Blood notes

Isadora:

The bell still echoed faintly in my ears as I walked away from Accult History, my legs unsteady under the press of Rhett Wolfe’s presence. My skin still burned from where he’d touched me—possessively, like I belonged to him.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

But the part of me that trembled under his thumb didn’t feel entirely like mine anymore.

I tried to shake the thought loose as I wound through the narrowing halls of the east wing. My final class of the day—Demonology—was in the sub-basement, buried beneath layers of stone and ancient wards. The stairwell that led to it always seemed colder, like it sank below the natural laws of warmth and light.

The torches mounted on the wall didn’t flicker. They pulsed, like veins. Or breathing things.

I rubbed my arms, shivering from the abnormal chill clinging in the air, and descended, the soles of my boots thudding a little too loud in the tomb-silent space. No laughter echoed here. No magic glittered idly in the air. Here, even silence had claws.

Room 9A.

I paused outside the threshold. The door was already ajar.

A sting of ice slid down my spine like the tip of a blade.

He was waiting.

Professor Malric.

He stood at the front of the room alone, backlit by the eerie green flame hovering in the chandelier overhead. He wasn’t like the other professors, with their tweed coats and spectacles and tenure. He was young—young enough to raise eyebrows. And yet there was nothing inexperienced about the way he carried himself.

His long black coat hung from his shoulders like it belonged to someone else. His hands were bare today—no gloves. Pale, long fingers that curled idly around the edge of his desk, as if considering whether to grip or strike.

His eyes, when they met mine, gleamed like freshly bled hematite.

“Miss Gravelle,” he greeted, lips curving into a knowing smile. “Punctuality suits you.”

There was no mistaking it. He’d been waiting just for me.

I lingered in the doorway, throat tight. “Professor.”

His smile widened, predatory and too amused. “Come in. No need to hover in the threshold like a ghost.”

The room was silent. Empty. Not even the rustle of a turning page. None of the others had arrived yet.

He wanted me alone.

“I hear things, you know,” Malric continued, walking slowly across the room like a man in no rush—like a predator stretching. “I collect rumors the way some collect spells. And yours are the most interesting I’ve heard in years.”

I moved to a seat halfway up the amphitheater rows, choosing one that kept the desk between us. I sat, slowly, spine straight. “Most rumors aren’t true.”

He tilted his head. “True. But they’re always telling.”

I didn’t respond. My fingers curled around my notebook, even though I wasn’t planning to write.

Malric paced toward the lectern but didn’t stop there. Instead, he prowled the steps leading up toward me, until he stood on the same level, only a couple feet away—far too close.

“I imagine it’s difficult,” he said, voice quiet now, intimate, “trying to stay... normal. Hiding behind the shadows of your name. Pretending to be something lesser than what you are.”

My pulse leapt.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

He laughed softly, without warmth. “Of course not. Because no one’s told you, have they?” He studied me for a long beat, then murmured, “Your lineage is sealed. Locked away. But I can smell it.”

His voice dropped low—silk over steel. “The old ones knew. The demons that bent knee to royal blood—they knew. And I… I remember the taste of that kind of power.”

I stared at him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he whispered, coming a single step closer, “that I’ve waited a long, long time for you, Miss Gravelle.”

The silence around us stretched—warped.

The shadows in the corners of the room shifted, moved. Watching.

“I can help you,” he said. “Control what’s coming. Claim what’s yours before someone else does.”

My voice was hoarse. “And what do you get?”

He smiled with all his teeth. “Salvation.”

The door swung open behind us with a crash, and a group of students spilled in—loud, laughing, unaware. The spell broke like a snapped thread, and I turned away too fast, flipping open my notebook like I hadn’t been frozen in something darker than fear.

Malric’s gaze lingered a second longer before he turned, descending to the front of the room again like nothing had happened.

But it had.

The entire lecture blurred into a haze of demonic theory and sigil drawing. I couldn’t focus. Not with the words he’d whispered still crawling through my head like snakes in silk.

Old. Royal. Yours.

No one had ever looked at me like that before.

Not like Rhett did—with heat. Not like Kai—with curiosity.

His attention wasn’t flirtation. It was possession waiting to happen. A game, and I was the rarest piece on the board.

By the time class ended, I was halfway to the door before anyone else had even moved.

“Miss Gravelle.”

His voice stopped me cold.

I turned.

Professor Malric stood with one hand on his desk, the other in his pocket, watching me like a riddle he already knew the answer to.

“You’ll come to office hours soon,” he said, not a question. “Won’t you?”

I swallowed. “Why?”

“So I can help you.” A slow smile. “Before they get to you.”

My blood chilled.

He didn’t say their names.

He didn’t have to.

I left without answering.

The stone halls seemed darker on the way up, the glyphs pulsing faster now—like a warning. Or maybe a heartbeat.

My heartbeat.

Thundering with a question I didn’t want to ask:

What am I?

And why did these monsters want me before I even knew the answer?