Nocticadia: A Dark Academia Gothic Romance

Curiosity gnawed at me.

I should’ve been reviewing student journals, and studying their observations of the larval stages. Instead, I found myself scrolling through the new videos posted on the Voyeur site. Page after page of men and women masturbating in public. It wasn’t until I reached the bottom of the third page that I stumbled upon the familiar thumbnail image, posted by a CollegeChick20.

I clicked on the free preview.

Just like the few times I’d watched it on my phone the night before, my body hardened at the sight of her slender thighs. I scrolled down to find six thousand viewers had already watched the same video. Teeth grinding, I searched the site for a takedown link, only finding some lame fucking email address that likely wouldn’t result in a damn thing.

I swiped out of the app and pulled up the number to my lawyer. Not only was he the best in the country, he happened to be a fellow Rook, so anything I asked of him, he would carry out immediately.

And I wanted that video taken down, like, yesterday.

It wasn’t just about the fact that she’d posted a video of my class online, as much as I wanted to believe such a pathetic excuse, though that certainly pissed me off, as well. No, there was a whole fucked-up psychology going on inside my head right then that I had no intentions of trying to untangle.

Griffin answered on the third ring. “Devryck! So good to hear from you. What’s going on?”

“I need a favor.” Bane jumped up onto my desk and strutted in front of me for a pet. In spite of the irritation tensing my muscles, I carefully stroked a hand down his back, willing myself not to grab a fistful of fur.

“Anything.”

At the risk of losing my temper and taking it out on the cat, I scooped Bane up and set him down on the floor, giving a light pat to his flank. “There’s a website called VoyeurBait. A video was posted under the name CollegeChick20. I need it taken down. Immediately.”

“Is this a student of yours?”

“Does it matter?”

“No. Of course not. I’ll track down the owner and send a notice right away.”

Only some of the knots in my gut unraveled. Whatever the hell was wrong with me right then, I’d work it out after the video had been taken down. I just needed it off that fucking site. “I appreciate it. And if I can return the favor, please let me know.”

“I will. Keep an eye out for a follow-up call.”

“Of course.” I hung up, finger tapping against my desk as I watched the views climb. Imagining every ding to be some asshole, sitting slack-jawed and stroking his dick while watching her, had my muscles bunched with rage. I threw my glass across the room, and it crashed on impact against my bookshelf. That lying little shit had posted the video anyway, and I’d be damned if I’d let a bunch of perverted fucks watch her like that.

Ungrateful little pricks who only saw her as a set of toned legs and pussy. They had no idea the girl was brilliant and witty. Too damn smart for her age.

Too damn beautiful to be seen as something so simple and entertaining.

Not even fifteen minutes later, Griffin called me back.

“Spoke to a guy named Tony. Says he’ll take it down in the next ten minutes. I told him if it’s not gone in ten minutes, his whole fucking operation would be taken down by the end of the day.” It wasn’t a bluff. Griffin was powerful enough, had the right connections to make things like that happen. He’d once taken down a darknet site on behalf of a client in a matter of minutes–a task the FBI had failed to accomplish for months. Honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised me if the guy had ties to Anonymous, the way he so swiftly got shit done.

“I appreciate your diligence. And again, let me know if there’s anything I can do in return.”

“You’ve always been a wonderful ally.” I’d assisted him with a few cases where bodies had to be exhumed, resulting in his favor in court. “It’s my pleasure to help.”

At precisely ten minutes later, I refreshed the site.

The video was no longer there.

Smiling, I eased back in my seat. If she was that desperate for money, she’d have to find another way of getting it. I refused to let a whole population of swinging dicks ogle her. I’d fuck over every person who ever posted there and burn the site down before I’d let that happen.

My head couldn’t leave it alone.

The visuals of men getting off to her spun through my unsettled brain like a wicked web, and my hands balled into tight fists at my sides. So caught up in the thought, I didn’t catch Barletta’s question at first.

“Professor? Is this fuckin’ normal?”

I snapped my attention to where he hunched over himself, pants pooled at his ankles. A moment ago he’d been sitting on his cot, but instead he faced the wall, his arm jerking with abrupt movement. The telling sound of slapping skin, coupled with his hearty grunts, confirmed what I already knew.

Clearing my throat, I turned away. “Yes. Sexual urges heighten during infection.” Damn the stench on the air that’d gotten worse, invading my nose as I tried to clear my throat of it.

Seconds later, his moans reverberated off his cell wall, and he cried out. “Fuck! Fuck!” When he pulled his pants back up and fell onto the cot, I noted the wet spots on the wall where he’d shot his release. “This is fucking humiliating,” he said, wincing as he shifted position, drawing my eyes toward the odd curve of his back. Spine distortion was a normal progression, as the parasite began to attack and deplete parts of the body. “It’s like … it hits out of nowhere, and if I don’t take care of it? Worst case of blue balls I ever had. My apologies for doing that in front of you.”

“No need to apologize.”

“I was thinking about the story you told me. With your brother gettin’ hauled off like that.” He coughed, sending a spray of red to the concrete, and his eyes winced when he swallowed. “Don’t know why I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about it. What happened to Caesar? Didn’t he try to help you?”

I pried my thoughts from Lilia and the video, to the memory of Caesar that night. “He had no loyalties to us.”

“You think he had somethin’ to do with your brother gettin’ taken?”

Staring back at the man, I studied his expression for any sign of reaction to asking that question. A flinch. A muscle tic. A shift of his gaze. Nothing.

Stabbing pain struck my temple, and I clenched my eyes and jaw, rubbing at the spot. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six.

“You all right?” Barletta asked, as jagged lights flashed behind my lids.

“Fine.” Took a good couple of minutes to subside that time, and I rolled my shoulders back on a long exhale, as the last of the pain withered. “My father punished him. Interrogated him in an effort to find out who’d had the balls to take Warren Bramwell’s son. But it was all in vain.”

I peer through the crack of the door in one of the rooms adjacent to my father’s lab. Caesar sits tied to a chair, his face bruised and battered, with bright red plums that marked every merciless punch to his face. Eye puffy and distorted, lips swollen and bleeding, he hardly looks human. My father stands before him, two men flanking him, both wearing suits and black gloves, and weird masks that remind me of a creepy bird. Ones I’ve seen in books about the plague. Doctors’ masks designed to keep germs out. Why the men are wearing them right now is a mystery.

“Where’s my fucking son?” my father asks for the dozenth time.

Caesar doesn’t answer. His head sways like a watermelon balanced on a toothpick, the sight of which sickens me.

I want to knock the melon clean off and watch it splat against the concrete. Seeing a man beaten within an inch of his life isn’t easy, but I want my brother back, and I can’t fault my father for being violent about it. In fact, I want more violence. More blood.

One of the masked men beside my father rails his face again, the impact of his fist sending blood and a dislodged tooth to the floor.

Still, the guard refuses to talk.

Hands balled into fists, I grind my teeth, wishing I could throw some punches.

My father groans and turns away from him, running a hand down his face. “Get him out of my sight.”

No. No!

He hasn’t revealed anything, and six days have passed with no sign of Caedmon.

I give my father some credit for his efforts. I’ve always been under the impression that he hates the two of us and would happily write us off. He even negotiated a reward with the police–a pretty enticing amount of money for a man who acts like he doesn’t give a shit.

The two men drag Caesar toward the door where I’m hiding, and I scramble to my feet. In a small, shadowy alcove, I press my back to the wall, watching them carry his limp body past. A phone rings from the room where my father still stands, and after peeking to make sure the guards are out of sight, I tiptoe back to my spot and peer in.

My father answers. “Yes.”

I can’t hear what the other person is saying, but my father’s expression shifts from exasperation to a tight-knitted frown.

“What do they want?” A pause follows, and he lodges his fingers through his hair, pacing. “I have money. I can pay them whatever they want.”

Another pause.

“No! It’s not possible! No! Tell them, no!” A beep ends the call, and he slams his phone down on a roar of anger. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

With both hands lodged in his hair, he paces again.

On a bold breath, I push closer until standing just inside the room.

He doesn’t notice me at first as his paces lead him toward the wall. When he pivots around, angry eyes lock on mine. “What are you doing in here?”

“Who called you just now?”

“None of your fucking business!”

“It’s about my brother! Tell me!”

Eyes ablaze with fury, he snarls back at me. “I told you. It’s none of your fucking business. If you hadn’t been so busy pissing your goddamn pants, he might be here now!” His words strike me like a hard blow to the chest, and I choke beneath the impact.

“Fuck you! They had guns! There were two of them!”

“And the shame of it all is they let you live.”

Tears form in my eyes, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much his words stab my heart. Instead, I grit my teeth and let the anger swallow me. “You know who took him, don’t you?”

“No.”

“They want something from you, though. What is it! Tell me!” The rage snaps inside of me, and I lurch toward him, my hands tingling with a longing to throttle him.

No more than two steps forward, and he draws a gun from his back, pointing it at me.

I skid to a halt, my head trying to process the scene.

“Get out of my sight. Or, so help me God, I will put a bullet in your skull.”

“Tell me where he is. I’ll go after him. I’ll go after all of them.”

He snorts a laugh. “You’ll piss your pants and fall into a seizure,” he says, curling one of his arms into his chest and jerking, mocking me.

It’s a wonder I don’t taste dust in my mouth, as hard as I grind my teeth. “I fucking hate you. He hated you.”

“You’ve ruined my life. The day you took your first breath, and she died. Now Caedmon. You’re no son of mine.”

The tears cut loose, and staring at him through a watery shield, I mentally search for one single reason I shouldn’t coax him into shooting a bullet in my skull. The answer arrives in a haze of red. Revenge. “You may have rued watching me take my first breath, Father. But know that I will rejoice in watching you take your last.”

“Jesus. Your old man sounds like a real prick. D’you ever find out what that phone call was about?” Barletta rested his elbows on his bent knees, where he sat tucked against the wall.

“I did, yes.”

“But I’m gonna have to wait to find out, right?”

“Yes. I’m certain you’ll be riveted.”

His jaw shifted, fingers rubbing together. Fidgeting. “Is this when I find out why you took me?”

“Yes.”

“How much longer do I have?”

“I don’t think you’ll make it another week.” My toneless voice lacked any shred of empathy.

Bottom lip quivering, he turned his head to the side just enough that I caught a glisten across his cheek. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing left in me to appeal to, only a bottomless hollow in which to cast his useless tears.

My heart was a graveyard. A cold and starving apathy entombed within slumbering bones. Nothing could make me feel sorry for him.

He slipped two sealed envelopes through the bars. “Can you make sure my sons get these?”

“Of course,” I lied.