25. Burn It All Away
25
BURN IT ALL AWAY
~GWENIVERE~
" S tupid," I mutter under my breath, remembering how Darius would repeat those words over and over again.
The man I thought would be my forever, who started as every girl's romantic dream before revealing the monster beneath.
The noise of the cafeteria fades as I walk down the hall, but the stench of piss lingers, taunting me with memories I've tried so hard to bury. The scent triggers something primal and terrifying – that instinctive fear of being trapped, being helpless.
Suddenly I'm there again – the brittle submissive Gwenivere on her knees, tears streaming down my face as the same putrid smell clings to my trembling frame.
Darius's voice rings in my ears, his mockery cutting deeper than any blade ever could.
"Look at the little witch, thinking she deserves love."
"Stupid bitch can't even defend herself properly."
"What's wrong, princess? I thought you liked getting wet."
Their laughter echoes through my mind, a chorus of cruelty that had lasted hours. The memory of rough hands forcing my head under water, holding me there until my lungs burned, only to pull me up just long enough to hear their taunts before shoving me back under.
The way Darius had watched, smoking his cigarette with casual indifference as his friends "taught me my place." How he'd smiled when I'd begged him to make it stop, telling me this was for my own good – that I needed to learn what happened to defiant hybrids who didn't know their place.
Who dared to think they were worthy of a vampire's love.
Something grabs me, yanking me from those spiraling dark thoughts. It takes everything I have not to flinch, every muscle in my body tensing with remembered trauma.
I force myself to remain still until I hear a quiet noise.
"Gree?"
Slowly, I look over my shoulder, my dull eyes finding Nikolai's breathless figure with Mini Grim perched on his shoulder.
But what draws my attention is what's happening to our tiny companion.
He's fading.
Little pieces of him dissolve into nothingness, like ash carried away on a breeze. His energy seems to have suddenly run dry as if he can no longer maintain this form in our realm.
Despite his hollow eyes, I can see the sadness in his demeanor as half his body has already disappeared into the ether.
Yet he pushes off Nikolai's shoulder, using his last bits of strength to float to my face. He presses himself against my cheek, catching the single tear threatening to escape my widened eyes.
The gesture reminds me of the man I thought would be my forever – how he’d wipe away my tears after Darius, promising me that someday things would be different.
To think I was so naive to see the good right before me. Despite the nerdy appearance with those big glasses or his chubby cheeks that I always called cute for pinching.
I was such a judgemental bitch that I couldn’t be with the man that would have surely given me the world, even with our paranormal differences and similarities.
He vowed that no one like Darius would hurt me again…
And he meant it…which sent him to elite jail for psychotic paranormals.
"Gree."
The sound carries meaning I can somehow understand, the words translating in my mind and leaving me speechless.
I'm sorry.
Then he's gone, nothing but essence twinkling into nothingness, leaving just the two of us standing there while others watch in disgust that Nikolai would even be present.
The loss of Mini Grim feels like losing my last connection to innocence – to the part of me that could still believe in fairytales and happy endings.
My gaze lowers slowly as I become aware of how sluggish I feel. How I must look – a disgusting wretch in this male disguise, reeking of other people's waste just like that night with Darius.
The same helplessness threatens to overwhelm me, that feeling of being trapped in a nightmare I can't wake from.
"Gabriel," Nikolai whispers, still fighting to catch his breath, but when I meet his wide eyes, I feel nothing. The numbness that follows trauma has settled in, leaving me hollow and cold.
I don't want to be merciful.
To be forgiving.
I don't want to forgive him.
Don't want to forgive anyone right now...
The memories keep coming, wave after wave of past humiliations. Darius and his friends weren't content with just the water torture. They'd marked me – dozens of small cuts that spelled out "hybrid" across my ribs, ensuring I'd never forget what I was.
What I'd always be to them.
"Outside those doors, we're not together, right?" I ask, aware that people are likely listening, but I no longer care.
They're all just pieces on this new chessboard – pawns I'll sacrifice in a heartbeat, just as they would do to me if it meant their survival.
Just as Darius sacrificed me, using my pain to cement his place in vampire society. Every scream, every plea for mercy had just been entertainment for them – proof that they were superior, that they had the power to break someone completely.
"What?" Nikolai asks, as if trying to comprehend my meaning.
"Only within those doors am I connected to this," I declare, looking down at the blood covenant mark. My attention makes it emit an odd glow, tainted and dark as if responding to my declaration. "Outside, in these halls, we're nothing. Not friends or lovers. Just strangers, right?"
He starts to answer but holds his tongue, clearly weighing his words carefully. We're not in our cozy room of paradise where we can fuck and laugh and learn without judgment. Where I can pretend I'm not broken, that the scars don't still ache when it rains.
Out here, we're exactly what I'm suggesting.
Strangers.
The mark pulses faintly as if protesting this declaration, but I ignore it.
The bond might be eternal, might be fate's grand design, but right now it feels like another chain – another way for the universe to watch me suffer. Another promise that will end in betrayal, just like every other time I've dared to trust.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzz incessantly, casting harsh shadows across Nikolai's perfect features.
He looks torn between his princely duty to maintain appearances and something deeper, something that makes the golden threads of our bond pull tight enough to ache.
But I won't make this easy for him.
Won't let him have both; his precious points and my forgiveness. Because I've learned the hard way that love – or whatever this is – isn't enough to save you when the darkness comes.
When the monsters wearing beautiful faces decide it's time to remind you of your place in their sinful world.
The urine soaking my clothes might be different from the water Darius used to torture me, but the message is the same:
You don't belong here.
You never will.
"That's all I need to know," I say when he doesn't reply, forcing a smile that feels like broken glass. "Go back to playing your part with the grand puppeteer back there. I'm sure he'd want to see you running back to the lead ring leader of this wicked circus."
"Gabriel," he calls out, trying to stop me, but I pause, letting ice fill my voice.
"Vampires always hold grudges," I remind him quietly. "It's going to be interesting to see how you pay your dues."
I look back then, not bothering to hide the death glare burning in my eyes.
Let him see the betrayal coursing fresh through my veins.
Allow him to witness what lies beneath this mask of glamour and magic – the real me, the one he swore he'd protect and whisk away to his land of Fae despite whatever consequences awaited.
What a joke.
To believe this Fae prince would protect me.
That he'd bring me to his family and boldly declare his love was enough to let me rule by his side.
To be his Queen.
Now the Headmaster's words make perfect sense – that I would never be his Queen. How could I stand beside a man on a throne of perfection when his very world despises my tainted existence?
Comical.
With a glare cold enough to freeze hell itself, I turn away, knowing he won't dare follow.
Not here, not now, when his precious points hang in the balance.
But where am I going?
My body moves on autopilot until I find myself in the changeroom. Empty at this hour – a small mercy in a day devoid of them. The moment the door closes behind me, something inside snaps.
I tear at my clothes with desperate fury, clawing at the fabric like it's poisoning my skin.
The sound of expensive material ripping fills the air, providing a savage kind of satisfaction. My hands burn from the rough treatment, but I don't care – the physical pain is almost welcome, giving me something to focus on besides the hollowness in my chest.
Rage consumes me, flames erupting from my fingertips as growls and hisses escape my throat. The shredded uniform burns to ash, raining down around me like black snow, but it's not enough.
Nothing is enough.
The burning in my chest has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the way history keeps repeating itself. Different players, same game – trust offered and betrayed, love dangled like bait only to be yanked away when it matters most.
My reflection in the locker room mirror shows Gabriel's form wavering, the glamour struggling to hold as emotions surge beyond my control.
For a moment, I see myself – really see myself – and the sight nearly breaks me.
The same lost look I wore after Darius.
The same trembling hands that couldn't fight back when they held me under.
The same desperate need to believe that this time would be different, that these men would be different.
But they're not.
They're just better actors, playing their parts in this wicked game with more finesse than Darius ever managed. At least he was honest in his cruelty, never pretending to care before he broke me.
These princes though – they made me believe.
Made me think bonds meant something more than convenient chains to bind me. Made me hope that maybe…just by a miracle chance of good karma and hopefulness…I'd found somewhere I could belong.
The ash continues to fall, coating my skin like war paint. Each breath brings the lingering stench of urine, a reminder that some things never change. That no matter how strong I get, and how carefully I plan, there will always be someone waiting to put me in my place.
To remind me of what I am.
Hybrid. Witch. Woman.
Three strikes against me in a world that only tolerates perfection, men, and power.
The flames dance higher, feeding off my fury, my pain, my bone-deep exhaustion with always being the one who has to be strong.
Who has to endure constant ruin.
But what hurts the most is knowing I let myself fall for it again.
Let myself believe in princes and prophecies and the power of magical bonds. As if any of that could overcome centuries of prejudice and the precious point system that seems to matter more than basic decency.
More than me.
The mirror shows tears now, cutting tracks through the ash on my cheeks. I hate them – hate this weakness, this proof that somewhere deep inside, that stupid, hopeful girl still exists.
The one who wants to believe in love, loyalty, and happy endings.
The one who never learns.
“I should burn her away,” I whisper to my reflection, watching the way my left eye struggles with an odd twitch, while my pupils grow wide and odd.
I can see the tint of red begin to manifest in their depths, the odd emotionless reflection of that eye compared to the right that projects the depths of heartache that quake with agony.
My hand rises, igniting the flames that begin to shift until there’s a unique split in the middle of the burning entity. One half of normalcy, the shade of flames dancing with its orange and gold shades, but the other half being the perfect shade of tainted darkness — a balanced mix of purple and black, the blend mesmerizing to acknowledge.
“Burn away,” I whisper again, feeling the tightness in my chest that signifies how close I am to losing control thanks to the pang of hunger and thirst. If I could just get some blood, the hunger wouldn’t be prominent, but how ironic this lesson is turning out to be.
How I set myself up for my own demise.
I can’t drink anyone else’s blood.
I can’t enjoy the taste of normal blood packs.
I’m trapped to never really enjoy the side of myself that I neglect so fucking much because being a witch meant I was close to being a human.
Closer to being human.
And for what?
They don’t want me. Don’t need me.
Neither do the paranormals. None of these elites need my existence, and the reality is, that I’m realizing I may not need to exist at all.
If I can’t be good…and the only choice is to be evil, then maybe I can just end it all now and be reborn as a villain.
The idea is far too tempting, and how the flames almost feel inviting.
They say burning to death is some of the harshest deaths, but then again, it could be worth the punishment. To cleanse away the stench that plagues me.
That haunts me.
It’s too tempting to deny now, and I move the flame closer to my face, thinking melting it away would make me look like the perfect monster I’m going to become.
Arms suddenly wrap around me from behind, halting my descent into madness.
A hiss escapes as my body goes rigid at the unexpected touch, instincts screaming danger even as the embrace tightens. My hands are forced upward, the flames extinguishing as my concentration breaks.
Through the lingering stench of urine and decay, a new scent hits my nostrils – something soft and sweet that feels impossible in this moment of despair.
I think I must be hallucinating it, this smell of red spider lilies. The symbolism of those flowers haunts me – death, reincarnation, and lost memories finding their way home.
Their meaning feels darkly appropriate as I stand here, moments away from letting the flames consume everything I am.
I have no choice but to look in the mirror, and what I see – or rather, don't see – makes my blood run cold.
There's no reflection of whoever holds me, just empty space where a person should be.
The sight terrifies me because even summoned ghosts should cast reflections. The dead may be invisible to mortal eyes, but mirrors always show their true nature.
Only one type of paranormal being shouldn't have a reflection, and the only reason it doesn't affect me is because I've buried that part of myself so deeply that even the supernatural rules have lost their hold.
My vampire nature is locked away so completely that mirrors still capture my form, even when they should show nothing but void.
As everything begins to click into place, that sweet aroma overwhelming my senses, my eyes widen with dawning recognition. Doubt and realization wage war in my mind as I process what this means – who this must be.
This has to be a joke, some cruel trick of fate.
Maybe the flames already took me…
That this is just another form of torture in whatever afterlife I've earned.
Despite my fear of more disappointment, of having hope crushed one final time, I force myself to look behind me.
To face the truth I never thought would be possible.
And there he stands – the last person I ever expected to see again.
Tears flood my eyes instantly, spilling over before I can stop them. My lips tremble as they part to whisper a name I never thought I'd speak again:
"Atticus?"
He stares at me, not ashamed of the tears forming in his eyes despite how different he looks from the boy I remember.
Gone is "Chubby Atti" with his nerdy glasses who waddled around the village while others whispered how hopeless he was.
The transformation is striking – this isn't the same person who found me that day, discarded like garbage in that warehouse.
But his essence, his soul, remains unchanged from the boy who lifted me from my puddle of shame and wrapped me in the biggest towels he could find.
The one who promised vengeance with such conviction, even though no one would have believed him capable of it. We'd all underestimated him then – this supposedly harmless, overweight boy making grand declarations of revenge.
But his words hadn't been empty.
They'd been filled with a resolve that still sends shivers down my spine when I remember what followed.
Which means he should still be in prison.
The realization hits me hard.
His presence here is impossible – he should be locked away for what he did to Darius and his coven. The brutality of his revenge had shocked even the most hardened vampires, leading to a sentence that should have kept him contained for centuries.
So why is he here?
Why now, when I'm about to end it all?
He stands before me like some dark guardian angel, ready to catch me as I crumble. The timing feels too perfect, too orchestrated to be coincidence.
He bites his lip, meeting my gaze, but there's no pity in his eyes. No sympathy clouds those crimson depths that twinkle with the same intensity I remember from our last encounter.
That night remains seared in my memory – Atticus covered in the blood of my enemies, battered and bruised from fighting an entire coven single-handedly. He'd taken them all down, every last one who'd participated in my torture, and he'd done it for me.
The conviction that had burned in his eyes that night, the way he'd memorized my broken expression to fuel his rampage – it's all there again. That same deadly promise, that same capacity for beautiful violence.
Only now his gaze carries new targets.
I remember how the newspapers had covered the massacre. How they'd called it one of the most vicious attacks in vampire history. No one could believe sweet, harmless Atticus had been capable of such carnage.
But I'd known.
I'd seen the change in him that night he found me – how something in him had snapped, transforming him from the boy everyone mocked into someone even the elders feared.
The tears in his eyes now don't match the predatory stillness of his body, the lethal grace he'd gained somewhere between being that chubby boy and becoming this avenging angel.
His entire being radiates carefully contained power, like a blade waiting to be unsheathed.
Those eyes bore into mine, carrying the weight of years and memories and blood spilled in my name. They promise the same dedication, the same ruthless protection that had once painted the streets red with those who'd hurt me.
And now he's found new prey.
I can see it in the set of his jaw, the slight curl of his fingers – he's already planning. Already calculating the best way to make them suffer for today's humiliation.
For every slight and cruelty, they've shown since I entered this academy.
The realization should probably frighten me. Should make me want to stop him, to prevent more bloodshed in my name.
But standing here, reeking of other people's waste, my skin still burning from phantom flames, I can't find it in me to care about mercy.
Can't summon the strength to be the better person, to turn the other cheek one more time.
Maybe that's why he's here.
Because he knows me better than anyone – knows exactly when I'll reach my breaking point. When the good girl facade cracks and the darkness underneath will demand satisfaction.
The bond marks pulse faintly as if sensing my thoughts turning toward violence. Reminding me of promises made and broken, of princes who watch my humiliation from afar.
But Atticus's presence drowns out their call.
His arms around me feel more real, more honest than any magical bond. He's proven his loyalty with blood and bone, with years served in darkness for the sake of my justice.
The scent of spider lilies grows stronger, wrapping around us like a shroud. Death and rebirth, endings and beginnings – all carried in that sweet, deadly perfume.
What new endings will he bring this time?
What blood will paint these halls in my name?
The questions hover between us, unspoken but heavy with promise. His tears finally spill over, but his expression remains unchanged – that perfect balance of tender concern and lethal intent that only Atticus has ever mastered.
We stand frozen in this moment, surrounded by the ashes of my uniform and the lingering stench of humiliation, while something dark and hungry unfurls in my chest.
Something that remembers the taste of revenge.