Immortal Consequences (The Souls of Blackwood Academy, #1)

by I.V. Marie

The dead weren’t meant to dream. Though she supposed they weren’t dead—not really. They existed in the place between. The place parallel to life and death, the one right on the cusp of birth and the dawn of the afterlife.

Once all four trials were complete, the nominee would be awarded a choice: formally graduate as a student and become an official Ascended, or venture into the unknown and cross over to the Other Side, putting their soul to rest. Permanently.

“She’s actually pretty nice,” Wren countered. “You’ve heard of the word nice before, haven’t you?” “Don’t think so. Could you use it in a sentence?” “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Well. I’m sure I’m not the first girl to tell you this, but faster isn’t always better.”

“You could stab me,” August commented with an impartial shrug. “That always puts you in a better mood.” “Though tormenting you does bring me great joy, you don’t need to worry. I’m not risking my nomination just so I can snap your neck or push you off a building again.” Wren smirked and crossed her arms. “Publicly, at least. I might consider privately maiming you every once in a while. You know, just to keep our spirits up.”

“You’re a horrible influence.” Olivier smirked. “Thank you.”

“You will never be able to hurt me, because you could never say anything that’s worse than what I already think about myself.”

And then, despite the terror she was feeling, she did the one thing that seemed impossible to do. She kept moving.

You don’t just have something to lose—you have everything to lose. And that gives you an edge. Something far more valuable than the desire for greatness.”

August was, whether he was proud to admit it or not, constantly aware of her presence. It was agonizing. The desperation to be near her. The ache that begged for her attention. It didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, if Wren Loughty was nearby, he knew.

August allowed himself a moment to glance in her direction. She looked—well, she looked radiant. All perfect and pristine, practically glowing. It was infuriating. Her braid slithered over her shoulder, not a single strand out of place. Her cheeks were rosy, as though she’d been kissed by the sun.

“I didn’t disappear. You just weren’t looking.”

“It’s not nothing,” August hissed. “You’ve never been one to back away from a challenge. To run off when things don’t go your way. And what happened back there? You were barely resisting me! This isn’t like you.” “Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you think you do,” she countered. “Bullshit.” August scoffed, leaning in closer. “You are…you are agonizingly talented. It drives me mad.” He rubbed his face in exasperation, a low chuckle rattling in the back of his throat. “You drive me mad.”

“That’s how this works. I mean, we’ve literally taken turns trying to stab one another for fun.” “Exactly,” August whispered. “For fun. Come on. Don’t act like you don’t like it.” Wren scoffed. “I don’t—” “In fact, I think you love it.” August stepped toward her, closing the space between them, their faces mere inches apart. “Fighting with me. Our constant bickering. The desperate need we have to try to find a way to feel alive. Admit it.” “No,” Wren replied, voice wavering. “I—I hate you.” “Do you want to know what I think?” He leaned in even closer. Close enough that he could imagine the feeling of his lips grazing hers. His hands touching her. “I think you hate how much you don’t hate me. You hate how much you enjoy being around me. How much you want to be near me. You hate that this twisted thing between us feels…good.”

“Have a good night!” Wren called over her shoulder, twiddling her fingers in the air. “Without the pleasure of your company?” August called out behind her, biting the inside of his cheek. “Doubtful.”

But what on earth would he tell Olivier? That he spent every waking moment thinking about him? That ever since he’d entered Blackwood, there’d been this horrible gaping hole inside him, this unrelenting sadness, that only ever went away in Olivier’s presence? That looking at him hurt? That being around him physically pained him—quite literally snatching the breath from his lungs? That he completely, desperately, shockingly loved him?

“Your past doesn’t go away if you ignore it.” Masika knew she was pushing her luck, but she figured she’d never have another opportunity to talk about it. “The more you pretend it doesn’t exist, the more it consumes you.”

There was only one thing that mattered. She was the only thing that had ever mattered.

Wait for me, he begged silently,

one name branded into his heart. Seared into his soul. Wren. Wren. Wren.

“Just let me go,” Wren whispered. “Not a chance.”

Please. Don’t leave me.

“I’m going to give her a piece of my own soul.”

He needed to know who’d done this to her. He would rip them limb from limb. Make them beg for mercy. There would be no sweeter sound than hearing them howling in agony. No greater pleasure than watching them suffer.

“I suppose that means you’re stuck with me.” Olivier’s eyes slid over to him, the corners of his lips tugging into a smirk. “I suppose so.”

the only thing he could ever think of, the only thing he could ever dream of, was her. That from the moment she’d appeared before him, from the moment he had first laid eyes on her, he’d known, beyond doubt, that Wren Loughty would become the immovable force that would redirect the trajectory of his life forever.

“If there’s one thing I’ve mastered, it’s the art of being so ordinary that you’re invisible.”

“Some people are meant to be the center of attention…to be these amazing, brilliant forces of nature…and that’s simply not me.” Masika shook her head. “You are so painfully unaware of how amazing you are, aren’t you?” Emilio blinked, taken aback. He cleared his throat and quickly shifted the subject.

“Emilio…” Olivier whispered his name with a conspiratorial glint. “I’ve corrupted you.” “It’s for research.” “Care to elaborate?” Emilio chuckled. “How much time do you have?” “For you?” Olivier sighed. “An eternity.”

“You could never be a burden to me. You are—you are everything to me. Don’t you understand that?” Olivier felt his heart stutter—the most wonderful and glorious pain. You are everything to me. He wanted to tattoo the words onto his skin. Burn them into his mind. Hear them recited for the rest of eternity.

How had he never realized how simple it all was? It was just a single movement. A tiny, insignificant leap of faith. A second of bravery.

“You found me,”

“Of course.” She matched his smirk. “I always will.”

Grief isn’t the villain. It just wants to help you remember that despite losing someone, despite the sadness and heartache and pain…there was also once love.”

Masika’s relationship with anxiety was one of constant surveillance. Monitoring her body for the telltale signs. Observing every sensation sweeping through her limbs with dread. It had always felt like an inevitability. Something she couldn’t run from, despite how hard she might try.

“Corruption isn’t born,” Catherine began, her voice calm and steady. “It’s created.

“You showed up and I swore I could feel my heart beating again. Sometimes I think…I think I was never truly alive until I met you.” He pressed his forehead against Emilio’s. “That’s why I need you to stay. For me. Even if that makes me selfish. Even if you hate me for it. Because the truth is—I cannot bear the thought of eternity without you.”

Is there something else you need? He looked up in surprise. There was a moment of hesitation before she felt his thoughts slither into her mind. No…not need. Wren closed the distance between them, her steps slow and steady, until she was standing right in front of him, placing herself back between his knees. But you want something.

“What I want has never mattered,” he whispered out loud. “It should matter.” “Life isn’t that simple.” A muscle in his neck leapt. “And death even less, I’m afraid.”

“It’s all coming undone,” he whispered. “What is?” His grip on her tightened. My restraint.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, August. You don’t have to keep it bottled up.” Her fingers traveled up toward the small scar etched into his cheekbone. “You’re not alone.” His breath caught in his throat. “I am alone, Loughty.” “Then what about me?” “You,” August groaned out, neck tensing, “are my lifelong affliction.”

“You are my affliction because it takes everything in me not to rip apart my principles and act upon my longing. I have an impulse to be with you all the time. To be physically near you.”

“It’s exasperating.” “What is?” “How often I think about you.”

Then why don’t you do something about it? It was a challenge. A plea.

“You think I haven’t been tempted to?” His head tilted back against her touch, compliant. “That I haven’t dreamt about it? That I haven’t driven myself fucking mad with the torment of my own thoughts?”

“What’s stopping you now?”

“My conscience,” he whispered, a sardonic lilt to his voice.

“I wasn’t aware you ...

“Oh, I have one.” Spots of color spread over his cheeks. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her cheek. The softest touch. Agonizingly brief. And then he pulled back and whispered, “But if I’m being completely honest with you…it’s hanging on by a thread.”

“Good.”