Page 103 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“Wonderful,” I mutter. So much for following him undetected.

He’s led me in a fucking circle.

The days that follow bring progress in small, humiliating amounts.

I learn which staircases lead to classrooms, which corridors are watched by prefects, which doors are warded, and which portraits are just enchanted enough to snitch on any wolf lingering after the ten-o’clock curfew bell.

I find my opportunity to ask Susie about the headmaster’s balcony while walking the grounds with her pack one lunchtime.

The others are several paces ahead, laughing and shoving at one another as Harvey tries to steal Clara’s scarf. I fall into step beside Susie and lower my voice.

“You said the other day that I could come and talk to you if I needed to…?”

Susie turns to me at once. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” I wave away her concern. “It only occurred to me that I wouldn’t know where to find you. Your room downstairs appears to have been conquered by books, and I wasn’t sure whether students were allowed upstairs after hours—or whether I’d have to knock on Arken’s office door and ask for you.”

She points towards the third floor—the same balcony I pointed out to Becky on my first day. “I’m usually up there with Arken in the evenings. You can knock on his office door, but if it’s late, just come in. He never locks it. If we’re not there, there’s another door inside that leads to his quarters.”

I pretend to consider this, then casually ask her about the balcony.

“Those are actually two separate balconies,” she says. “The rooms weren’t originally intended to be an office and private quarters, you know. They were built as an ambassador’s suite.” She points again. “See that large pillar? It divides them. The larger balcony opens off Arken’s office. The smaller one belongs to our quarters.”

She mumbles the last words, her cheeks turning pink.

I look away before my imagination can offer any suggestions as to what Susie and Arken might do on their private balcony. I already know far too much.

Including the fact that Susie speaks of them as our quarters, as though they belong to them both. Perhaps she considers it a perk of her arrangements. I imagine that rooms intended for an ambassador’s private suite are grander than our underground dormitories.

Far more importantly, I have learnt that Arken never locks his office.

I keep my expression carefully calm, though triumph unfurls quietly inside me. I will not need a key or a way into his private rooms. I only need to wait until the office is empty—preferably at night, when Arken and Susie have retired to bed—then walk straight through his office to the larger balcony.

From there, I can make the leap.

One problem solved.

Ahead of us, Harvey has succeeded in wrapping Clara’s scarf around his gangly neck and half his face, somehow managing to look both ridiculous and dashing. Clara must think so too, because she does not protest half as much as she usually does when he is up to his antics.

Susie goes on to explain that Arken keeps late hours but, once he retires to their quarters, seldom returns to his office before morning. She trails off, however, when the rest of her pack shift and race across the lawn. They are not in any disciplined formation, but in joyful, unruly streaks of black and silver fur and flying paws.

“Do you ever wish you could shift?” I ask quietly, longing stirring in my chest as I watch them.

A frown creases her brow. She watches them for another moment before shaking her head. “Not really. I’ve never been able to, so it doesn’t matter.”

Something in her tone makes it clear that it very much does matter.

By the end of the week, I have learnt that the Academy’s social structure is even more miserable than I first thought.

At breakfast, I notice Hannah, one of the first-year girls who was attacked, now sitting alone, her neck still carrying a bruise where the bite marks had been.

“What happened to the other one?” I ask, before I can think better of it.

Harvey follows my gaze. “Connie? I heard she joined Olarg’s.”

“Oh, that’s a good pack!” Becky says, glancing towards the group.

“Ours is a good pack,” Clara says, a touch reproachfully.