Page 16 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

He wants to take me to Volmasque Academy to be trained to be his pet.

Death would be better.

“We could do this all night,” he says, “but I haven’t the patience.”

He extends a hand.

I stare at it as though he has offered me a snake.

Go to hell.

Ignoring his hand, I plant one boot on the iron carriage step. Grasping the cabin, I lift the other foot. The moment I reach the top, I bend my knees and launch myself backwards at him.

My shoulder slams into his chest, and for one glorious heartbeat I think he will fall.

Then his arm snakes around my waist, and he pivots, spinning us and using my momentum to slam my shoulder against the carriage. Pain flares as he pins me there, one forearm across my shoulders.

“You are becoming predictable,” he says, lips twitching.

I shriek through the gag, scratching and clawing at his clothes, his hands, his face.

“Enough.”

Before I can wrench free, he simply lifts me beneath my arms as though I weigh nothing at all and deposits me without ceremony onto the velvet-upholstered seat.

I glare at him over the ache spreading through my bruised shoulder.

He shuts the door, raps twice against the ceiling, and the carriage lurches into motion.

I edge back against the cushions, putting as much space between us as the carriage allows. Strangely, there is no trundling beneath my feet, nor even the rattle of wheels. The carriage simply glides forwards in uncanny silence.

Opposite me, he stretches out his long legs, one ankle resting over the other as though he has all the time in the world. All regal elegance.

I feel a small, unwelcome jolt as his blue eyes meet mine.

What? I want to ask.

He smiles.

I try to sneer back, but my lips are already stretched tight around the ball, drool trickling down my chin. I wipe it hastily with my sleeve.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

I raise my hand and offer him a rude finger gesture. Fuck you!

His eyebrows lift. “Charming.”

I snort through my nostrils and glance around to scan my surroundings properly, searching for any potential weapons. The carriage compartment is fine. Sheer drapes adorn the windows, and polished ebony gleams beneath the violet glow of enchanted crystal sconces.

I blink at them for a moment before I realise what’s bothering me: I can barely feel the magic emanating from them.

That’s when I realise—it’s not the ward that was weak back where we came through the portal. It’s my senses. My ability to detect magic is muted.

The collar must be interfering.

It makes me hate the vampire even more.

My gaze slides to the silver detailing running along the dark walls, ornate carvings on the window frames, and the low ceiling, searching for potential exits. A small table is fixed to one side, set with a bottle of wine and a tray of food.