by Liz Meldon
All things considered, I hadn’t actually needed to unearth the jacket, as I had no reason to join the others on the village trip. I paid a great deal of money to have my blood coolers shipped directly to campus, disguised as energy drinks that I refused to share whenever asked. Beyond that, I was a collector of expensive personal items—objects of great cultural and historical significance. Not a thing in any of the little Solskinn shops, save perhaps some of the art in its gallery, fit the criteria.
But when Emma had volunteered to chaperone the seniors’ trip to the village, I jumped on the bandwagon after her. Foster had passed around a sign-up sheet at the last meeting, and even though just about every other faculty member also volunteered, thus quashing the need for me, I had scribbled my name under Emma’s anyway.
To this day, a week later, I still wasn’t sure why.
Perhaps it stemmed from some warped desire to earn her approval. My vampiric companions of old would have scoffed at the idea, but this was now, and the wolf shifter was the last of the dominoes to fall at SIA, despite us getting along better lately. If asked outright, I would call it a tactic, another method to integrate myself seamlessly into the campus community, to win the approval that mattered the most.
Deeper down, beneath the sinew, the bone, the essence of my being, I suspected ulterior motives forced my hand. Something darker aligned with this bizarre need to please her.
Her—Emma Kingsley, a brash, breathtaking American with an appetite of a man thrice her size, fond of shapeless knitwear and thick braids that trailed down her back, just begging me to wrap my fist around while I—
Well. Never mind.
We hadn’t even been assigned to the same bus. It wasn’t like she could watch me tell students to stop switching seats while we were in motion or fend off requests from the quartet of girls seated around me when they tried to stroke my jacket’s smooth, soft exterior. After the last senior stepped off the bus, permitted to wander the shops and cafés of Solskinn’s paltry high streets, I couldn’t find the shifter anywhere—so, really, what had been the point of all this?
I’d politely declined Robert and his wife Phyllis’s invitation to the market, and without a shopping list, I had drifted about aimlessly until Marte found me. Once she had her arm looped around mine, the morning was no longer my own. She dragged me from the bookstore to the post office, and we had at last arrived in a little hobby shop, a general store that had a random assortment of craft supplies and pointless knick-knacks.
Still, the front page of the paper had been illuminating, and Marte was rather pleasant to look at, her laugh like a high, tinkling bell. What had I to complain about? At least she wasn’t a beautiful idiot, even if she was a shameless flirt.
“Let’s talk about something less depressing,” Marte whispered, the corners of her plump mouth quirking as she reached up and tugged some wool thing on my head. She retreated with a giggle, flashing a gap-toothed smile as I ducked down to appraise my reflection in the beer fridge’s glass door. A thick cap sat atop my head, reaching all the way down to my eyebrows, made to look like the Norwegian flag, its price tag stabbing at the back of my neck.
“Marte, now I look like a tourist,” I said with a chuckle, resisting the urge to yank the itchy thing off. “I want to blend in.”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn that jacket.” She batted her lashes at me, then held up a hand. “Oh, wait—one more thing to make the outfit perfect.”
Her unzipped sunset-orange jacket, complete with a fur-lined hood, fluttered as she darted into a nearby aisle, off to find some other horrendously kitsch trinket to add to my body. I waited obligingly, because that was the sort of man I had decided to be here, arms crossed and sporting a dopey grin.
As if her antics amused me.
As if I was the luckiest man in the village to be fawned over by a twenty-one-year-old nurse.
We had been at the back of the shop for quite some time now, finding ways to amuse ourselves, to pass the time before we had to escort students back to campus. The associate behind the front counter must have had all sorts of ideas, made more salacious by the way Marte giggled at the drop of a hat. Four narrow aisles overladen with junk separated us from the front door, and while I’d heard the little bell jingle a few times since we’d arrived, I had yet to see another shopper.
Perhaps Marte’s constant titters made them think twice about perusing the rear of the shop.
I let out a bristly exhale, scratching at the thick wool cap currently boiling my head and debating just how much longer I wanted to indulge Marte’s girlish shenanigans. As she rustled about down the other aisle, out of sight, I tugged at the neckline of my grey cardigan. While a touch too thick to wear under my leather jacket, I chose my outfits to suit the weather—to dress as a human might in this climate. The jacket had been too light, so I’d layered up, even if the cold hadn’t bothered me since I turned. In fact, I barely felt any of it, easily enduring the cycle of intense snowfall, then a warmish day where it all melted, followed by more snow. We were due for another dusting tonight, and I could have gone streaking across campus, stark naked and perfectly comfortable. Cold didn’t bother me.
Heat, on the other hand—I had become much more sensitive to heat after turning.
Emma’s skin was like wildfire, yet, loath as I was to admit, I had come to crave its burn. Shifters had never affected me so physically before, and I had had my fair share of experience with them. Emma Kingsley was an ever-present flame amidst all this frost; I usually sensed her before I saw her, warmth whispering across my skin, reminding me, briefly, what it felt like to be alive.
In fact, I felt it now—her presence, her aura, wild and untouchable, a mere tease of the beast within.
I paused, frowning down at my sweater, finger still tucked under the neckline, as heat rolled over me, billowing like a creeping fog. Slowly, I looked up, and there she was, standing at the far end of the empty aisle in front of me, arms overflowing with spools of lush maroon yarn, the color pleasing to the eye.
Her entire being was pleasing to the eye, if one could overlook her rather untamed, uncouth personality. She stared back at me wearing a black fall coat with enormous gold buttons, still done up to her neck; she must have been sweltering under there. A quick perusal of her figure showed a pair of deliciously fitted jeans. Red-and-yellow striped socks climbed halfway up her calves, poking out from the top of her brown ankle boots. Her dirty-blonde mane was tossed up in a carefree bun, golden wisps sticking out every which way. No makeup, but that was the norm for this feisty little shifter.
She appeared to be giving me a once-over too, readjusting the six large spools in her arms, too heavy a weight for an ordinary human. Her lower lip dipped between her teeth briefly, though it soon stretched into a gorgeous, albeit incredulous smile when she—
Oh. She’d spotted the fucking ridiculous hat on top of my head. Wonderful. Heat stung my cheeks, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was, in fact, blushing—something I’d always thought impossible for my kind, but in Emma’s presence, apparently not.
Her supple pink lips parted, as if drawing a breath, and I could have sworn my cold, dead heart lurched in anticipation of the trademark Kingsley snark. However, before she got a word out, before I could rip the damn cap off, Marte burst back onto the scene, bouncing to a halt in front of me, all fluttering lashes and beaming smiles.
“To complete the ensemble,” she gushed before thrusting a pair of pink aviators on my face. I blinked in shock, my world suddenly neon, and found myself leaning back when she skimmed her hands down my chest in a way that suggested a deeper intimacy between us than I wanted.
Over the top of Marte’s head, I spied Emma’s smile drop, her cheeks flush, and in an instant, she was gone, scampering off like the hounds of Hell bayed at her heels. I opened and closed my mouth, swallowing the urge to call out to her, and then offered Marte a thin smile.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake Emma from my mind—but what
else was new? Ever since the first dodgeball practice I forced myself to attend, another attempt to get the wolf off my back—an attempt that had actually been very enjoyable—a tentative civility reigned between us.
Dormitory patrols had been more amicable, the odd bit of pleasant conversation to be had before we went our separate ways, one in each building. We had even stood next to each other at a recent assembly, in the dark, off to the side, our backs to the padded wall as Foster rambled on in front of the sleepy student body.
Once, she’d let me refill her tea in the staffroom, the two of us at the round table working on our respective lesson plans, alone, burning the midnight oil yet both wide awake. My plans had been completed for months, but there was always fine-tuning to be done; meanwhile, Emma tackled hers week by week, an approach that would have given me hives had my body been capable of such distress.
Things had been much easier, and not because I had lost my cool and cornered her during homecoming dance preparations, something I wished I could take back, but because I had proven myself trustworthy when I didn’t devour a blood-soaked Grace Flynn.
I knew for a fact Emma had checked on the girl several times after the mishap on the dodgeball court, but true to my word, I hadn’t touched her. Sniffed her, sure. Fresh blood was far preferable to the cold canned shit I guzzled daily. Still, I was a vampire in control and had been for some time now—since I shirked the shackles of my past and forced myself to tame my baser instincts. I knew that once Emma saw I wasn’t a threat to her people, the tide would finally shift between us.
And now this—this odd moment. Brief. Fleeting. Something I ought to shrug off, something I should probably just forget. But the way her smile vanished, eyes flitting between Marte and me. The color in her cheeks different, distinct, even beneath the neon, from the flush of anger I’d become accustomed to from her. It made my stomach drop and twist, tighten and knot to the point of discomfort.
“I don’t think pink is my color,” I muttered when I realized Marte was still staring up at me expectantly. She smirked, long, thin fingers coiling around my wrist.
“No, you’re all man, aren’t you?” The nurse tugged me toward the aisle from which she had dug up this neon nightmare. “Come on—I found a few other things for you to try on.”
“I can hardly contain my excitement.”
Marte giggled, dragging me around the corner and into the aisle as the bell over the shop’s main door tolled again.
And just like that, the heat vanished. Emma was gone, and so was my patience. Forcing my thin smile in place, I tugged off the cap and removed the sunglasses, set them on the nearest overstocked shelf, and then politely excused myself.
Outside, beneath a hazy grey sky, students bustled about between the shops, their breath fogging, laughter echoing, feet stomping across a slushy cobblestone street. I looked left, then right, frowning. Emma was nowhere to be found.
But the knot in my stomach remained perfectly intact, tightening further, gutting me, with every step I took.
9
Calder
“Well, isn’t this festive.”
I had no idea where on earth SIA found the budget for so many school dances in a single year, but just one short month after the homecoming gala, here we all were, back in the gymnasium for a Halloween dance.
Attendance was mandatory for all staff and students. The kitchen had prepared a holiday-appropriate feast for dinner, each dish named something ghoulish, and afterwards the students schlepped to their dorms to change into their costumes, then off to the gym courtesy of the underground tunnels. Given the sun had set shortly before three this afternoon and the entire campus was coated in ice, no one dared set foot outside until the walkways had been thoroughly salted.
Mercifully, faculty had not become indentured servants to the student council this time around. Those involved in the event preparations had been given a half day today, while come nightfall the staff were assigned chaperone duties until things petered off around eleven. I checked my watch as music whumped from the nearby speaker. A tight four and a half hours of crowd patrol to go. Thrilling.
Once more the gymnasium walls were covered in black, twinkling lights attached to the fabric, along with glow-in-the-dark skeleton decorations. Two fog machines kept the ground decidedly atmospheric, and homemade tombstones courtesy of Phyllis Howard’s art students littered the seating area. At nine o’clock tonight, the Ghoul King and Queen would be announced, along with the winner of the best pumpkin carving, an activity currently underway in the far-left corner, supervised by Mason Ji, higher-level mathematics. Staff members also manned the dessert and drinks tables and patrolled the underground tunnels to ensure no hijinks took place. Costumed students filled the dance floor, and I’d already had nine inquiries as to the story behind my Armani suit.
Frankly, it looked good on me, and I had just accepted the most creative guess when asked. So far, Slenderman, whatever the fuck that was, had a sizeable lead.
“Calder?” James Foster waved me over from behind the drinks table, his punch ladle shaped like an inverted skull. Hands in my pockets, I obliged, strolling over with a curious smile, and then leaned in like I could barely hear him over the top-forties racket.
“Sir?”
“Have you seen Emma anywhere? I put her on crowd control with you.”
“Uh, no.” I accepted a plastic cup of green liquid, which smelled far too sweet for anyone over the age of ten to consume. “I’m afraid not, but I’m sure she’s somewhere.”
Just as I’d been sure the wolf shifter had been on campus all week, but I couldn’t find her for the life of me. It seemed she had gone back to avoiding me at all costs, our three weeks of pleasantness for naught. While I tried not to dwell on it, I couldn’t help my exasperation. For fuck’s sake—it wasn’t like I had done anything to offend her at the Solskinn hobby shop. Her sensibilities couldn’t be so delicate that seeing me with another woman had sent her into a tizzy.
The idea that she was jealous of Marte’s flirtations, of the way the nurse touched me, was cliché and, frankly, insulting to Emma. So, I ignored the option entirely, wondering if I had done something to inadvertently scare her off.
“Well, if you see her, send her my way,” Foster remarked, dressed as a gaunt Frankenstein’s monster. He scratched at the back of his neck, wearing a nervous grin. “We talked about the punch options for tonight at breakfast, and I just—I thought she might like to see what I eventually came up with. Witches’ Brew—clever, no?”
At our first staff meeting, I’d noticed eye rolls whenever the principal deferred to Emma, and over time it had become clear that he had a mild infatuation with the shifter. I had no idea if Emma returned his obvious affections, but the idea always made my chest tight.
And hot.
Burning, searing, scalding hot.
I flashed a quick smile, then toasted him with my purple plastic cup. “Ingenious, sir. I tip my hat to your creativity.”
Fuckwit.
As a cluster of students arrived, their faces painted and hair stuck out in all directions, I slipped away and ditched my cup of sugary brew in one of the many rubbish bins around the exterior of the space. Hands back in my pockets, I navigated the perimeter, falling on my natural gifts to blend into the shadows, to slip by unnoticed. If the homecoming dance suggested anything, the risqué moves wouldn’t debut until a few hours in, when the sea of bouncing teens turned sweaty and bold, hands wandering, mouths touching—as if the rest of us hadn’t a pair of eyes in our heads.
I could only imagine what the poor buggers patrolling the tunnels would stumble upon tonight; in shadowy corners and empty corridors, hormonal teens would play. And we were here to stop them, ever the wet blanket, the cold shower, the iron-fisted authority. Foster had once told me that SIA had a record of zero teen pregnancies since its opening almost twelve years ago, and he intended to maintain that so long as he was running things.
So, here I was, on the lookout for grop
ing, grinding teens in a mass of jumping, laughing, screaming costumed creatures.
It was on my third loop around the gymnasium’s outskirts that a familiar voice carried over the din.
“Don’t you get it? I’m Mr. Holloway.”
I staggered to a halt, gaze snapping in the direction of that distinctly feminine yet oddly commanding timbre, her tone both jovial and baiting. Emma stood near a cluster of empty tables, a squadron of tiny freshmen around her, dressed in a tweed jacket, a somewhat ill-fitting white dress shirt, particularly around the chest area, and a black tie. Her blonde mane had been dragged back, yet she had somehow managed to mimic my hair’s volume across the top of her head. Suddenly, her gaze flitted to mine—and she smiled.
A smile that made my heart lurch again, then plummet straight into the pit of my stomach.
“Actually—” She peeled her lips back further, flashing a pair of noticeably sharp canines. “—I’m vampire Mr. Holloway.”
My jaw tightened. My nostrils flared. And her audience giggled, moving in closer to inspect the fakes.
“Oh my god, he totally looks like a vampire sometimes,” one of them quipped, the rest nodding along and beaming up at the too-smug shifter.
“Seriously—get a tan. I know we’re in the arctic, but seriously.”
What the fuck was this woman doing? Did she think she was being clever?
Was this why I hadn’t seen her all week?
Fuming, I stalked over and cleared my throat behind Emma’s little gathering. The few who glanced back paled and shuffled out of the way. Emma merely folded her arms, cocked her head to one side, and continued to sneer that fanged smile—a smile I wanted to forcibly wipe off her face.
Kiss off her face.
Just to taste her outrage.
“Miss Kingsley,” I said tersely. “A word?”
She kicked up one shoulder and shook her head. “Uhh, no, I don’t think that’s—”
