Page 31 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“Standard procedure.”

“And gagged me.”

“That was for my own safety. I don’t fancy losing an arm.”

Her scowl shifts—not the earlier hot, wolfish fury, but something cold and calculating. I have a feeling I’ll lose more than an arm if she has her way.

“As you are an illegal wolf, I will have administrative work to do. A little forgery. Some light backdating. Nothing too taxing, but a necessary precaution to ensure you are—and always have been—properly registered. I’d hate for you to be sent to the executioner’s block, especially when we’re still only just getting to know each other.” I look her over. “If anyone asks, you are the daughter of wolf shifter parents stationed at a wealthy country estate to the south. I will have a birth certificate issued—”

“I suppose the estate belongs to vampires,” she says bitterly.

“Naturally.”

“And I’m to pretend my parents were used for their blood?”

“Not just for their blood, I imagine. But please, do defend the honour of your invented parents.”

She stares daggers at me but says nothing, and I continue, “Now, I quite like Kira. As for a surname, I think ‘Marsh’ will do. Kira Marsh. It has a pleasingly ordinary ring to it, wouldn’t you agree? No burden of grandeur. No unfortunate distinction.”

“Wonderful,” she mutters, folding her arms.

“School term has already begun, but no matter. The official story will be that your enrolment was delayed by an administrative irregularity, which has since been rectified. No one looks twice at a name once it’s on the registry. I will see to your student records myself.”

I give her an expectant look.

“You’ll forgive me for not thanking you,” she says primly through gritted teeth.

“Oh, we’ll soon find other ways for you to thank me.”

She blanches again, this time her face taking on a sickly shade.

My chest tightens, and I look away. This is how it must be. She is wrong if she thinks enjoyment cannot be taught. Slowly, perhaps. Reluctantly. But thoroughly.

The road continues to slope upward, not steeply, but enough to carry us higher before levelling out. The dark street draws us nearer to the city’s heart, curving around the empty market square until, as the carriage rounds a corner, the castle reappears ahead—only a glimpse of towers rising against the starry sky.

“So,” I say conversationally, “is there anyone you would like notified of your attendance? Family? Friends? Colleagues?”

I let the word hang, watching her closely, waiting for the smallest crack.

She doesn’t even blink. “My friends will live,” she says smoothly. “And I have no family.”

“Lover?”

Just like that, the scowl is back.

“No.”

“Husband?” I press.

“I’m not married.”

Good.

“Parents?”

“Foster parents,” she says icily.

“Ah. And your real parents?”