Page 121 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

I push myself up. “Professor!”

“Sit back down, Miss Marsh,” Felix commands.

I turn on him, already drawing breath to tell him exactly where he can shove that order.

“Sit down and shut your mouth,” he repeats, “or I’ll tell Zott you’ve been misbehaving.”

“Oh, don’t be so horrid, Felix,” Victoria chides lazily from the next desk, with all the concern of someone objecting to poor table manners. I don’t miss the brief flicker of her eyes in my direction. She has been ignoring me all class.

Felix merely smirks. One hand remains twisted in Jane’s hair, controlling the movement of her head while his hips continue their measured thrusts into her mouth.

I try to look away, but I cannot, and every second I keep watching feels like another kind of failure. Thankfully, he doesn’t last long. A few minutes later, he finishes inside her mouth.

“Swallow it all,” he commands Jane with a smirk.

I want to rip Felix’s head off. The worst part is he is more entitled than cruel. He believes this is his natural right, his role, and strokes her hair with entitled patience while she struggles.

Then he stows himself away and gives her a light shove, nearly sending her backwards, leaving her to clamber unsteadily to her feet.

Victoria, meanwhile, has instructed her two wolves to pleasure each other on the floor beside her desk.

Zott nods approvingly. “Excellent. Following your assigned vampire’s commands is still valuable practice. Don’t worry, Victoria—cunnilingus will be covered next week.”

“I can’t wait,” Victoria says, smiling politely while managing to sound unenthused.

I jump when the door opens midway through the practical.

The mayor steps inside, adjusting his cuffs and blinking around as if surprised to find himself here. Eliza’s entire face brightens.

“I knew he would come,” she whispers, her collar glittering as she rises.

She always worries he won’t appear, yet the mayor has attended every one of her lessons so far, which she perceives as a great sign of commitment.

I watch as she crosses the room gracefully to him. A few moments later, she is kneeling between his legs while he strokes her hair absently, groaning softly and praising her even as he checks his timepiece.

He takes an interminably long time to finish.

“The trick,” Eliza whispers to me once he is gone, “is to swallow quickly when they finish. That way you taste it as little as possible.”

I blink at her. “Taste what as little as possible?”

She blinks back. Several long, polite blinks that leave me feeling tremendously stupid.

“Why, his seed, of course.” Her brow furrows. “You must know. Surely, the prince has bedded you?”

“Oh. Yes. His seed.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else.” The only thing I ever expected to taste was victory when I watched Nathaniel’s head roll. Now, unfortunately, I am picturing something else.

I had not, in truth, thought much about what a man might taste like. Or that there would be seed. Bits I have overheard across the past month arrange themselves into one complete and deeply unfortunate picture.

Of course. The birds and the bees all make sense now. I’m an idiot. But at least I’m not disgusting. No. It is men who are disgusting, vampires or otherwise.

Drawing a deep breath, I do my best to avoid Zott and to not feel anything for the rest of the lesson. Not rage or grief. Nor the gnawing distress that rises every time a wolf lowers her head because a vampire told her to.

If only I could filter out the awful, wet, obscene sounds that smack through the circular classroom.

I did not build this castle. I did not write these rules.

I do not make Becky smile when Zott praises her, or Jane flinch whenever Felix moves. I am a prisoner too. So why do I feel responsible?