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He could have been talking to either one of them.
“Edon, it’s not what you think,” Lawson said.
“It’s exactly what I think,” Edon said. “It couldn’t be clearer.” He turned to Ahramin. “I love you. Why would you do that to me?”
“Because I wanted to be alpha. I did what I had to do. We needed a leader. A real leader and not one who rolled over and sat up for the masters. I’m sorry, Edon, but it had to be done.”
Edon turned away.
“Edon!” Lawson yelled. “Edon!”
Edon shifted into a wolf and growled. For a moment it looked as if he would rear up and lunge at Lawson. But he stumbled back against the wall and then stormed away.
Lawson’s face was full of anguish. “Edon!”
“Let him go,” Ahramin said. “He’ll come back. He has nowhere else to go.”
THIRTY-THREE
Schuyler
nce upon a time, before Schuyler had discovered she was different, that she was a vampire, that she would have to continue what her mother had started, she had been a regular girl at a competitive and elite private school in Manhattan. And as a student of the Duchesne School, she was expected to attend a prestigious college. Her mother had attended Harvard, and her father Stanford, but Schuyler had been drawn to the smaller schools—the urban schools—the “flowerpot” Ivies—Brown, Columbia, as well as the “brainiac” schools like the University of Chicago.
In another life, she and Oliver could have been these students, she thought, looking around at the young people. Their only anxieties were over exams and dating.
Getting to Chicago had been easy enough, but Schuyler had no idea what to do once they arrived. She supposed she could have sent Finn Chase a friend request on Facebook and asked to meet up, but it seemed so awkward. What was she supposed to say? “I’m the long-lost daughter of the father who died when you were a baby and before I was born. Sorry to spring it on you like this. Let’s hang out!”
“Are we just going to show up on her doorstep?” Oliver asked.
“I would if I knew where her doorstep was,” Schuyler said. “This place is enormous, though.”
The campus was spread out over several city blocks, and it seemed impossible that they would be able to find her. “Did you check to see if there was an address on Facebook? Any references to what dorm she lives in?” Oliver asked.
“I read every post I could find, but there was nothing about where she lived. On campus, that’s all I know. She’s probably careful not to reveal where; too many stalkers these days.”
“What about finding her after class? What’s she studying?”
Trust Oliver to always come up with something useful. “She’s an art major,” Schuyler told him. “There was something about how Finn had gotten all of her requirements out of the way and could now spend her time doing what she loved.”
“That means most of her classes are probably in the same building,” Oliver pointed out. “If we go there, someone might be able to help us find her. We might even run into her, like the crazy stalkers we are.”
“Such a good idea!” Schuyler checked her phone to see where visual art classes were held. “Looks like most of them are in the Arts Center, on South Greenwood. That’s just a few blocks from here.”
It didn’t take them long to arrive at the squat, rectangular concrete building. “Not very attractive for a building devoted to art,” Oliver sniffed.
“It’s what’s insi
de that counts,” Schuyler said.
They looked at each other, took deep breaths, and entered the building. Schuyler had been hoping there would be some sort of secretary they could ask right away, but the lobby was empty. They must have come during class time.
“The administrative offices are this way.” Oliver pointed.
The office was buzzing with activity, in contrast to the lobby. Student interns wandered around the suite, making copies and filing paperwork. The receptionist was filing her very long nails when Schuyler approached the desk. “You’re looking for who? Is she expecting you?”
“Not exactly,” Schuyler said.
“And you are…?”
