Chapter 18 Abomination #2
She nods, ancient features carrying consideration that suggests she's selecting her words carefully.
"I believe your vampire nature is what Damien's hellhound side is bonded to," she explains. "When he's in that form, he doesn't have the same vision as everyone else. He's not seeing people—he's sensing auras, reading magical signatures, tracking power rather than physical forms."
The explanation makes something click in my understanding.
"And right now..." Professor Eternalis continues, her attention shifting toward the battlefield where Damien continues his rampage.
She pauses.
The ground shakes.
Not the tremors that Damien's movements have been producing—this is something different. Something deeper. Something that makes even Professor Eternalis frown with concern that doesn't quite qualify as alarm but definitely registers as serious attention.
"We should get off the ground," she suggests, her voice carrying urgency that contradicts her usually calm demeanor.
I can't even ask what before the Academy's surface answers the question for me.
Fissures crack and spread through the stone like wildfire consuming dry forest—dark lines racing outward from points I can't identify, the sound of breaking earth filling the air with thunderous intensity.
The ground that felt solid beneath my feet moments ago suddenly feels like standing on ice that's choosing this particular moment to shatter.
Before I can react—before I can jump or run or do anything that might prevent what's about to happen—
Hands grab me.
Koishii.
His grip closes around my transformed body with strength that surprises me despite knowing he's been holding back since we met. But more surprising than his strength is what happens after he grabs me.
He curses—the sound carrying genuine alarm that contradicts his earlier amusement—and then his form transforms.
The shift happens before my eyes with the particular fluidity of magic that has been practiced until it requires no conscious thought.
His height lengthens, his body stretching toward proportions that exceed anything human or Fae or any other species I've encountered.
His features sharpen into something that carries devastation beyond mere beauty, perfection that seems designed specifically to overwhelm rational thought.
And from his back—
Wings.
Dark purple appendages unfurl with the sound of fabric caught in wind, membrane spreading between bone structures that didn't exist moments ago.
The wingspan is massive—easily twenty feet when fully extended—and the color carries depth that shifts between purple and black depending on how light touches the surface.
He picks me up.
Princess-style, my transformed body cradled against a chest that has become significantly more muscular than the lean elegance he previously displayed.
His arms support my weight without apparent effort, and then we're rising—shooting upward with speed that steals my breath, the ground falling away beneath us with velocity that makes my stomach flip.
Professor Eternalis uses magic of her own—ancient power that propels her through the air in a different direction, her trajectory carrying her clear of whatever disaster the ground is about to produce.
I look for the others.
My eyes scan frantically across the chaos below, searching for bond mates who were standing on ground that is currently tearing itself apart. My heart pounds against my ribs with desperate rhythm, fear spiking with each second I can't locate them.
There.
Mortimer's transformation has fully triggered—his human form abandoned entirely in favor of the massive dragon that his heritage provides. Scales glitter in whatever light filters through the smoke and destruction, wings spreading with impressive span that lifts his bulk with powerful beats.
Cassius, Nikolai, Zeke, and Atticus scramble onto his back—climbing scales that provide handholds, finding positions among the ridges of his spine, securing themselves against a body that's already gaining altitude.
They're airborne.
Thank gods.
Just seconds before the pillars of lava erupt.
The molten rock shoots upward with force that defies any natural volcanic activity—columns of liquid fire rising ten feet, twenty feet, higher still.
The heat reaches us even at our current altitude, waves of warmth that make sweat break out across my transformed skin.
The light from the eruptions turns everything orange and red and gold, hellish illumination that seems appropriate for the circumstances.
The ground that we were all standing on moments ago has become an inferno—lava pooling and spreading, stone melting, any remaining evidence of the Academy architecture dissolving into the geological violence that has been unleashed.
Damien did this.
His hellhound form triggered volcanic activity.
What the fuck kind of creature is he?
Koishii huffs from above me, the sound carrying frustration rather than his earlier amusement.
"Hellhounds truly are an abomination," he observes, his voice carrying depth that it didn't possess before his transformation. "No wonder they chain them to behave."
His voice.
The change makes my whole body react—shivers cascading through my nervous system in response to frequencies that seem designed specifically to bypass rational thought and speak directly to something more primal.
Heat blooms in places that have no business responding to vocal characteristics, my transformed skin flushing with warmth that has nothing to do with the lava below.
What...
I finally process what I'm seeing.
What he's become.
What his other half is.
"Incubus."
The word escapes as whisper, realization crystallizing with implications that make my pulse race for entirely different reasons than the apocalyptic landscape beneath us.
He blinks slowly.
The motion is deliberate—lazy, almost, carrying the particular confidence of someone who knows exactly what effect they're having and enjoys it thoroughly. His gaze lowers to meet mine, and fuck—
The eyes that find mine are impossibly beautiful in ways that transcend simple aesthetic appreciation.
Deep purple that carries swirling darkness, colors shifting with hypnotic patterns that make focusing on anything else feel impossible.
His features have sharpened into something that belongs in fantasies rather than reality, every angle and curve crafted for maximum devastating impact.
He's the true definition of perfection.
The word made flesh.
Everything every dictionary in existence has tried and failed to capture.
I feel my very body respond—heat pooling low, muscles clenching with need I didn't consciously summon, my transformed form apparently deciding that danger and desire make excellent companions.
He smirks.
The expression transforms his perfect features into something that carries knowing that makes my cheeks burn hotter.
"My Queen getting sexually appeased above a pit of doom is rather attractive, I must say."
The observation lands with accuracy that only increases my embarrassment.
He can tell.
He can feel my reaction.
Because that's what incubi DO—they sense desire, feed on it, probably can read exactly how thoroughly his transformation has affected me.
"Stop talking!" I demand, the words emerging with desperation I can't quite hide. "Don't even exist right now. I can't think straight."
The admission probably shouldn't escape my lips, but my brain has apparently abandoned any attempt at filtering words through dignified consideration before speaking them.
His laugh is rich and low and does absolutely nothing to help with my concentration problems.
A roar cuts through whatever response he might have been formulating.
Mortimer.
The dragon's massive form approaches our position, wings beating with powerful rhythm that creates wind currents I can feel even from this distance. His scales catch the hellish light from below, glittering with beauty that speaks to his heritage even in the midst of chaos that is happening below.
The others are visible on his back—four figures holding positions among the ridges of his spine, each one carrying evidence of the ordeal they've just survived.
Mortimer draws close enough for landing.
Koi lowers me with care that his earlier teasing didn't suggest he was capable of—my feet finding purchase on scaled surface that carries the particular heat of dragon flesh.
The texture is strange beneath my bare soles, somewhere between leather and stone, warmth radiating from beneath in patterns that speak to the fire that lives in Mortimer's blood.
I step out of his arms the moment I'm stable.
"Change back!" I huff, the demand emerging with force that I hope communicates how seriously I need him to stop looking like that.
His smirk only widens at my obvious discomfort.
But his body responds to my command—or chooses to respond, which might be the more accurate phrasing. Dark magic swirls around his form with patterns that carry shadows and starlight intertwined, power wrapping him in a cocoon of transformation that reverses what he became.
When the magic fades, the cynical prince has returned.
Shifted features that never quite settle. Height that's impressive but not impossible. Wings vanished entirely, incubus nature retreating behind Fae presentation that's apparently his default state.
"Aww," he pouts, tone carrying theatrical disappointment. "We could have had some fun first."
Before I can respond with the verbal violence his comment deserves, Nikolai's voice cuts through.
"You're an incubus dark Fae hybrid."
The statement carries shock and accusation and the particular horror of someone who has just assembled puzzle pieces into a picture they didn't want to see.
"Fucking hell," Nikolai continues, silver-blonde hair whipping in the wind created by Mortimer's continued flight. "How did that fucking happen?"