Page 61 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

For several heartbeats, I don’t dare look up again. I keep my eyes fixed on the food in front of me, every nerve straining towards him anyway.

When I finally risk a glance, Nathaniel is already speaking to Arken, his expression bored and remote, as if the last ten seconds never happened.

Harvey rejoins us in human form just as I ask the others, “Doesn’t it bother you, sitting down here while they feast above us?”

“Nope. We love it,” he says, so deadpan it takes me a moment to catch the sarcasm.

“We make the most of it,” Susie explains.

“Better than sitting with the vampires,” Clara adds, trailing her fingers over the flagstones. “At least the floor is clean.”

Becky wrinkles her nose. “Not that clean.”

My attention is pulled away when a stern-faced vampiress in bottle-green robes arrives.

“Kira Marsh.” She says my name crisply. “I am Professor Marmala. Your Literature teacher, and Head of Wolf Student Welfare.” Her eyes catalogue my collar, my uniform, my face—in that order—before she produces a folded sheet. “Your timetable. Your first class this morning is with me. I understand you arrived last night.”

She doesn’t quite ask, but the look she gives me makes it clear I’m expected to answer.

“I did,” I affirm.

“Hmm. Well, if you ever have any concerns,” she continues, giving me another once-over, “my office is open to you.”

Her robes whisper against the floor as she leaves.

So. A vampiress in charge of wolf welfare. How reassuring.

I unfold the timetable and glance over at today’s schedule: Literature. History. Recess. Mathematics. Then, after lunch, Physical Education, followed by a subject that makes me stop.

“Combat Etiquette?” I ask aloud, trying to reconcile the two words. Polite fighting?

“Combat and Etiquette,” Clara corrects, as though that explains everything. “Combat and Etiquette are separate topics.”

I nod, even though I don’t quite understand. Still, hope flickers through me at the thought that there might be weapons kept somewhere. “So…does that mean we’re taught to fight?”

The question has barely left my mouth when everyone around me freezes, their alarm making the skin under my collar prickle. For one stupid heartbeat, I think they are staring at me. Then I realise their gazes have lifted past my shoulder, to some point just behind me.

“Do you require fighting lessons?” Nathaniel asks in amusement.

I turn slowly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me startle.

I was trying so hard to ignore him that I didn’t notice him leave the high table. Now he’s drifted up behind me like a shadow.

He arches a hateful eyebrow at me, waiting for my response.

I struggle to think of one. He was the one who told me not to mention the circumstances of my arrival, yet here he is drawing attention to us in front of everyone.

What game is he playing at?

“I’m not the one who needs lessons,” I say sweetly, then can’t help but add, “How’s your arm?”

His lips purse. “Still attached—despite your best efforts.”

“Oh. What a shame,” I reply.

“Indeed. And your pride?” he asks with the utmost politeness, as if he’s enquiring after my health. “Recovered from last night, I hope?”

“It’s right here.” I place a hand over my heart and give him a rude gesture. “Never lost it.”