Dark Days: Semester 1

by Liz Meldon

  As much as I adored them, I envied them too: I wished I could say that I had lived on every continent. The first time I’d ever boarded a plane was the one I took from Maine to Norway just last year—but better late than never.

  “When did you get back?” Phyllis asked when she finally released me, smoothing a hand over her thin, wispy brunette curls. She had wrangled them back into a little ponytail today, and rather than the usual flowy beige linens, the woman sported a fitted navy pantsuit, the trouser hem a tad too short. I shrugged, unable to stop smiling.

  “Oh, you know—yesterday,” I admitted, then, at the sight of a pair of identical frowns, cleared my throat and hastily added, “but I was just sleeping and unpacking, honestly.”

  Usually we three had dinners together. The Howards had taken me under their wing when I’d started last year, and while I insisted that I didn’t want to third wheel with them every night, they wouldn’t have it any other way. This year, however, I intended to stand on my own two feet.

  “Well, you had a busy summer,” Robert said, his sandy-blond locks a little greyer around the sideburns than the last time I’d seen him. Phyllis gave an approving nod.

  “So much travelling. We loved getting your postcards!”

  I had wanted to tell someone about my travels through Scandinavia, but if I sent a postcard to my mom, I’d have to send one to everyone in the pack as well to avoid hurt feelings. And not everyone was thrilled with the fact that the alpha’s heir had skipped town to teach at some human boarding school in Norway, so Phyllis and Robert had received all my updates.

  Slightly edited updates, mind you. They were under the impression that I had done all my camping, hiking, swimming, and sightseeing with friends. I’d told the small lie to avoid Phyllis fussing over me, or, worse, offering to meet me in Stockholm so I wouldn’t be alone.

  While I hated to personify the lone-wolf stereotype, I was currently a wolf without a pack. Why not stick to it? Do it right? Be alone? If it was just me and Mother Nature, there was no personal drama to contend with. No gossip. No matchmaking. No elders trying to scout the rest of my life for me while I waited on the sidelines for them to figure it out. Sure, I had friends in the SIA staff. I liked, or at the very least tolerated, all my coworkers here.

  But no one had been allowed to get too close.

  Because if I wanted to live my own damn life finally, to move through this world with me at the center of it and not the pack, that was the way it would have to be.

  We left the staff lodgings together as Phyllis and Robert filled me in on their summer. While they had gone back to Canada to visit relatives for about a month, the rest of the time had been spent here, which meant someone had been around to water my plants, thankfully. As long as you were okay with cooking your own meals and cleaning your own suite—and signing a waiver that absolved the academy of any responsibility in case of an accident—staff were permitted to remain on campus over any of the holidays. The towering pair had spent a lot of time plodding away in the greenhouses and travelling around to the surrounding villages.

  Beneath a rare cloudless blue sky, we weren’t the only ones headed to the auditorium. Familiar faces greeted us from every direction, with students wrapped up in their crisp black-and-grey uniforms—and a few pushing the no makeup and nail polish dress code already.

  “Hi, Miss Kingsley!”

  “Mr. Howard—loving the sideburns.”

  “Mrs. Howard, did my pottery project get thrown out? I forgot it!”

  It was an assault from all sides—and I realized I had missed it over the summer. In all that solitude, I had missed the sound of a dozen questions being hurled at me at once. I had known I’d wanted to teach since I was in elementary school, and being able to do it full-time somewhere this beautiful was a dream.

  As I smiled and waved and greeted those who addressed me by name, I couldn’t help but breathe in deep, gorgeous lungfuls of the balmy late-August breeze. It rustled through the surrounding forest on the other side of the six-foot stone perimeter, an interwoven tapestry of pines, spruces, alders, and birches. In the distance, grey-capped mountains loomed, along with one of the many northern rivers that sliced through the landscape—a river I sampled in wolf form every time I went for a run beneath the midnight sun, deep into the forest, far from curious human eyes.

  The interior of the Solskinn International Academy landscape was no less stunning. When I had first walked through the main gates last year, the best I could manage was some unattractive open-mouthed gawking—because the pictures didn’t do the place justice.

  Beyond the wrought iron gate and the two security huts was a stunning roundabout drive with a landscaped center, flowers in bloom for such a short part of the year. The campus itself consisted of ten buildings, plus the garage: three greenhouses, where biology students had hands-on experience and the cooks could grow their own herbs; three dormitories—staff, boys, and girls; the auditorium and dining hall combo; the main building, shaped in a wide V, that held all the classrooms, the library, the infirmary, the staff offices, save mine, and featured an outdoor atrium; the rescue dog kennels, which I had spearheaded last year; and finally, the gymnasium.

  Grey stonework tied all the buildings together, the conical rooftops questing skyward. The exterior aesthetic harkened back to the enormous Gothic iron gate that greeted visitors when they first arrived. Groundskeepers kept the foliage fresh and green for as long as possible, before the oppressive winter hit, and a janitorial squad consisting of Solskinn locals kept the buildings’ interiors clean and updated. While the campus may have looked dated, like some old European settlement, the academy boasted modern conveniences and top-tier education for their students. Parents paid a fortune to ship their teens here; we had to deliver—or shut our doors. It was that simple.

  And I loved it—all of it. The challenge of living up to those high expectations. Teaching kids who had lived all over the world, who hailed from military or political families, some already with huge trust funds to their names. The wilds around us. The beauty within the campus’s four stone walls. The staff. The maintenance crew. The thrill of being—not in Maine, under my alpha’s thumb.

  I fell more and more in love with Solskinn each passing day, and as we approached the auditorium situated behind the main building, just beyond the outdoor atrium, excitement bubbled through me—made my smile hurt. Anticipation. This year had a thousand possibilities awaiting, and as the school came alive around us, I couldn’t wait to dive in.

  I’d been fortunate enough to start teaching straight out of college, and it was the same every year. The lead-up to the first day back was fraught with emotion—anxiety, dread, fear, and just a dab of excitement too. Once I was there, however, surrounded by students, breathing in the atmosphere, smelling the gymnasium I’d call home for the next year, eagerness trumped everything else.

  We followed the herd to the auditorium, climbing the wide-set stone steps with a mass of chattering students. Phyllis and Robert managed to worm their way through the glass doors ahead of me, while I was stuck holding them open, smiling and nodding at those who greeted me, just waiting for the tide to ebb so I could slip in too. As soon as there was a dip in the rush, I darted in—and was smacked right in the face with the scent of teenager.

  Mom was right; working with humans who had such a distinct smell at this age could be trying on my heightened shifter senses. As I stood in the foyer, pummeled on every side, I took a moment to collect myself. Body odor and a liberal usage of various perfumes gave me an instant headache, as did the amplified, echoey clamor of chattering students.

  Off to my left, through two sets of double doors, was the dining hall. As soon as one set opened, the scent of freshly baked brownies and cakes intermingled with the less pleasant smells. My inner wolf retreated deep inside me, in no mood for this mess.

  Dead ahead were the auditorium doors, another pair of twin sets, made of metal this time rather than wood with stained glass windows, as if
that would contain the noise of band practice and terrible musical theatre performances.

  Rubbing my temple, I flashed a quick smile when Phyllis waved me through, most of the students just reaching her shoulder as they peeled around her and into the auditorium. My next deep breath was easier to stomach, my nose better adjusted to the cornucopia of smells a high school wrought. The noise was something I never fully adjusted to, but I could accept it for what it was.

  What I couldn’t accept were the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly standing straight up. A shiver shot down my spine, wolf senses on high alert, and my somewhat strained smile dropped completely as I scanned the foyer for the source. Solskinn, in general, was a harmless community. Low crime rates. Pleasant people. Given many of our students hailed from influential families, we had private security on campus for added safety.

  I hadn’t once felt threatened since I moved in, and the summer’s supposed disappearances hadn’t rankled my feathers either.

  Yet now…

  Familiar faces hurried by me, along with many I had never seen before, but that was the way with international schools. These kids bounced around, year to year, the nature of their mom or dad’s job dictating they never settled for long. Brows furrowed, I studied each unknown as they shuffled by, maybe a little too intensely given the way a few scrambled into the auditorium to get away from me. It wasn’t them. They weren’t the threat. My inner wolf resurfaced, her snarl catching in my throat, dragging up goosebumps under my fitted jacket.

  What the hell is making me—

  “Miss Kingsley,” Phyllis called. I shook my head, forced the smile back up, and did another sweep of the steadily emptying foyer. The clock over the dining hall’s doors told me we were two minutes out from go time; most of the school would be finding their seats by now.

  “Sorry, yeah, I’m coming.” I crossed the space, the clicks of my heels echoing with each step. Scratching at the back of my prickling neck, I paused in the doorway, giving the room one last once-over. Maybe it had just been a reaction to the sudden onslaught of teenager. My frown deepened. No. I could handle teenager. This… was something different.

  Unfortunately, as the lights flickered on and off inside the auditorium, there was no time to investigate properly. For now, whatever had ruffled my hackles would have to wait.

  Given the academy’s max capacity for two hundred students at a time, I was surprised to find about a quarter of the cushy black auditorium seats empty. Maybe this summer’s local disappearances had had more of an effect on student enrolment than the administration anticipated.

  As I made my way down one of the two paths on either side of the audience seating, I scanned the sea of black-and-grey uniforms for something off, something that might still be triggering my internal alarm bells, but the sections of ninth, tenth, eleventh, and twelfth graders looked much the same as they did last year. Black uniform pants and skirts. Dark grey sweaters and collared tees. Laughter. Conversation. My arms crossed as I darted around students still making their way into the aisles, then scampered along when the lights flickered again, calling for everyone’s attention.

  Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be allowed to just stand off to the side, hiding along the walls built to amplify sound for concert and choir performances. As much as I wanted to hang back in the dark, dreading the spotlights, there was a seat waiting for me up on the stage. Red velvet curtains, pulled open and tied back with gold tassels, framed the seated faculty—IB senior-level staff members on the left side of the stage, then the junior-level staff on the right, all of us subjected to tiered seating so each student could see our faces no matter where they sat. It had been a fucking nightmare last year, and I suspected it wouldn’t be any less awkward today.

  While I didn’t mind barking orders at a gym full of sweaty, panting, exhausted kids, standing up in my Sunday best and introducing myself to a hundred and forty of them wasn’t exactly my idea of fun.

  Downstage, dead center, stood Principal Foster, a thirty-year-old teaching prodigy from the US who made it very clear the first time we met that he had a severe hard-on for the academy.

  Making it great was his mission, and while I loved my job, my students, my home, James Foster took that love to the next level. His entire life revolved around SIA; it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that like Phyllis and Robert, he had spent his summer here, making schedules and drafting memos, preparing for another year of micromanaging.

  He shot me a slightly exasperated look as I jogged up the stairs at the side of the stage, wobbling just slightly in my heels as I crossed to my seating area. Phyllis and Robert had saved me a spot between them, and I offered an apologetic smile as I climbed through the row of already seated staff members, then plopped unceremoniously into my chair.

  Ugh—one of the band room chairs, same as last year. Decidedly not cushy.

  “You all right?” Phyllis whispered as Foster started tapping his microphone. I nodded, rubbing at my neck again, wishing my body’s alarm bells would just shut up.

  “Totally fine. Just thought I saw somebody smoking outside.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, and I shook my head.

  “I didn’t. It’s fine. Nothing to panic about—”

  “Maybe I should have someone check,” Phyllis whispered as the lights over the audience descended fully, and seconds later the hot stage lights lifted, shining a beacon straight onto all of us. We both squinted, and before I could tell her not to bother, Robert hushed us, a finger to his quirked mouth.

  Foster started his welcome-back speech with the same material as last year—with the same nasally, nitpicky voice that had haunted my dreams. For the most part, I tuned him out, trying to look beyond the intense stage lights to the sea of faces, but even with my heightened vision, I couldn’t make out much detail.

  Something was still triggering me. Something was off. My heart, ordinarily a steady, efficient, slow-pumping machine, drummed harder against its cage, and I fidgeted with my dress, my hair, as I continued to search out the problem. All I knew for certain was that my internal alarms didn’t sound over nothing—and I was starting to sweat under these damn lights.

  Definitely should have ditched the jacket.

  I rolled my eyes and fiddled with my cuffs, uncomfortable, suspicious—and trying my best not to show it, especially to an auditorium full of teenagers who could smell weakness a mile away.

  Honestly, they were worse than wolves sometimes.

  We’d had two student teachers cry last year.

  Foster’s speech lasted a record forty minutes, a good fifteen longer than last year’s, and by the time he handed the microphone off to Andreas Gunner, the higher-level German-language teacher seated in the first row of the IB staff, everyone around me looked 100 percent zoned out. Cool. At least I wasn’t the only one not paying attention.

  One by one, the senior-level staff introduced themselves to the student body. The whole lot of them were accredited to teach the two-year long International Baccalaureate diploma program, something I still wasn’t qualified for but should really get on top of at some point.

  Because the IB physical education instructor, Walter Otterman, was a fitness freak from Colorado who had a thing for weight training and shouting at underperforming students. We rarely saw eye to eye on the curriculum, and I really could do his job better. Foster had been encouraging me to get certified since we met, and I was eager to see it through someday.

  Unlike this feeling, which needed to stop now. It refused to budge, my heart still pounding, my hackles still raised, my inner wolf grumbling deep inside, and I couldn’t find its source.

  And, honestly, that was more frustrating than the actual feeling.

  “Oh! Emma, look.” Phyllis nudged me a few moments later. “I’ve been meaning to ask—have you seen the new senior history guy? Positively scrumptious.”

  She said the last bit with a horrendous fake British accent, which startled me out of my slow scope of the still-too-dark student body.
“What?”

  “Really, Mrs. Howard,” Robert whispered across me, slowly shaking his head at his wife, “you’re a married woman.”

  “Hush, you.” She waved him off, then swatted at my leg. “Just look.”

  Oh my god. Clearing my throat, I glanced at the other side of the stage to appease her—only for my blood to run cold the second this new “history guy” stood with a microphone in hand, the last of the second row.

  Deathly pale skin.

  Haunting blue eyes.

  A mess of thick, finger-combed black waves and a tailored three-piece suit, complete with a pine-green tweed blazer and leather elbow patches that only this man could make look so damn good.

  To quote Phyllis: scrumptious.

  But beneath the gorgeous veneer, I saw him.

  I saw him for exactly what he was.

  No wonder my inner wolf had been on high alert from the second I walked into this building…

  The new history teacher was a fucking vampire.

  2

  Emma

  “Hello, my name is Calder Holloway—standard and higher-level history.”

  “That voice,” Phyllis whispered giddily, like she’d never seen a tall, dark, and conventionally handsome guy waxing away in an English accent before. “Isn’t he breathtaking?”

  “That’s one way to put it,” I managed. Each word clawed up my tight throat. My inner wolf snarled to life, immediately on the defensive as I stared down a real-life vampire—of all the places in all the world, here, at SIA. I gulped as the students clapped politely, the vampire nodding along with a serene smile.

  I’d never seen a vampire before.

  Not in person, anyway, but I’d heard enough to never want to.

  “I enjoy travelling,” he continued, schmoozing everyone in a one-mile radius with that English charm, that deceptively handsome smile. Predatory. That was the better word for it. Calder Holloway was a predator—a danger to everyone in this auditorium. He offered a disarming one-shouldered shrug, as if fumbling adorably for something else to share about himself. “And this is my first year teaching at Solskinn International Academy. I’ve taught primarily in Britain, but I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you.”