Her lips blow long strands of stubborn hair away from her face while she looks down and struggles with the tie.
The uniform is a fucking joke. They could have just as easily put us in orange jumpers like the humans do for criminals. That’s what we are, after all. Criminals reforming. So wearing a uniform seems like some cosmic joke, some vicious form of torture.
Maybe it is.
The blazer has the academy's insignia stitched on the breast pocket; a shadowy number six in gilded gold and red. As if some old lady’s cross stitch slapped onto a coat makes us something other than what we are.
Fucking criminals. Embarrassments to the supernatural society. A danger to others and ourselves.
Her slender fingers fumble once more and the way her full lips thin into a non—existent line tells me she’s just about ready to rip the silk tie off and toss it to the ground.
“Here.” I stalk forward, pulling the tie from her stubborn fingertips. She’s reluctant to let it go, but a quick yank pries it from her grip. “No one’s ever taught you how to tie a tie before?” My fingers brush aside her long hair. It’s silk against my fingers, running down my skin like water sliding off of smooth stone. Light caresses brush across the nape of her neck. I feel her shiver, hear her heart speed up at the brief contact. Her blood rushes through her veins in a maelstrom. I can smell it.
Fuck.
I haven’t drank real blood in three years—since high school—and all I want to do is find that spot along her inner thigh and sink my teeth into the soft skin of her body.
Let the warmth of her release fill my mouth...
Sharp teeth jut out, stealing space away within my mouth and I have to physically think about the most mundane things to get my fangs to go back to their normal length.
I never change my features, never give any sign of the danger she could be in if I keep thinking of her hot blood dripping down my lips, my fingers, my...
“Can’t say that they have,” she interrupts my thoughts my thoughts.
Her voice is a breathless rasp, and I feel the sound surge straight through to my cock, pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of the fucking khakis.
My fingers move quickly, tying the knot and setting it loosely against her chest.
And then too much space presses between us.
Again.
“Tighten it at your leisure,” I lisp, aware that my incisors have come out to play again.
Having vampire teeth is like having a cock in my mouth—and not in a good way. They seem to have a mind of their own. Fuck, the damn things are so in tune with my dick that when I get hard, they make an appearance.
She flinches at the sight of them.
Instant incisor killer. My Prod is such a cock block sometimes.
I feel the sharpness slide back into my gums.
I smirk. “A piece of advice, Izzy: if you want to get through first year, don’t flinch every time someone shows you the more primitive side of their Prods. It’s a sign of weakness.”
And she’s going to need every ounce of strength she has to deal with this fuckery of a place.
Five
Izara
Building A is a luxury resort compared to our dorm. The graying brick crumbles into dust and debris in lonely piles on the ground. The windows are at least put together, and not one of them is boarded up.
That doesn’t take away the ominous loom of it, though. Doesn’t make it seem any more friendly. I doubt anything could do that. Even if they planted bright flowers in the dead, desolate gardens, it would look like nothing more than a mockery.
The place is literally devoid of color and happiness. At least on the outside.
When Saint guides me inside, the halls are boisterous with activity and life.
No hall sex, so I guess that’s an improvement.
So many criminals in one place is bound to be trouble, and you can tell. Growls and snarls echo around the corridor. A couple of brown werewolves fight in a corner with teeth and claws. Flesh flies in bloody clumps, littering the white-tiled floors with the color crimson.
The creatures are different than I thought they’d be. They stand tall on two legs, fingers drawn out into long black claws and chests that seem to be part man and part beast. But their features, those are all monster. Sharp teeth and snapping jaws meant for howling, meant for maiming, meant for... killing. Their feral eyes glow yellow like moonlight.
A security guard rushes over with a thick club that emanates an ephemeral light that shoots out and stuns the wolves into immobility.
“Confinement, the both of you,” the guard snarls. When his hands clamp over their arms, the three disappear into wisps of lingering white smoke.
Charming.
“Give me your schedule.” Saint doesn’t wait for permission before he’s pulling the slip of paper from my blazer pocket with a familiarity that speaks of a friendship that isn’t there. I study him and every peeking line of ink that shows just above the collar of his shirt. He looks it over seriously and nods, shoving it into my hands. “Classroom 33. I’m going there, too.”
Great. So I’ll have to deal with him in class as well.
The day just keeps getting better. Next he’ll tell me we get to share a bathroom stall as well as a shower.
The memory of his arching cock flits through my mind... the shower part probably wouldn’t be too bad really if he had a better personality to match his body.
“They probably just threw all of us late admissions together,” he explains.
For once in my life, my tardiness has real consequences. Like this vampire who’s a little too okay with throwing his dick around.
Literally.
I try to contain my nerves by pressing my hands into the pockets of my blazer and tightening them into fists so they don’t shake. It’s easy to pretend. I’m good at it.
All around me, bodies jostle my own. They’re pushy, the females with the strange, ethereal features of pointed ears and eyes that are too bright to be anything other than mystical. Some of the others, the more unique ones, slip by less aggressively. The ones with webbed hands connected to strangely pointed joints, forked tongues against bulbous chins, red eyes gleaming with the crimson promise of violence, wings and claws, those stand out.
Beings both heavenly and demonic prowl the halls.
I try to appear confident with every step I take. I act like I belong here, like they do. Like my world hasn’t been upended, like I have a fucking clue what’s going on right now.
The truth is, I know very little about these people. I wasn’t raised like them. I was raised to avoid supernaturals. Yes, we all know they exist, but the man who took care of me, he hates them.
And part of me does too.
We stop before a wooden and glass door with the emboldened number 33 stamped on the fogged glass. Saint reaches for the knob and pushes it open.
“Ladies first.” He gestures with all the flourish of an eighteen hundreds gentleman. He might as well lift his top hat to me and twirl his fucking cane.
He’s so bizarre.
My eyes roll to the back of my head and catch a vivid glimpse of my petty thoughts of the overly attractive vampire. The pettiness doesn’t lurk in the back of my mind behind happy thoughts. It sits in the center, in front of the TV and flips back and forth between entertained by the amazing Bob Ross and the asshole standing before me.