disappear,” he says. “Before I take it as an act of violence against the student body.”

“What?” I say with a choked cough.

“That’s not what this is,” Verik states, sticking up for me even though no one fucking asked him to.

“No one asked you,” Blackgrove murmurs, keeping his eyes on me. “Miss Lysithea. Remove the familiar. Now.”

The Scar on my back flares with heat, and I feel an echo of power that isn’t mine. Evren’s cold. I focus on it, drawing the ice into my veins, banking the fire of my panic.

My serpent wavers, its form flickering.

“Better,” Blackgrove says. “But not gone.”

I close my eyes, reaching for the threads of shadow magic that bind the construct to me. It doesn’t want to go. It knows I’m vulnerable without it. But Blackgrove’s presence is a weight that could crush mountains.

The serpent’s void-fangs brush against my cheek in what might be a kiss or a threat. Then it dissolves, seeping back into the shadows at my feet.

“Much better,” Blackgrove says. His pale eyes sweep over the three outliers. “Gentlemen. A word.”

It’s not a request.

They rise as one, their chairs scrape the stone in a chorus that grates on my nerves. Blackgrove turns without waiting, and they file after him like naughty prefects summoned to the headmaster’s office.

Reena sidles up to me the second they are out of the dining hall. “That was… interesting. I thought you were going to pick one, not all of them.”

“It wasn’t a choice,” I snap, pushing my uneaten toast around the plate. “More like a hostile takeover.”

Reena takes a delicate sip of her blood, her blue eyes assessing me over the rim of her cup. “So what are you going to do? You’re chained to the three most dangerous creatures in this place, and now Blackgrove has you on his personal watchlist.”

“I don’t know,” I admit, the words a bitter taste in my mouth. “Survive?”

“Survival is for prey,” she says, her voice dropping. “You’re not prey anymore, Lysithea. You’re a queen with a contested throne. You need to start acting like it.”

A contested throne. What does that even mean? What the fuck is wrong with everyone?

The Scar on my back gives a low, angry throb. It’s not just their mark on me. It’s a connection of power. I can feel the distant, muted echo of it as they walk with Blackgrove.

They’re a part of me now. An infection.

“I don’t want a throne,” I say.

“Tough,” Reena says, not unkindly. “Looks like you’re getting one anyway.” She glances towards the dining hall entrance and then sits back to sip her blood.

A few moments pass, and then I grit out, “They aren’t the most dangerous creatures here. If they were, they would be housed with me on the ground floor.”

“Danger isn’t always about power levels, Lysithea. I’m sure you could wipe the floor with them, but they have something you don’t.”

“Yeah? What’s that then?”

“A desire for more and the desire to get it by any means necessary.”

Well, I can’t argue with that.