All Chapters of Ashwyck Academy for the Damned: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Isadora:The masquerade should have been beautiful. Crimson silk, chandeliers dripping in crystal, an orchestra weaving music like a spell. For a fleeting moment, I had even forgotten the weight that stalked me—the shadows, the whispers, the endless warnings.But then Lucian snapped.The crowd split apart like frightened birds, their jeweled masks twisting in shock. He moved with a predator’s precision, fury crackling in the air like a storm. His hand wrapped around Maldric’s throat, and for one dizzying second, I couldn’t breathe either.I should have looked away. Should have stayed where I was, hidden behind the safety of masks and murmurs. But my body moved before my mind could stop it. My feet carried me toward him. Toward the violence. Toward him.Lucian’s rage burned so hot it froze the world around him. The crash of glass. The sickening sound of flesh against stone. Maldric’s laughter, broken and vile.And through it all—Lucian’s eyes, fever-bright and unyielding, never strayin

Isadora:The nightmare spits me awake.I jolt upright in bed, heart thundering, lungs choking on phantom smoke. For a moment I can still see it—the ruins, the crimson sky splitting apart, fire chasing me through endless halls. My skin burns like it remembers every lick of flame, every scream echoing down the walls.But the room is still. Quiet. Only the faint flicker of starlight spilling through the tall windows tells me I’m awake.I’m not alone.Kai is slumped in a chair in the alcove, an open book resting against his chest, his head tilted just enough that one golden curl shadows his cheek. His breathing is soft, steady. He must have fallen asleep while reading, keeping watch the way he always does.But the others—I twist, scanning the corners, the shadows, searching for Silas’s quiet silhouette, for Rhett’s heavy presence near the bed, for Lucian’s sharp, prowling stillness. Nothing. The air feels thinner without them. Exposed.A tremor crawls up my arms. I press a hand to my che

Isadora:The blood tastes like fire.It shouldn’t. I’ve bitten my own lip enough times to know blood is salt and copper, nothing more. But Rhett’s—Rhett’s burns. It sears down my throat, heat wrapping around my ribs until I feel hollowed out, branded from the inside.And then I feel him.Not Rhett the man, not Rhett the wolf—both. His beast slams into me, furious and alive, and for a moment I swear I hear its snarl behind my teeth.My hands shake. I clutch the window ledge because the room tilts sideways, the floor trembling like it too feels his hunger. My breath rips out ragged, and my pulse—gods, my pulse isn’t mine anymore. It beats in time with his.“Easy,” Rhett murmurs, voice raw. His palm is still against mine, blood sticky between us, sealing the vow. His eyes glow faintly, amber fire shot through with hunger. “Breathe, Isadora. Let it in.”I do. I can’t not.The beast presses against my skin like a storm, pacing the cage of my skull. It snarls at my hesitation, claws at the

Silas:The world is too bright today.Ashwyck’s stones seem less haunted under the noon sun, but that doesn’t soothe me. If anything, it unsettles. The light feels borrowed, temporary, as though the shadows are holding their breath, waiting for nightfall to reclaim what belongs to them.I am one of those shadows.Her voice finds me before I mean to let it. Light laughter, hesitant, uncertain, like bells carried on the wind. I had slipped into the walls to watch, restless, drawn without thought. That’s when I hear it—her professor calling off the second class of the day. Obligations postponed, the perfect chance for me to do what I’ve been thinking of since the moment I first touched her hand.Teach her.Or perhaps damn her.I step from the stone, bleeding out of the wall like mist. She stands outside the greenhouse, sunlight striking her hair into blue flamed fire. She doesn’t see me at first. She’s too busy twirling a petal between her fingers, eyes distant, lips parted as though she

Isadora:The hunger comes first.It gnaws low in my stomach, a hollow ache that sharpens with every step I take across the creaking floorboards of my room. I press my hand to my middle, but the sound—an audible growl—betrays me.The knock is soft but certain. I know before I open the door who it is.Rhett stands there, dark and solid, filling the frame like he was carved to block out the world. His eyes flash gold when they find me, and his nostrils flare—wolf instincts catching on my weakness. He doesn’t speak, not at first, just searches my face with that steady intensity of his, until finally his lips curl.“Your stomach’s louder than my boots, little doe.”Heat floods my cheeks. I scowl, but it’s weak. “You could have pretended not to hear.”“Not my style.” He leans one shoulder to the doorframe, smug, but his gaze never softens. “Come on. Lunch. You're starved.”I should resist. The thought of the dining hall, of all the eyes—whispers, stares, judgments—it makes my chest tighten.