My eyes are fully crimson, the color bright and rich. They’re unmistakable, as is the meaning behind them.
I’ve recently fed. Not from donated blood, but from a live vein.
From Maeve.
I’ll need to manage myself even more carefully now. It’s not strange for a vampire to have fed—it certainly won’t be held against me—but I must be mindful not to do or say anything that may cause suspicion or curiosity into whose neck I drank from.
And I hope Maeve is careful to do the same.
An hour later, I’m headed to my first class of the day. The castle is awake now, and students move through the hallways alone or in groups, yawning and trying to rouse themselves for the day. I get my fair share of looks as I traverse the corridors to the history wing, and by the time I reach my classroom, I almost wish I had magic in my veins and could dull the brightness of my eyes. The staring is more unsettling than I expected it would be.
Students trickle into the lecture hall slowly. The air is still cold from the night, though the hearth in the room crackles with flames—perhaps some magic imbued into the very stone of the castle walls, for I’ve never seen anyone going from classroom to classroom, starting the fires. I pull my journal from my briefcase and flip to today’s lesson plan.
As my fingers brush the pages, I feel that shift in my chest again, as if my heartbeat is being tugged gently in a differentrhythm. A moment later, the classroom door opens, and I know it’s her without looking up.
I maintain focus on my lesson plan—or at least attempt to give that impression. Really, I’m thinking of our night together, of the way Maeve stood before me, hands on her hips, fire in her eyes. Her voice still echoes in my mind.
I want you to feed from me.
My fangs begin to produce venom, and I quickly swipe it away with my tongue and force my mind to focus on the present moment. More students have entered the classroom, and chairs shift and creak as the witches and warlocks take their seats.
Once I know my face is schooled into neutral passivity, I look up.
But my gaze goes directly to her.
Her hair hangs in straight sheets around her shoulders, and a chunky black scarf is wrapped around her neck, as if to ward off the cold in the air.
But I know better.
Beneath that scarf are two puncture holes, marks where my fangs sunk into her skin. They should be healing quickly—I made sure to draw my tongue over the bite, closing it and hastening the healing process. But I’m glad she’s being cautious.
Maeve glances up from her textbook and meets my eyes, and there’s a tug within my chest, just beneath my sternum, as if a thread connects me to her and is trying to draw us nearer to each other.
I clear my throat, ignoring the whispers going through the lecture hall in regard to my eyes, and begin class.
But even as I turn to the board and pick up my chalk, ready to launch into a lecture about noble bloodline amplificationrituals, I feel that thread in my chest, tugging gently, trying to get my attention.
I ignore it.
But under my carefully constructed façade of calm, something unsettling is starting to awaken and stir.
Because this connection is different, something new. After 333 years of feeding, I’ve never felt something like this before.
And I can’t help but to be worried.
And to wonder what I’ve done . . .
Chapter 38
Maeve
PROFESSOR AZULA IS ALREADY WAITING for me in the elemental practice room when I arrive. Immediately, I glance at the clock on the wall, and I confirm that I’m five minutes early. But Professor Azula is strict when it comes to punctuality; I’m not surprised she’s already here.
“Miss Vandermere,” she says as I set my bookbag down on a table beside the door.
“Professor.”
I reach up, about to remove my scarf, then remember why I can’t.
