My Classmate Is A Monster

Chapter 2: Cursed Sympathy

The silence of the library was shattered by the rhythmic, agonizing thrumming against Devan’s ribs. It wasn't just heat anymore; it was a rhythmic searing, like a heartbeat that wasn't his own, accelerating with every frantic breath he took. He pressed a hand to his chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of his coat.

"Damn it," he hissed, his teeth gritted. "What did you do to me?"

He didn't have time to process the wreckage or the judgmental stares of the hovering floating lights. He had to find her. The mark if that’s what it was felt like a tether pulling him toward the north side of the campus, a homing beacon of pure, concentrated pain.

He navigated the corridors with a blind, desperate focus, his boots sliding against the polished marble. He burst into the private practice rooms a wing of the academy reserved for those with the prestige to command silence and space. There, behind a heavy oak door, he found her.

Shaila stood in the center of a barren, circular room, her white hair catching the ambient moonlight streaming through the high, vaulted windows. She was practicing a flick of her wrist sent a shard of frost dancing through the air, shattering into fine powder before it hit the ground.

She didn't turn around. "You're bleeding, Fairfield. Not on the floor, but your aura is leaking all over my sanctuary."

Devan staggered, his knees nearly buckling as a fresh wave of agony hit him. "Make it stop. Whatever this is, just get it off me."

Shaila finally turned, her icy gaze sweeping over him. "I can't just take it off. It’s not a sticker, and you aren't a child with a scrape."

"It hurts," Devan gasped, collapsing onto the cold stone. "Every beat... it feels like my heart is being crushed."

"That’s because it’s a parasitic bind," she said, her voice chillingly calm. She stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor. "You were leaking raw energy when you shattered that display. If I hadn't clamped it down, your own instability would have liquified your internal organs by sunrise. I saved your life. Stop whining."

Devan looked up at her, sweat beading on his forehead. "You saved me? By branding me like livestock?"

"I anchored you," she corrected, kneeling beside him. "The problem is, your magic is so chaotic that it’s trying to consume the very sigil holding it in place. It’s starving."

"Starving?" Devan choked out, his vision blurring. "Then feed it. Feed it anything."

"I don't have enough surplus to sustain two sources," she muttered, reaching out. She hesitated for a split second before pressing her palm against his chest again. "Hold still. You need to provide the output, but you’re too undisciplined to channel it correctly. I have to regulate your flow."

"How?"

"By taking control of your core," she said. "Close your eyes. Don't fight me. If you fight me, you'll snap."

"How can I trust you?" Devan whispered.

"You don't have to," she countered. "You just have to survive. Now, breathe with me. In for four, out for four. Match my pace."

Devan nodded, his breath coming in ragged hitches. He closed his eyes, focusing entirely on the sensation of her hand cool, steady, and terrifyingly powerful pressed against his skin.

"Breathe, Devan," she commanded, her voice dropping into a rhythmic, hypnotic cadence. "In. Out. Now, push the energy toward your chest. Not out of your body, just toward the center."

He tried to follow her instructions, but the sheer effort sent a jolt of static electricity surging through his veins. He groaned, his back arching.

"Too much," she hissed. "You’re overcompensating. Ease off."

"I’m trying!" he retorted, his voice strained. "It’s like trying to hold back a flood with a piece of paper."

"Then don't hold it back," she said, leaning closer, her breath warm against his ear. "Let me channel it for you. We need to sync. If we don't sync, this mark will eat you from the inside out."

"How do we sync?"

"Close the gap," she said, her tone suddenly clinical again. "Lean into me. I need more than just your skin. I need your pulse to match mine."

Devan shifted, moving closer until his shoulder brushed against her shoulder. The contact was jarring. It wasn't just physical; it was as if he could feel her internal anatomy the cold, efficient way her magic flowed, compared to the violent, boiling mess that was his own.

"Are you ready?" she asked, her eyes searching his.

"Just do it," he muttered.

Shaila pressed both hands firmly against him now, effectively pinning him against the wall behind him. The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening with the pressure of two conflicting magical forces trying to find a rhythm.

"Focus," she whispered. "Right here."

She pushed, and for a moment, Devan felt like he was drowning in ice. Then, he pushed back, his own raw, purple-hued energy surging up to meet her. They collided in a flurry of sparks that danced around them like fireflies. The pain in his chest flared, a searing white-hot agony that made him gasp out loud, but it didn't feel like a breaking point anymore. It felt like a bridge.

"Yes," she murmured, her voice laced with a strange, dark excitement. "Give me more. Don't fight the pull. Give me the chaos."

Devan leaned into her, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, not to push her away, but to steady himself against the tidal wave of sensation. "I’ve got you," he breathed, the words tumbling out before he could think.

"Don't lose the rhythm," she warned, though her grip on him tightened.

They were locked together, a fragile, volatile circuit. Every time he pushed, she absorbed it, filtered it, and poured it back into him, refined and cold. It was an intimate, intrusive dance. He felt the secrets of her training, the cold discipline of the Merrick line, and she, in turn, was overwhelmed by the raw, untamed reservoir of power he hadn't even realized he possessed.

"You're an absolute mess," she whispered, her forehead resting against his. "How is it possible to have this much raw potential and no control?"

"I never had anyone to teach me," Devan rasped, his heart hammering against her palms. "I’m just... I’m just trying to stay alive."

"You’re doing more than that," she said, her eyes glowing with that dangerous, icy light. "You’re changing the landscape of my own core. This is... fascinating."

The intensity shifted. It wasn't just about stabilization anymore; it was a struggle for space. He pushed, she pushed back, and for a long, breathless minute, they fought a silent war of wills. He was the fire, she was the frost, and between them, the space crackled with the sound of snapping air.

"Enough," she breathed, her voice trembling slightly.

She withdrew her hands abruptly. Devan slumped forward, gasping for air, the mark on his chest now a faint, glowing vein that pulsed in time with his own heartbeat. The agony was gone, replaced by a strange, hollow ache and an undeniable, electric hum that lingered under his skin.

He looked up at her, finding her just as breathless, her poise momentarily shattered. Her hair was disheveled, and there was a flush on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

"What... what just happened?" he asked, his voice raw.

Shaila stood up, straightening her uniform with shaky hands, her expression quickly hardening back into the mask of the aristocratic prodigy. She walked to the window, staring out at the spires of the academy.

"The exchange is complete," she said, her back to him. "We’ve effectively grafted our energies together to stabilize the mark. It’s not just a tattoo anymore, Fairfield."

Devan stood, testing his limbs, feeling the new, humming weight of the power inside him. "And what does that mean? Do I have to keep doing this every day?"

Shaila turned back to him, her eyes unreadable. She walked toward him, stopping close enough that he could feel the cold radiating from her skin. She reached out, tracing the glowing sigil on his chest with a single, sharp fingernail.

"It means you’re mine now," she whispered, her voice barely audible, vibrating with a promise of both danger and dependence. "We’re linked by blood and by binding. You can’t reach your full potential without me, and I suspect... I won't be able to stay away from your chaos for very long either."

Devan stared at her, the reality of the situation settling into his bones. He was at Aethelgard to find a future, but he had just signed a contract with the last person in the world who should have held his life in her hands.

"We’re tied together, then?" he asked, his voice steadying.

"Permanently," she confirmed, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "Welcome to the academy, Devan. Try not to die before the next lesson."