7. Wrong First Assumptions
7
WRONG FIRST ASSUMPTIONS
~GWENIVERE~
C onsciousness returns slowly, like wading through honey.
My body aches in places I didn't know could ache, and the memories of why flood back with crystal clarity.
I inhale deeply, catching the unmistakable scent of winter frost and ancient magic clinging to the black t-shirt I'm now wearing.
Cassius's shirt.
The one that he wore before fucking me so damn good.
Gods…when have I been fucked like that?
Never.
I try to ignore the very significant age gap difference. Then again, we’re supernatural creatures, some of us having a lifespan that others would deem eternal.
I’m just a youngling in comparison.
Sighing, I decide I’m better off enjoying the comfort his shirt gives me. The fabric is impossibly soft against my skin, carrying traces of his essence — that unique blend of shadow and ice that sets him apart from any being I've ever encountered.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as fragments of the deeds we committed flash through my mind. It’s not like I haven’t had my share of one-night stands, because a girl’s got needs, but holy fuck.
Never had I been with a man who knew what he was fucking doing.
The way his hands had gripped me, how his shadows had wrapped around me like living silk, the intensity in those silver eyes as he...
"Oh gods," I groan, grabbing the nearest pillow and burying my face in it. "What was I thinking?"
Blood lust. That's what I was thinking - or rather, not thinking at all.
The desperate need for sustenance had scrambled my brain, stripped away my inhibitions, and led me straight into the arms of possibly the most dangerous prince in the academy.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I mutter into the pillow, trying to muffle my voice. The last thing I need is for anyone to hear my moment of crisis.
But pillow or not, I'll have to face reality eventually.
Confront them after the chaos that ensued thanks to me.
Face him eventually.
The thought sends another wave of heat to my cheeks.
With a resigned huff, I lower the pillow, ready to confront whatever awaits me.
I freeze.
Two hollow sockets stare back at me, mere inches from my face.
The ivory skull gleams in the morning light, its surface so pristine it almost seems to glow. Where before multiple eyes had blinked in mesmerizing patterns, now only two main sockets house swirling voids of pure darkness.
Any reasonable person would scream.
Any sane individual would recoil in terror from death's visage hovering so close.
But I've never been particularly reasonable or sane.
Instead, I find myself captivated by the intricate details of his skull structure. The bone appears smoother than any natural material should be, with subtle ridges and curves that speak of ancient magic and untold power.
"You're absolutely magnificent," I breathe, my hand lifting of its own accord before I catch myself. "Oh! May I touch you?"
The creature tilts its head slightly, reminding me of a curious bird. Then, from between its teeth, a stream of pale smoke emerges. The vapor is lighter than I expected, almost ethereal, and carries that familiar scent of winter frost mixed with fresh snow.
I inhale carefully, analyzing the scent.
"Nothing toxic or dangerous...is that a yes?"
Another puff of smoke, smaller this time, drifts between us.
A smile tugs at my lips as I slowly reach out, my fingers ghosting over what would be the bridge of his nose. The bone is cool to the touch but not uncomfortably so, and smoother than the finest porcelain.
"You're quite handsome, you know," I tell him, tracing the elegant curve of his skull. "For a manifestation of death and shadow, you're remarkably well put together. I assume you're a he?"
The same measured stream of smoke serves as confirmation.
My smile widens as an idea strikes me.
"I think I'll call you Grim. You know, like the Grim Reaper?" I tilt my head thoughtfully. "Though you're missing the traditional scythe..."
The shadows around him shift and swirl, coalescing behind him into the perfect form of a massive scythe. The weapon hovers ominously, its blade gleaming with an inner darkness that seems to swallow light.
A delighted giggle escapes me.
"Oh, you're wonderful! Such a good listener." My fingers trace the edge of his eye socket, marveling at how the darkness within seems to respond to my touch, swirling faster. "Though I have to wonder where your master has wandered off to?"
Grim remains silent, offering no smoke signals this time. The darkness in his sockets seems to deepen slightly, but whether that's amusement or something else, I can't tell.
"Around somewhere, I suppose," I muse, finally pulling my hand back. Nature calls, and even fascinating conversations with death incarnate have to wait for basic bodily functions. "I should probably find the bathroom..."
I start to push myself up, my muscles protesting every movement. The aches serve as vivid reminders of activities I'm trying very hard not to think about right now.
Who knew shadow magic could leave such physical evidence?
Don't think about it, Gwen. Don't you dare think about how those shadows felt wrapping around your...
I shake my head violently, forcing those thoughts away.
"Focus, you disaster of a hybrid. Bathroom first, an existential crisis about sleeping with a Duskwalker prince later."
Grim's skull follows my movements as I gingerly make my way to the edge of the bed. His presence is oddly comforting - like having a very unusual, very deadly guardian angel hovering nearby. The absurdity of finding death's companion soothing isn't lost on me, but then again, my whole life has been an exercise in embracing the unconventional.
"You know," I say, pausing to look back at him, "most people would be terrified to wake up face-to-skull with a shadow creature. But I think you might be the least complicated part of this whole situation." I gesture vaguely at myself and the room. "At least you're straightforward about what you are. No pretense, no games, just pure shadow and bone."
The scythe dissipates back into wisping shadows, but Grim remains, his hollow gaze fixed on me with what I could swear is thoughtful interest.
"Plus," I add with a wry smile, "you didn't try to kill me for drinking your master's blood, which I count as a definite point in your favor. Though I suppose that's a conversation we'll all have to have eventually..."
The memory of Cassius's blood on my tongue sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.
The taste had been unlike anything I'd ever experienced — like drinking liquid starlight mixed with ancient magic. The fact that it hadn't killed me instantly was apparently some kind of miracle if the others' reactions were anything to go by.
Just another mystery to add to the growing pile.
The luxurious bathroom takes me by surprise.
Gleaming black marble stretches from floor to ceiling, accented with silver fixtures that catch the morning light streaming through frosted windows. But what really catches my attention are the fresh toiletries arranged neatly on the counter.
Female toiletries.
I pick up a package of pads, turning it over in my hands with growing bewilderment. Next to it sits tampons, feminine wipes, and an array of high-end hair products specifically formulated for long hair.
"How the hell did Cassius get these?" I mutter, examining a bottle of dry shampoo. "Did he send his shadows on a midnight drugstore run? Wait. Does Wicked Academy have drug stores? Do they even sell anything for women here?"
The mental image of Grim floating through the aisles of a convenience store, dropping feminine products into a shopping basket, nearly makes me laugh out loud.
I bite a snicker of glee.
After taking care of nature's call, I catch sight of myself in the massive mirror and wince. My hair looks like I've been through a hurricane – which, considering the activities that led to this state, isn't far from the truth.
"Good lords," I groan, picking up a brush I find on the counter. The bristles are soft, high-quality, and perfect for detangling the mess I've managed to create. "Someone was thorough with their shopping list."
As I work through the knots in my hair, my mind wanders back to the previous night. The way Cassius had gripped my hair, how his shadows had woven through it like silk...how they proceeded to do unthinkable things with my mouth…
A shiver runs down my spine at the memory.
"Focus," I scold my reflection. "You're a mess and you need a shower."
The shower itself is a work of art – a massive walk-in space with multiple shower heads and what appears to be a built-in sound system. The water pressure is divine, and I find myself moaning in appreciation as hot water cascades over my aching muscles.
More products line the shower shelves – shampoo, conditioner, body wash, all from brands I've only dreamed of affording. The scents are subtle but luxurious, nothing too overwhelming for enhanced supernatural senses.
"Either he's done this before," I muse, working the shampoo into my hair, "or someone helped him prepare. Though I can't imagine Cassius asking for shopping advice..."
For any advice really…
He seems more independent in nature. At least, that’s the vibe he was giving within their group dynamic.
I take my time, letting the hot water soothe away the evidence of last night's activities. Surprisingly, I don't feel particularly dirty or used. If anything, I feel...refreshed.
Energized, despite the pleasant ache in my muscles.
Must be something to do with Duskwalker energy.
It’s the only excuse I can think of while remembering how his shadows had seemed to seep into my very being.
Once I'm clean and my hair is wrapped in a towel, I secure another around my body and step back into the bedroom. That's when I notice it – the uniform hanging on an ornate wardrobe that I could have sworn wasn't there before.
"Were you hiding this earlier?" I ask the shadows that seem to perpetually drift around the room. They offer no response, but I swear they ripple with something like amusement.
The uniform is exquisite.
At first glance, it appears to be the standard male attire of Wicked Academy, but upon closer inspection, the modifications become apparent. The black fabric is impossibly fine, with subtle patterns woven into it that seem to shift in the light. The pants have been clearly tailored, the cut and fabric adjusted to accommodate feminine curves while maintaining the masculine appearance.
But it's the emblem that truly catches my eye.
Gold thread catches the light, drawing attention to the prestigious logo of Wicked Academy. A crown hovers above what appears to be a winged figure – though whether it's meant to be a celestial being or some other creature, I can't quite tell. The craftsmanship is impeccable, each stitch placed with precise intention.
A note on the nearby table catches my attention, the paper thick and expensive-looking. I pick it up, admiring the elegant script that flows across the page:
Gwenivere,
While the matter of your uninvited arrival must be addressed, your recovery takes priority. Rest. Heal. There are blood packs in the mini-fridge – I was unsure of your preference, so I procured a variety until we can properly register you with the blood bank.
-Cassius
"Blood bank?" I say aloud, my eyebrows rising. "But I thought..." I trail off, remembering the warnings about females being used as feeding vessels before sunrise.
The existence of a blood bank suggests a level of civilization and organization that contradicts the brutal image painted by those warnings. Then again, nothing about this place has aligned with the stories I'd heard.
I move to the mini-fridge tucked discreetly in the corner, opening it to find neat rows of blood packs arranged by type. A+, B-, O+, even the rare AB- – all are present and perfectly preserved. The organization speaks of careful planning, of consideration, I hadn't expected from someone supposedly incapable of emotion.
"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" I murmur, thinking of the Duskwalker prince who seems to defy every preconception I'd had about his kind.
The fact that he'd thought to provide blood, to ensure I had options and wouldn't go hungry again...It speaks of a level of care that makes something warm flutter in my chest.
Don't read too much into it.
I have to warn myself or my silly heart will fall harder than a rock plunging off a cliff.
He's probably just being practical. Can't have a blood-starved hybrid running around the academy.
But as I select a pack of A+, my personal favorite, I can't help but wonder about all the other assumptions I might have gotten wrong about this place.
About him.