by A. K. Koonce
Focus.
“Did they give you your schedule?” he asks conversationally, though there’s something suddenly stiff in his words, clipped and forced. The amiability is still there, but there’s something different in the tone now.
“Yeah.”
Fucking gym let’s not forget.
He turns, flipping his collar and smoothing out his tie. “Classes are about to start. You should change into your uniform and head over to building A, that’s where most first years take their courses.”
I blink stupidly at the perfect picture this werewolf makes in his uniform. With those glasses and that build, he looks like he’s meant for Harvard instead of Juvie. He’s definitely distracting, but not enough that I lose myself behind those words.
I’ve barely settled in, it’s my first fucking day and I’m expected to go to class? Where’s the justice? It’s like fucking military school.
“I don’t have a uniform,” I mutter. In fact, I don’t have anything with me. The moment they arrested me, I was hauled from one barred prison cell to this one. I have no clothes, no shoes, no panties, and no paints.
Shit, my paints. A year’s worth of money and pieces of art that I’ll never get back are left forgotten in an apartment I’ll surely lose by the end of the month.
“Here.” Malek digs through the closet again and emerges with a bundle of clothes that he tosses my way. I catch them and watch the folds of clothes unroll to reveal a uniform similar to his. Prestigious academy blazer in dark blue, a small collar shirt and tie, except where he has khaki pants, I have a skirt.
I hold the items at arm’s length. “It’s kind of creepy that you just happen to have this in there.” The uniform falls from my hands and onto the floor. While I was used to hand-me-downs, I’m not sure I trust the previous owner of this outfit to be disease free. Not with the way the students here obviously liked to hump in the hallways. Ugh, I have two years of this to look forward to.
My shift at Hog Dog’s has never looked so appealing.
“It’s new. The Academy delivered it the moment they brought you here.”
Right. Magic. That’s going to take some getting used to. While I’d been adopted by a warlock, he was excommunicated so magic had never been the norm in my youth. Even though I knew it existed, I never imagined I’d be sucked into all of this.
I thought I could live quietly just like my dad.
Academy of Six had other ideas.
My Prod had other ideas.
“Most of us never have time to pack our things,” Malek explains. “Anyway, I’d hurry if I were you. Professors here are strict.”
I can do nothing but watch helplessly as he grabs a backpack from the floor, hefting it over his strong shoulder. I feel suddenly empty, almost naked as he walks away. He’s leaving me alone with a vampire, and I’m suddenly acting like a codependent dipshit. I straighten my shoulders and force my voice to come out steadily.
“Where’s building A?”
Malek stops, throws a glance at me over his shoulder. I can see the tilted smirk of his lips, wolfish and playful. “Saint can walk you.” A moment later, he disappears from the room.
Slowly, robotically, I turn to the final male left in the room.
Tattoos accentuate just how pale his hard chest is, whisking lines that smoke down his arms and sneak up his neck. A single religious cross marks the space between his collar bones at the center of his throat, the tip of the ink reaching up to spear the underside of his jaw just lightly.
Saint. His name is Saint? What the fuck kind of vampire has the ironic ass name of ‘Saint’? This one, apparently. And I don’t particularly enjoy the way he stares at me. Like I’m a snack he means to devour.
Is he going to take a chomp out of me? He looks as if he’s contemplating the thought, what with the perturbingly sensual way his tongue darts out across his lower lip and the way he won’t stop staring…
Judging by the collectors assortment of crosses decorating his wall, I’d say those are not going to aid me.
All I have to protect myself is me and my quiet Prod.
So nothing. I have nothing.
Well, fuck.
Four
Saint
She’s nervous. I can hear her heartbeat from here, the way it thumps like the trapped, frightened wings of a baby bird within a cage. Does she think I’m going to bite her?
How cute.
I’ll let her believe what she wants, let her believe the worst of me because it’s just too fucking fun to watch the way she squirms nervously in my presence. The poor thing has no idea that I’m not even the worst of the bunch. That honor goes to Phoenix.
A harmless vampire like me is the least of her concerns.
She stares a moment longer, as if by staring she can somehow predict just how dangerous I am to her, how out of control my Prod is. We’re all new here, but she seems to be newer than most. Unseasoned. Like she’s never grown up surrounded by the magically mythical and deadly dangerous. I wonder just how true that is. A dark part of me just can’t help but want to test her. Push her.
Break her.
My eyes graze lazily up her figure, stopping at the pulse jumping at her delicate throat. Her long dark hair is in the way, some dark strands tucked tightly into the collar of her leather jacket, but I can still see the frantic beating of it.
It almost makes me wish I liked the taste of blood.
Her calm, controlled exterior doesn’t match the drumming blood that’s calling to me beneath her smooth untouched skin.
Not a scar on her. Beautiful, perfect, unmarked in every way.
I don’t know why that’s such a thrilling thing to think about.
“Class is about to start.” I smile slowly and she stiffens at my words, glaring at the pointed look I give her uniform at her feet. “You should change so we make it there on time.”
I should take my own advice, but I can’t bring myself to care about anything: this academy, the classes… nothing matters. I was dumped here because no one wants to deal with me, but the teachers have to because my family funds this shitty place.
So I can arrive at whatever time I want, and anyone who has something to say about it can get fucked.
But pretty little Izzy, she should get changed, slide out of that jacket and glide that short khaki skirt right up those long legs, the soft curves of her thighs, up over her pus—
“What about you?” she interrupts the delicious trail of my thoughts.
Hmm, cute how she has a tiny dark freckle placed on her upper lip. She is rather pretty, the type of girl who doesn’t quite realize how alluring she is. Who seduces without meaning to in the subtlest of gestures. In the way she bites her bottom lip, in the soft flicking of the dark strands of her hair. In the sassy cock of her hip. In the well placed position of that cute tiny freckle.
Cute. Pretty. Not sexy. She’s attractive in a way you know she’s delicate.
And this place. This place will fucking break her.
I smile in response and slowly unfurl my limbs from the bed, taking extra care to stretch and work out the kinks in my joints. I can feel the way she watches me as I hop from the top bunk and make my way over to our shared closet.
Tiny little thing on the outside, but blessed with witch magic to fit an endless amount of identical clothes. Because instead of investing time and magic in a dormitory that’s not rat infested, they use it on stupid shit.
Like luxury closets.
It’s nice to see that my parents’ money is being used to its fullest.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of my boxers and yank them down. A strangled gasp sounds behind me as I step out of them. When I stand up and turn, it’s with a raised brow at the new roommate’s blushing face and the way she tries so very hard not to look down at the jutting ridge of my erect cock.
It’s a need, really. I physically need to make her uncomfortable just to see who she really is. Nothing tells you what someone is actually thinking like slapping
your dick out on day one.
Gotta see how we measure up, if you get my drift.
“Is it necessary to flaunt your dick around?” She rolls her amber eyes and presses her fingers to her temple, covering her eyes out of pure annoyance. It doesn’t matter one bit when she’s peeking through the spaces between her fingers. She could get a better look if she just faced it head on. Literally. I’m right here.
“You make everything so much sweeter.” I wink. “And in the spirit of fairness, you should probably undress as well. I showed you mine after all.”
“Pervertido,” she says in a flat irritated tone.
I don’t speak a lick of Spanish, but I’m pretty sure she just called me a pervert. Never has an insult sounded so sexy.
What else can I get her to call me?
My cock twitches with a pulsing feeling at the thought of all the dirty names those lips could call me.
I feel the same way, I feel the same way.
I turn away from her cruel, sweet words. “Might as well get used to it.” I reach for my own uniform to start pulling it on. “It’s hot as hell in here all the time, and clothes are overrated. Are you dressed yet?” I can’t keep the smile from pulling at my lips.
I can practically hear her growl at me. “Don’t turn around! We share a room, not my body.”
Yet.
She prohibited I look, so of course I casually do the opposite. Slowly, so I don’t startle her, I turn and watch the swish of fabric fall as she bares herself to me.
Her body is all sinuous curves, slim waist and wide hips, a curved ass that presses tightly against black panties, partially hidden behind all that long hair. Holy Mother Mary, she’s not wearing a bra, this fact made known as she flicks her hair over her shoulder to bare her unblemished, smooth back.
She’s a temptress, and she captivates me entirely as she pulls the skirt up her long, gorgeous legs and shimmies into it. I never thought khaki could look so fucking sexy. On her it does. The hem of the skirt skims high on the backs of her thighs. If she bends over, I’ll be able to catch another glimpse of black lace.
If she were bare underneath…
I swallow hard at the drilling possibilities filling my head.
Izara shoves her arms into her shirt, buttoning it up furiously. Next goes the blazer and when she turns, she’s frazzled perfection.
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 arou
nd.
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.
The first thing I notice is the smell, it reeks of mildew. It’s like the carpeted floors are seeped with mold. Something I feel once my white shoes squish into the material. I sweep my gaze around. Half of the carpet is torn out in strips, as if it had been abandoned in the middle of a renovation. The room overall looks like disastrous shit that doesn’t want to be here any more than I do.