“I see.”
“You must also know they’re starving,” she hissed softly. “Vampires need to feed on blood from a living source, and every creature in hell is either dead or doesn’t bleed true blood. That leaves them only two options: werewolves—who are far from an easy target.
“And you.”
“Me?!” But even as it came out of my mouth, I knew I had to be included. I was a living source with lots of fresh, flowing blood in my veins. I was top of the menu. Underneath my fear, a thought occurred to me.
“How’s their hearing?”
“Excellent. If you weren’t glamoured, they would hear your heart beating from ten miles away, and they’d cross the expanse and rip it out of your chest in less than ten seconds.”
“Once again, graphic,” I muttered, slowly entering the hall. Half a dozen pale eyes latched on to me, probing the depths ofmy being and coming up empty. “But that tells us something, doesn’t it?”
“What would that be?”
“That they would hear Dora.” I chose my words carefully. “Unless something was stopping them.”
“You mean your nestmate must be glamoured too,” she clarified. “Undoubtedly. If there were an unglamoured human on these grounds, they would’ve torn her apart and drained her dry before her abductors could so much as think the spell to stop them. But it cannot surprise you to know she is both hidden and disguised. Especially if they need her to live long enough to lay eggs.”
I didn’t bother telling her humans don’t lay eggs.
“I informed you your task was impossible,” she went on. “Clearly, with age goes your hearing and your looks.”
I ignored that too. Rising on tiptoe, I tried to get eyes on the shifting sea of fangs, feathers, and faces.Where are you bastards? And where is my sister?
Sabrina stuck her head out. “Look, girl. They gather.”
I followed her line of sight to the end of the hall. It was hard to make out through the dim light and all the chaos, but there was a small semicircle forming at the back.
I carefully weaved through, scanning every face and tail as I went, and lit on the sign nailed to the wall.
“It’s a class schedule,” I cried. Squinting through the shifting bodies, I quickly scanned the large, bold cursive words scrawled across the parchment.
First Years:
Mess Hall
Class One – The Great Invasion
Class Two – History of Hell
Class Three – Intro to Torture
Mess Hall
Class Four – Stop Being Pussies
Class Five – Haven’t Fucking Decided Yet
Class Six – Why The Mutts, Leeches, and Limp-Dick Fairies Suck Ass
Class Seven – Networking
I stared at the class list, reading it again, and then again to be sure. Below the first-year list, were the classes for the second, third, and fourth years, and they were equally outrageous. “I’m sorry, does that really saystop being pussies? Who the heck titles a class that, and what would we possibly be learning?”
“How to stop being a pussy of course.” Tristan strolled up behind me. Grasping my shoulder, he bore down on me as he leaned over to read the schedule. “The clue’s in the name.”
A wave of sweet-spicy cinnamon flooded my senses, making me catch my breath. Goose bumps rippled down my shoulder and arm from where he touched me—bringing a blush to my cheeks. I’d never been attracted to a guy outside of my species before. What was the rule with this? Should I be scolding myself or giving in?
