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Mrs. Wainright frowned. “Now class, that is unacceptable. I assigned this book because I know how much young people these days like vampires.” She pursed her lips. “What’s that series you all read? Nightfall? Sundown?”
“Is she talking about Twlight?” one of the girls whispered, giggling. “Oh my God, that came out years ago!”
“And is she seriously talking about vampires?” whispered her companion. “Is she completely clueless or what?”
“Clearly. I don’t know what the Headmistress is thinking, hiring Norms to teach us,” the first girl murmured. “And anyway, this stupid book was nothing like Twilight. I mean, Dracula was some creepy old guy. Ugh!”
“Just because he doesn’t sparkle doesn’t make him ugly,” a familiar voice from the back of the class remarked.
The key around my neck got warmer. Apparently it also reacted to Griffin’s voice. Great.
I wanted to turn and look at him but I’d done enough of that already. I stared stolidly ahead.
“He’s disgusting! Nothing like a real Nocturne!” the girl protested.
“And what would you know about Nocturnes, Annabella?” Griffin drawled. “I thought you were just a pretty little bubble-headed Fae, taking a break from the Realm to grace all of us with your presence.”
“Why you—” the first girl started. I cut my eyes to the side and saw that she was red in the face—and very pretty. She and the girl she had been whispering with both had platinum blonde hair and they were wearing lanyards with purple tags on them.
“The worst thing was when Dracula started going after the Lucy character when he already has a bunch of other wives or girlfriends or whatever they are stashed away in his castle,” the second girl said. “I was all like, ewww!”
“He’s not after Lucy to offer her his eternal, undying love and devotion,” Griffin said dryly. “He wants her for her blood. He wants to drink her dry—an ocean of blood wouldn’t have satisfied his thirst.”
There was a strange flatness to his tone, a cold note that made me turn and look at him though I had promised myself I wouldn’t. His gorgeous face was completely emotionless but I swore I could feel something coming from him—a pain so palpable I could almost reach out and stroke it like a cat with barbed wire for fur.
Mrs. Wainright cleared her throat uncomfortably. “That will be enough, Mr. Darkheart. Please raise your hand in the future if you wish to join in the discussion.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his seat silently. Then, as though feeling me looking at him, he lowered the dark glasses again and stared directly, challengingly into my eyes.
The key between my breasts grew hot again and twitched against my skin like a small, frightened animal. Absently, I put my hand up to quiet it, but still I couldn’t break his gaze. I felt trapped by his lightning and pitch eyes until I heard my name.
“Miss Latimer? Miss Latimer?”
I realized that Mrs. Wainright had been calling me for some time and that I was still twisted around in my seat, engaged in a staring contest with Griffin while the entire class watched.
I snapped my head back around and stared down at my hands, my cheeks growing hot as I tried to ignore the amused giggles and whispers of my new classmates.
God, what was wrong with me?
I attempted to listen to the rest of the lesson but it didn’t hold my attention. I was distracted by the cool, itching sensation I felt between my shoulder blades—that feeling of being watched.
I wanted to turn again and see if he was looking at me. The key around my neck pulsed with eagerness but I ignored it grimly. I couldn’t get caught in another staring contest with him—especially not in front of the class.
But still, the desire to glance behind me was maddening—an impulse almost too strong to be denied. An itch that needed desperately to be scratched. It was almost as if he was willing me to look back at him.
But that was crazy—right?
I looked straight ahead, pretending I could stare a hole through the white board if I tried hard enough. As soon as the bell rang, I was out of my seat and almost running through the door.
I heard laughter behind me and I knew that Sanchez and his friends probably thought I was running from them. But I wasn’t—I was running from him. From Griffin and the weird, cool tingling between my shoulder blades that meant those lightning colored eyes were staring at me.
I almost made it to the door when Mrs. Wainright’s strident, old lady voice called me back.
“Miss Latimer? I’d like a word with you.”
My heart sank down to my new Mary Janes as I turned slowly back to her. Almost everyone else had cleared the classroom. Only Griffin remained, still sitting in his seat at the back. I did my best not to look at him.
