11. Bonds And Boundaries
11
BONDS AND BOUNDARIES
~GWENIVERE~
" B -B-BOND MARK?!"
My voice echoes through the tunnel, bouncing off ancient stones that practically hum with royal magic. The sound of my own shock coming back at me only makes this whole situation feel more surreal.
This has to be a joke.
There's absolutely no way I could be bonded to a Duskwalker. That's not just impossible — it's absolutely insane. The kind of thing that happens in those raunchy paranormal romance novels I definitely don't have hidden under my bed back home.
Okay, maybe a few. But that's not the point!
The tunnel stretches ahead of us, its walls lined with runes that pulse with protective magic. Apparently, this is the "royals only" express route to the academy’s head auditorium. The only way to make it to the trials on time, since Wicked Academy seems to take sadistic pleasure in eliminating candidates just for being late.
Because nothing says "prestigious education" quite like turning tardiness into a death sentence.
"You should save your energy," Mortimer advises from the front of our peculiar procession. His pale eyes gleam in the ethereal light of the tunnel's enchanted crystals. "The glamour should be activated just before we exit."
I'm still in my natural form, the uniform somehow adapting to fit my feminine curves. It should feel wrong, but after everything that's happened, a self-adjusting outfit seems like the least bizarre thing to focus on.
"The bond mark is essentially a covenant," Nikolai explains from my right, his voice carrying that scholarly tone that makes everything sound both fascinating and slightly less terrifying. "It forms between individuals with compatible and similar energy levels."
A derisive huff comes from behind us.
"She isn't stronger than Cassius," Damien mutters, giving me a side-eye that could curdle milk. "He's a Duskwalker prince with centuries of generational power and magic."
Cassius, walking silently on my left, doesn't react to this assessment. His shadows seem more subdued in the tunnel's magical lighting, though they still dance around him in mesmerizing patterns.
"You're just mad because your room is a garden right now," I shoot back, unable to resist needling the vampire prince.
His hiss of displeasure makes me grin.
"I expect that to be fixed," he growls, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stalks behind us.
I roll my eyes but find my attention drawn to Cassius. His profile is sharp in the crystal light, all perfect angles and careful control.
"Why aren't you freaking out about this?" I ask him directly. "Bonding isn't a joke. It's not even like a relationship or a promise ring." My voice rises slightly as the implications really hit me. "It's basically marriage ! Isn't your family going to be disappointed or embarrassed that you're bonded to a hybrid?"
He continues looking forward, his expression contemplative but otherwise unreadable. The silence stretches between us, but oddly, I don't feel dismissed by it.
I'm starting to understand that Cassius isn't exactly chatty.
His silence doesn't feel like disregard — more like careful consideration. Still, the weight of what this means hangs heavy in the air between us.
Turning to Nikolai, I voice another concern that's been nagging at me.
"What if when I bit you, you got a bond mark too?" The thought makes something in my chest tighten uncomfortably.
Nikolai's response is a casual shrug and a wink that somehow manages to be both roguish and elegant.
"Welp. Wouldn't be the first time I've been rebellious."
The way he says it, so utterly unconcerned with the potential gravity of the situation, startles a laugh out of me. The sound echoes through the tunnel, making the crystals pulse brighter for a moment.
"You're all insane," I declare, though there's no heat in the accusation. "Here I am, having an existential crisis about accidentally marriage-bonding with death incarnate, and you're treating it like I just picked the wrong flavor of ice cream."
"Death incarnate?" Cassius repeats softly, and I swear I catch the ghost of amusement in his tone.
"Would you prefer 'shadow daddy'?" I ask sweetly, earning a choked sound from Damien and what might be a stifled laugh from Nikolai.
The drop in temperature around us was pretty expected as Cassius's shadows writhe with increased agitation. I’m beginning to realize Cassius’ emotions play around with the temperatures in the atmosphere. He doesn’t like when I tease him, or maybe it’s when it can mean others potentially enjoying similar benefits? I’m not sure. But before he can respond, Mortimer's voice drifts back to us.
"The bond mark is more complex than simple marriage," he explains, his tone carefully neutral. "It's a recognition of compatible energies, yes, but also a melding of powers that shouldn't technically be possible."
"Like drinking Duskwalker blood and living?" I suggest.
"Precisely." He pauses at a junction in the tunnel, considering the paths before choosing the right fork. "The fact that you not only survived but seemed to thrive on Cassius's blood suggests your hybrid nature might be more unique than we initially assumed."
"Oh good," I mutter. "Because I wasn't feeling special enough already."
My hand rises unconsciously to touch the mark on my neck. It pulses warmly under my fingers, responding to my attention like a cat being petted.
Which is not at all creepy.
"Stop touching it," Damien snaps from behind us. "Every time you do, it sends out these...waves."
"Waves?" I turn to look at him, walking backward with supernatural grace. "What kind of waves?"
His scowl deepens.
"Power waves. Magic waves. I don't know — just stop poking at it!"
"You can feel it?" I ask, genuinely curious now. "Like, actually feel when I touch it?"
"We all can," Nikolai admits, though he seems more intrigued than annoyed by this fact. "It's like ripples in a pond, spreading outward and affecting the magical atmosphere around us."
I process this information, still walking backward because apparently, I make poor life choices.
"So what you're saying is..." A grin spreads across my face as I deliberately trace the mark again. "I can basically annoy you all with a simple touch?"
The surge of power that pulses out makes Damien bare his fangs at me.
"I will end you," he threatens.
"No, you won't," Cassius states quietly, but with absolute certainty.
The simple defense makes something warm bloom in my chest. Which is ridiculous because I absolutely do not need this impossibly gorgeous creature of darkness protecting me.
Even if it does make me feel slightly giddy.
"The bond would prevent that anyway," Mortimer adds helpfully. "Any attempt to harm her would rebound on the attacker with considerable force."
This revelation makes me pause mid-step.
"Wait, what?" I spin to face forward again, nearly colliding with Cassius in the process. His hands catch my shoulders, steadying me with casual strength. "You mean he's stuck being my magical bodyguard?"
"More like magically compelled to ensure your well-being," Nikolai corrects, though his eyes dance with amusement. "Though I'm sure Cassius would have opinions about being called a bodyguard."
"I have opinions about many things," Cassius murmurs, his hands still resting lightly on my shoulders. "Most of which are better left unsaid."
"I don't mind your silence," I say softly, watching how Cassius's shadows dance in the tunnel's ethereal light. "But I do like your opinions."
Something flickers in those silver eyes of his — surprise, perhaps, or maybe just confusion at my candor. His response, when it comes, carries notes of carefully contained bitterness.
"Most don't like listening to Duskwalkers," he states quietly. "We don't have opinions."
"Yeah, because you guys only like speaking of desolation and madness," Damien interjects from behind us, his voice dripping with casual disdain.
The words hit something raw inside me.
Before I fully realize what I'm doing, I've spun around to face him, my finger jabbing into his chest with enough force to make him step back.
"Just because everyone else encourages that bullshit doesn't mean you, his friend , get to contribute like some sort of bully."
Damien's eyes narrow dangerously, fangs flashing in the crystal light.
"Are you even listening to yourself?" he demands, batting my hand away. "You're not some savior, and that's not what Wicked Academy is about." His voice carries centuries of ingrained superiority. "We have to be menacing to one another. When school starts, you'll realize very quickly we're not your friends once that bell rings."
The laugh that escapes me holds no humor.
"I have no intention of being your friend," I inform him coolly, planting my hands on my hips. "But I absolutely despise bullies. You want to be mean to me for show? Go the fuck ahead." My lips curl into a dangerous smile. "But you'll get payback the moment the end-of-school bell rings. And trust me, you should know vampires enjoy holding grudges."
He waves off my warning with casual dismissal that makes my blood boil.
"I'm not afraid of any grudge you might hold against me."
The smile never leaves my face as I suddenly strike, my foot connecting solidly with his groin. The sound he makes is somewhere between a wheeze and a death rattle as he doubles over, clutching himself as he drops to his knees.
"Oops, my bad," I say with exaggerated innocence. "I have really bad knee jerks. No grudges please." I affect my most harmless expression. "I'm just a chill girl trying to get through these trials so I'm out of your way like a fine comb threading through silky strands of hair. Complete the deed and be on my way back home where people actually need me."
I spin away with a huff, ready to continue down the tunnel, but warmth suddenly encircles my wrist.
Nikolai's hand catches mine, the contact sending an unexpected shiver through my entire body. We both glance down at our joined hands, the sight somehow both startling and perfectly natural.
"Why did you stop me?" I ask, trying to ignore how his thumb seems to have found the pulse point in my wrist.
"Mortimer has to lead," he explains, genuine concern softening his features. "You're not of royalty, so he's shielding us through this tunnel. I don't want you getting hurt."
The laugh that bubbles up from my chest is pure delight at his protective instinct.
"You're so nice and protective," I tell him, enjoying the way his eyes widen slightly at my directness. "Though it'll be interesting to see you be a ruthless motherfucker since you guys have to be 'evil' and mean."
Before he can respond, I slip my hand from his grasp and move past Mortimer, stepping beyond his protective barrier. Their collective gasp of horror turns to shocked silence when I remain very much alive and intact.
"See?" I raise my hands in dramatic demonstration. "Wasn't lying about the royal thing."
"What kingdom are you from?" Damien demands, his voice still strained as he struggles to his feet, bent slightly at the waist.
I giggle, pressing a finger to my lips in an exaggerated gesture of secrecy that I know will drive him crazy.
"It's a secret."
Spinning on my heel, I continue down the tunnel with deliberate grace, letting my steps carry the confidence of someone who knows exactly where they belong.
Behind me, I hear Mortimer's thoughtful hum.
"I find myself increasingly intrigued by this woman."
"Don't fall for her," Nikolai groans, his footsteps quickening to catch up with me. "You're a professor and older than all of us."
His hand finds mine again, the gesture somehow both possessive and questioning as he slows my pace. I glance over my shoulder, giving him a look that probably carries more heat than I intend, but I don't resist as he brings us to a stop to wait for the others.
The tunnel's crystals pulse around us, their light catching on the mark that still adorns my neck. Each beat of power feels like a reminder of everything I'm risking — everything I'm potentially sacrificing — by playing this dangerous game.
I’m supposed to go home…Elena needs me…but…
Despite the circumstances, I feel like I can’t abandon these men just yet. Despite us still being strangers, I hold a purpose here and I’d like to uncover whatever secrets are hidden in the depths of this sinister school of merciless wonder.
But as I watch Damien limp along, as I feel Nikolai's thumb trace patterns on my skin, as I sense Cassius's shadows reaching out to brush against me with what feels suspiciously like approval...I can't help but wonder if maybe the game itself has changed.
I came here for a chalice, yes.
But standing in this ancient tunnel, surrounded by princes and power and possibilities I never imagined, I'm beginning to suspect that fate might have other plans.
The crystals pulse again, stronger this time, as if agreeing with my unspoken thoughts. Their light takes on a warmer hue, almost welcoming, and I feel something deep within the tunnel's magic recognize me.
Not as an intruder or an imposter.
But as someone who belongs.
The realization should probably terrify me more than it does.
The tunnel begins to widen, its ancient stones giving way to more elaborate architecture.
Carved columns rise on either side, their surfaces etched with runes that pulse with increasingly intense magic. The air itself feels heavier here, thick with power and possibility.
"We're getting close," Mortimer announces from behind us. His voice carries an edge of anticipation that makes my skin prickle.
Nikolai's hand remains steady in mine, a warm anchor against the growing pressure of accumulated magic. The gesture should feel presumptuous — we barely know each other, after all. But there's something comforting about the contact, especially as the tunnel's energy continues to build.
"We should discuss strategy," he says softly, his thumb still tracing those maddening circles against my skin. "The trials aren't just about individual power. They test how well units work together."
"You mean how well we can pretend to hate each other while secretly not wanting each other to die?" I ask sweetly.
A snort of amusement comes from somewhere behind us.
"There's nothing secret about wanting you to die," Damien mutters, though his voice lacks its earlier venom. Apparently, a swift kick to the family jewels has earned me some measure of respect.
Or at least healthy caution.
"Careful," I warn, glancing over my shoulder with a wicked grin. "Your balls might develop a nervous twitch if you keep tempting fate."
His hands move protectively to cover his crotch, earning a genuine laugh from Nikolai.
"Children," Mortimer chides, but I catch the amusement in his tone. "Perhaps we could focus on the task at hand?"
"Right," I agree, forcing myself to be serious. "How exactly do these trials work? Besides the whole 'maybe you'll die' aspect, which seems to be a running theme in this place."
The crystals' light takes on a reddish tinge as we continue forward, casting strange shadows that seem to move independently of our presence. I notice how they avoid Cassius's darkness, creating pockets of deeper black where his power claims dominance.
"The trials are different for each unit," Nikolai explains. "They adapt to test not just our abilities, but how those abilities complement each other."
"Or fail spectacularly," Damien adds helpfully.
I consider this, absently touching the mark on my neck. The responding pulse of power makes Damien hiss in annoyance.
"So what you're saying is, they're going to specifically target our unique dynamics?" My eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Like, say, the fact that I can drink Duskwalker blood without dying? Or how Fae magic responds to my feeding?"
"Most likely," Mortimer confirms. "The trials have a way of... exploiting unexpected connections."
Something in his tone makes me glance back at him.
"You know more than you're saying."
It's not a question, but he inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment.
"I am one of the Seven," he reminds me. "There are certain aspects of the trials that I'm... intimately familiar with."
"And you can't warn us because...?"
"Because that would defeat the purpose," he says simply. "The trials must be faced genuinely, without preparation or foreknowledge."
I roll my eyes.
"That's the fancy way of saying 'we like to watch you suffer,' isn't it?"
His smile is answer enough.
The tunnel takes a sharp turn, and suddenly we're facing what appears to be a solid wall of pure shadow. It's different from Cassius's darkness — more ancient, more absolute. The kind of darkness that exists in the spaces between stars.
Nikolai's hand tightens slightly around mine.
"This is where we transform you back into Gabriel," he says quietly. "The trials' entrance won't accept your current form."
I nod, closing my eyes to gather my magic. But before I can begin the change, Mortimer's voice cuts through my concentration.
"Wait."
Opening my eyes, I find him studying me with that unnervingly intense gaze.
"What is it?"
His pale hands move through the air, weaving patterns that shimmer with death magic.
"Before you change, I need to add another layer of protection." His fingers continue their intricate dance. "Something to complement the bond mark's effects while providing its own safeguards."
"Is this really necessary?" I ask, though I remain still as his magic begins to coalesce around me. "I mean, I've got the glamour, the mark, and apparently an entire collection of royal babysitters."
"Humor me," he replies dryly. "Consider it professional interest in keeping our newest addition alive."
The magic he's weaving feels different from anything I've encountered before. It's neither warm like Nikolai's Fae energy nor cold like Cassius's shadows. Instead, it carries a sort of... neutrality. Like the pause between heartbeats or the moment between sleeping and waking.
"This will help maintain your masculine form," he explains as the magic settles into my skin. "Even if your own power becomes depleted. It should also provide additional protection against temporal distortions."
"Temporal what now?"
"Time moves differently in the trials," Cassius speaks up unexpectedly. "What feels like hours inside could be days outside, or vice versa."
"Of course it does," I mutter. "Because this place isn't complicated enough already."
The magic Mortimer's weaving suddenly tightens around me, making me gasp. It feels like being wrapped in a blanket made of starlight — cool and weightless but undeniably present.
"There," he says with satisfaction. "That should help prevent any unfortunate revelations at inopportune moments."
"Thanks," I manage, still adjusting to the strange sensation. "I think."
Nikolai reluctantly releases my hand, stepping back to give me space for the transformation. I immediately miss his warmth, which is ridiculous and not at all helpful in our current situation.
Taking a deep breath, I gather my magic once again.
The glamour responds instantly, flowing over me like water. I feel my body shift and change, becoming taller, broader, more masculine. The uniform adjusts seamlessly, maintaining that perfect fit despite my altered form.
When I open my eyes, I find them all staring at me with varying expressions.
"What?" I ask, my voice now carrying that deeper timbre. "Is something wrong?"
"Your eyes," Damien says slowly. "They're still red."
"Shit." I concentrate, trying to adjust that detail, but something feels…different. The magic responds sluggishly, refusing to completely change my eye color. "I can't seem to?—"
"Leave them," Cassius interrupts. His shadows reach out, brushing against my face with surprising gentleness. "They suit you."
The simple comment shouldn't make my heart race, but here we are.
Get it together, Gwen. You're supposed to be Gabriel right now.
"We should move," Mortimer says, though his eyes linger on me thoughtfully. "The trials won't wait forever."
Nodding, I turn to face the wall of shadow before us. Now that I'm closer, I can see patterns moving within its depths — shapes and symbols that seem to shift and change when viewed directly.
"So," I say, affecting a casualness I don't quite feel. "Do we just...walk through it?"
"Not quite." Nikolai moves to stand beside me again, his presence oddly reassuring. "We need to enter as a unit. Connected."
I arch an eyebrow at him.
"Connected how exactly?"
Instead of answering, he simply holds out his hand. On my other side, Cassius does the same. Damien steps up behind me with a put-upon sigh, placing his hand on my shoulder.
Mortimer takes position at the front of our group, his power rising around him like a visible aura.
"Remember," he says seriously. "Once we enter, everything changes. The trials will test not just your abilities, but your trust in each other." His gaze fixes on me. "Are you ready?"
I look at each of them in turn — these impossible princes and their death magic professor. None of this was part of my plan. I came here for a chalice, not a magical marriage or a spot in some elite royal unit.
But as I feel Nikolai's fingers interlace with mine, as Cassius's shadows wrap around our joined hands like living bonds, as even Damien's grip on my shoulder carries a certain reluctant solidarity...
I’m not sure I can convince myself to depart so easily when these trials are over with.
"Ready as I'll ever be," I declare.
Now or never.
Together, we step into the darkness.