by Sofia Daniel
“Each time we locate a frumosi, Commander Shanks and I risk our lives to extract you before an army of hunters tracks you down.” A growl reverberated in the back of his throat, making me flinch. “Most vampires would kill to become the consorts of such prominent members of our society, and here you are, whining!”
I stared at my desk, breathing hard. This notion that vampire hunters wanted to kill us seemed dubious. And as much as I wanted to ask the guard why he had killed Zarah’s aunt, I couldn’t. My encounter with Micalla taught me never to aggravate an enraged vampire.
The gong sounded, and the guard returned to where he had left Gates sprawled motionless on his desk. Everybody scurried out of the room, and I walked toward the unconscious young man.
The vampire bared his teeth and hissed. “Lunch!”
All the blood drained out of my face. I skittered back through the classroom and out of the door and bumped into a solid body.
Large hands held me steady. “A girl should watch where they’re going.”
My muscles stiffened, and I turned to meet the hazel eyes of Nathaniel, the vampire who had done something to Zarah’s mind at breakfast. He smiled down at me through a mop of mahogany-brown curls that hung past his brows and framed his face.
I gulped. “H-hello.”
“You’re the new girl. Alicia, right?”
I nodded.
His eyes roved my hair and neck. “Nice style, but you might want to reconsider it.”
“Why?”
“You kind of look…” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave me an apologetic smile. “Delicious in a blood-sucking way, and I don’t even like girls.”
A shocked breath burst out of my lungs, and I clutched my satchel to my chest. “W-what?”
He stepped back, palms raised. “Oh, it’s not a bad thing if you’re looking to hook up with a strong vampire.”
I ground my teeth. Why the hell had Raphael arranged my hair to make me look like vampire-bait?
Kat strolled up to us, gave Nathaniel a wave, and ushered Zarah to walk with her and Annette to the dining room. She followed after them, leaving me alone with the tall, thin vampire.
“Kush was talking about a rebel she met last period.” At my blank look, he said, “She’s the boisterous one of the Preta twins.”
My lips pursed. Of course, Pigtails would boast about having raped a boy. “Are you talking about Gates?”
He peeked into the classroom. “Gates.” He said the word as though it was the finest sangria. “Is that him?”
“Yes.”
The vampire boy licked his lips. “Do you know anything about Gates?”
“Apart from him hating vampires, no.”
His lips pursed with frustration, but he held out his hand. “I’m Nathaniel Adams.”
“Alicia Stephens.” I placed my hand in his, and we shook.
Nathaniel stole one more glance at the vampire guard smacking Gates awake and sighed. “I can see why Kush likes him. Come on. Since your classmates have abandoned you in the hallway, I’ll walk you to lunch.”
“Thanks.” It was strange. Nathaniel was a vampire and had altered Zarah’s mind, but I still felt safer with him than I had with Raphael or even Ponytail, who just seemed bored with my existence and likely just wanted to hang out with her sister.
Nathaniel walked me around the hallways and explained his understanding of how the frumosi fit into vampire society. From what he had seen, some vampires did take them seriously as consorts and not just a means to gain day-walking offspring. For example, Professor Proust and Miss Margolyes were a couple, but they kept their relationship professional in front of the students.
I listened, but none of this reassured me. Professor Proust hadn’t even wanted to consider letting me get in touch with my family, and my hope of ever seeing them again dwindled with each passing hour.
“Do we ever get the chance to leave the academy?” I asked.
His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t get any choice in coming here, so—”
“So, you’d like to see your family again?” he said.
I nodded.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a little tricky.”
“Why?”
“Only consorts and concubines get to leave.”
Based on what I’d heard so far about the vampire’s need to breed with frumosi, I had an inkling of what that might mean, but I had to ask. “What does that entail?”
“Being a consort is like being married, and concubines are…” He hesitated, as though trying to work out the best way to express what he would say next. “They’re little more than slaves. A step above a knocker, except they’re used for sex and blood and breeding.”
My shoulders slumped. Of the two options, consort seemed the less grisly. “How do I become a consort?”
“Neither of them are viable options for escaping if that’s what you’re thinking.” I opened my mouth to deny it, but he continued speaking. “Once you exchange blood with a vampire, which is a requirement for both, it forms a psychic link they can use to locate you anywhere.”
All the blood drained from my face, but I cleared my throat and forced out the lie, “It’s a good thing I’m not thinking of escape, then.”
The moment we stepped into the dining hall, everyone stopped talking. My stomach plummeted. After what I had said during breakfast, all the vampires probably wanted to put me in my place. Nathaniel walked me to the table I shared with Kat, Annette, and Zarah before strolling back to where he sat on his own. My brows drew together. He seemed a lot more popular with frumosi than with his own kind.
Kat wrinkled her nose. “I hope you weren’t offending Nathaniel. He’s a good guy.”
I scowled back. “Why would you think—”
“Because you’re the attention-seeking type, aren’t you?” She flicked her head to the Coven of Bitches’ table.
Each of the Stryx Brothers stared at me with differing expressions. Raphael gave me a warm smile, which I ignored. If it hadn’t been for Nathaniel, I might have walked in here looking like I was begging to be bitten.
Next to him, Dante curled his lip, as though the sight of a sow in his academy uniform was some kind of affront. I skipped over the blond vampire. Someone so easily offended needed to keep their eyes to themselves.
The last of the brothers, Nero, narrowed his eyes in the kind of expression I’d only seen prizefighters use against each other during a face-off. His coal-black eyes burned into mine, making my nipples harden. I turned my gaze away and exhaled a long breath. He needed to learn that a refusal to kiss his and his brother’s feet wasn’t a challenge.
My plate contained a variety of blood-building and enhancing foods: a large shank of lamb on a bed of mashed potatoes and collard greens served with an overpowering, red-wine jus.
“What the hell did you say to Micalla?” hissed Kat.
I glanced up. The silver-haired vampire glowered at me from her table with those oversized, lapis lazuli eyes. Next to her, Pigtails bared her fangs. My shoulders sagged. Either the Coven of Bitches were offended at me for cleaning off their mockery of a makeover or they blamed me for somehow attracting the attention of the Stryx brothers.
A hard lump formed in the back of my throat. If Micalla owned the Stryx brothers as she claimed, why didn’t she tell them to stop looking in my direction?
Chapter 7
Classes continued after lunch, covering a range of insanely useless subjects that belonged in a ladies’ finishing school. It included Posture and Deportment, Etiquette, and Refined Communication. I couldn’t help thinking that the vampires considered us a bunch of savages and themselves aristocrats.
After Refined Communication, which was a mixture of elocution lessons and the pronunciation of French words like mille feuille and trompe l’œil, Zarah and I followed Kat and Annette to our final class, Fine Arts and Literature. It was taught in the long gallery, an upstairs room, four times as wide a
s a hallway but just as long. Paintings filled every wall and parallel to them stood statues and sculptures of different eras.
I took a window seat at the far end of the room and glowered at a statue of a woman with wings instead of arms. Now was the year people my age applied to universities, and I wanted to study Digital Arts at Goldsmiths, where Mom had done her Fine Arts degree. I couldn’t do that if hunters wanted me dead, and I probably might never be able to go home, as the vampires would watch our house when I escaped.
Zarah leaned into my side. “I’m not very good at art. Do you think the vampires need us to make small talk at parties?”
I rolled my eyes. This situation was like Stepford Wives, but without the robotics. “Who knows, maybe the wealthiest ones own museums.”
My gaze roved over the selection of artwork. Mom had taken me to museums and art galleries from as long as I could remember, so I recognized the styles and eras, but how much of this was original? I’d bet vampires had access to vast fortunes that built up over the centuries. I also looked around for Gates, who hadn’t been at lunch. My heart ached. I hoped that the guard hadn’t injured him with that punch to the back of the head.
After sitting around for several minutes with no sign of the teacher, I asked, “Is anyone arriving?”
Annette leaned forward from the other side of the window seat and smiled. “We usually have to wait an extra few minutes for people to get changed after combat classes.”
My brow furrowed. “Combat—”
The door opened, and Micalla sauntered in with the twins. Behind her streamed about two-dozen vampire girls who I guessed were in our year. Each one of them was an immaculate beauty. Those with paler skin were red-cheeked, as though they’d had a good workout. They all took their places at different window seats, and I watched out of the corner of my eye for where the Coven of Bitches would sit.
Micalla stopped in front of us and spread her features into the most unconvincing, saccharine smile. “Zarah, why don’t you sit with us today?”
Pigtails smirked and nudged one of her friends, a blue-haired girl who licked her lips. The sight of them leering down at us sent the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. How many girls disappeared as a result of befriending or offending the wrong sort of vampire? At least two, from what I had heard, and I didn’t need any sorcery to know this group of girls were the wrong sort.
I stood, and with an equally fake smile said, “You’ve been so helpful today. We really wouldn’t want to impose on your time.”
“Back off. This invitation is for Zarah,” she replied with a tight smile.
Zarah stood. “I-it’s alright. I’ll come and sit with you.”
My nostrils flared. After watching Micalla pick my new friend apart during that dubious makeover, I wasn’t about to allow her to walk off with a group of vampire harpies. “Zarah, you don’t have—”
“I want to.” Hysteria edged her voice. Either she was afraid of another altercation, or she was still in that strange survival mode where she thought doing everything the vampires demanded would prolong her life. She scurried over to the group of girls, who guided her to the other side of the long gallery. Micalla hung back and gave me a saucy wink.
A hot, angry breath rushed out of my nostrils, and my hands balled into fists. I glanced around at the human girls, looking for help, but they averted their gazes. Zarah peered at me over her shoulder and gave me a trembling smile. If it was meant to reassure me that she would be alright with those girls, it didn’t.
“Good night, class.” The Fine Arts teacher, a dark-haired vampire female with bronze skin and deep red lipstick, strode into the room from the far entrance. She wore a fitted, pinstripe jacket with a matching, floor-length pencil skirt that flared around the calves.
“Good night, Madam Duvall,” the class chorused back.
“Everyone, please take your seats.”
Zarah sat between Pigtails and the blue-haired girl, who kept turning around to sniff Zarah’s neck.
“Our artist for the day is Yayoi Kusama.” Madam Duvall raised an arm, and two knockers each rolled in easels containing bright, modern paintings.
I couldn’t concentrate on anything. From watching Pigtails and that blue-haired vampire crowding into Zarah, to wondering about what that vampire guard might have done to Gates, my mind was too full to think about art. Both of them seemed to be in peril, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to help them. I couldn’t even help myself.
A dull ache filled my chest. Mom would be worried sick, wondering why I hadn’t returned home, and if everything was true about the hunters coming after me, they might already be visiting her. In the spaces between my concerns for everything else, Dante’s insult would swing back to the forefront of my mind with the sting of a scorpion’s tail.
More knockers arrived with funky, plant sculptures, fashions, and even more paintings by the same artist, but it was all a blur. Eventually, the gong sounded, interrupting my worries. Kat and Annette huddled together after class, avoiding my eyes, and Zarah walked off arm-in-arm with the vampire girls.
With a sigh, I followed after everyone into the dining hall. By now, I’d already memorized the list of blood repellants, but the second we sat at the tables, knockers brought bowls of liver and bacon casserole served with huge dumplings… all blood builders and enhancers.
“Don’t we get a choice over what we eat?” I whispered to Kat and Annette.
“Be grateful you’re being fed at all,” drawled a voice from behind.
My spine stiffened, but I didn’t turn around. Nero and Raphael already sat at the center table. The arrogant voice at my back could be none other than Dante’s.
Palpitations reverberated in my chest. I stared ahead, not wanting to give Dante the attention he craved. Kat and Annette straightened and preened, acting as though the presence of the unpleasant vampire was an opportunity of a lifetime.
“I’m talking to you, sow,” said Dante.
“Should a sow be grateful she’s being fattened?” I snapped.
Cool fingertips ghosted up the side of my neck. “Raphael told me how ravishing you looked earlier with your hair swept up. How did he describe it?” A cold chuckle sent shivers down my spine. “Fang-tastic. Like you were begging for a bite.”
My cheeks heated. “I’m not—”
“If you want to be someone’s sow, you only have to kneel at my feet.” He spoke with a deep, melodic voice. The kind that twisted around a girl’s libido and got her so riled up, she’d do anything to hear it up close and panting in her ear.
The fog cleared, and the insult hit like a jab. My nostrils flared, and my hands balled into fists. What was it with Dante calling me a farm animal? I swiveled in my seat, ready to call him an overgrown mosquito when my gaze caught his beautiful pools of aquamarine.
All the air rushed out of my lungs in a single breath, and my entire body went rigid. Dante was… magnificent. His golden hair curled around his aristocratic features like a gilded frame, which contrasted beautifully with fathomless pools of blue. The corner of his eyes crinkled with mild amusement, his cheekbones rounded, and those full lips curved upward.
My lips tingled with some strange desire to be kissed by that beautiful, cruel mouth. Clearly, Dante had just hypnotized me into desiring him. No one in their right mind would want to approach a creature so dangerous.
He parted his lips, revealing beautiful, straight teeth. “Vamp got your tongue?”
“You’re doing something to me,” I murmured. “That mesmerizing trick. I would have thought the supposed son of some important vampire wouldn’t stoop to such desperate tactics.”
Even as I uttered the words, regret knotted through my stomach. Dante hadn’t done anything supernatural. I was just trying not to admit to myself that I was just like the other girls who got excited in his presence.
The two girls sitting at my table clapped their hands over their mouths and gasped. Hushed whispers spread across the left side of the dini
ng room, followed by an expectant silence.
My throat spasmed. It didn’t matter that Professor Proust sat at the head table or that four vampire guards circled the perimeter of the room. They were here to protect the vampires, not idiots like me who couldn’t play along. If I had thought Gates foolish for his constant struggles over guards much stronger than him, I was doing the same, only with words and without his bravery.
Dante’s nostrils flared, and through clenched teeth, he said, “Do you realize what you’ve just said?”
My lips parted, but no words came out.
“You’ve just accused me of one of the most heinous violations a vampire can commit against a frumosi,” he spat. “If you came from a Noble House, it would be a duel-worthy insult.”
My throat dried. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Count yourself fortunate that you have ignorance and ineptitude as a defense!” He stormed out of the dining hall.
I glanced at the table he shared with his brothers. Raphael’s brows drew together, and he couldn’t look me in the eye. Nero rested his chin in his hands, staring at me as though I’d revealed something interesting. I snatched my gaze away. Now wasn’t the time to ponder on the mysterious third Son of Stryx.
All the vampires, including those at the head table, gave me steely looks. Nobody had told me accusing someone of mesmerizing them against their will was a heinous insult. The only person who didn’t seem disgusted with me was Micalla, who made a fake pouty face. Since it was Dante who she wanted, I expected she was satisfied that I’d insulted him so thoroughly.
Ignoring all the stares, I picked at one of the dumplings on my casserole. Kat and Annette walked out, leaving their food untouched and leaving me sitting alone at the table. Sanguine Academy was nothing like Richley College, where the consequences of hurling insults were negligible, and the worst that could happen was a bottle of water in the face. Here, it seemed that anyone not falling at a vampire’s feet was committing a great offense.