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 bodyreact—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, andfuck?—
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.
