by Sage, May
Only when she'd written her name down did she notice the first person who'd scribbled his name on that timeline.
Bash.
She looked up, frowning.
Something about him annoyed her. Not because he was a turned vampire—though to the Stormhales, that was a sin in itself. They believed that only the born vamps were worthy of note. Cat had always found that position rather stupid and outdated. There were stronger and weaker vamps in every founding family, the Stormhales included, and the turned were the same. At the end of the day, the blood in their veins might be a different color, but that was the end of their differences.
It wasn't even because he was—had been—a huntsman. His kind had killed hundreds of Stormhales, some without much of a motive.
No, the reason Cat disliked him was because he was a waste. A waste of power. With so much strength at his fingertips, all he did was mope around about being changed.
She got it; he wasn't born like her. He hadn't been prepared. But the change had been months ago. He should have started to adapt, and embraced the fact that he was a greater warrior now than ever before.
Cat remembered when her brother had turned. He’d barely undergone any change. He'd been a powerful mage before, with eyes that already turned as stormy as the night when he called his power. Becoming a vampire had done very little other than increasing his speed.
Her? Well, she hadn't been much before. Weaker than her little sister in hand-to-hand combat. Not even in the same realm as her brother when it came to magic. She was the typical middle child. Turning last year had also been inconsequential.
But Sebastian…
Cat, like most vampires, had an eidetic memory, which was the only reason she could recall Bash before his change. He'd been unmemorable. Pretty enough to look at, but, given their exercise regimen, most huntsmen were rather delectable. He'd been kind—that, she remembered. When he'd seen Chloe feeling uncomfortable—partially thanks to Cat—Sebastian had intervened. But that was it.
After the change, being in his presence was like standing in front of a bomb ready to explode.
He was faster than her, stronger than her—if he hadn't relented earlier tonight, she would have been in trouble, but the moment she'd snapped him out of his blood haze, he'd stopped fighting.
And he had magic.
Did he even realize how rare it was for a turned vamp to develop actual magic so damn early on?
Cat would have killed to have his strength. And frequently wanted to kill him for not using it.
A Taste of Insanity
The girl woke up at five that afternoon. Jack called right away, and this time, Bash answered.
Her name was Maddy, an undergrad earning her bachelor’s in witchcraft.
Maddy described the creature that had attacked her as a thing hiding in gray mist and black shadow, but when it stayed still long enough for her to have a good look, she'd seen a human face with sharp, long fangs, the body of a lion, and a snake’s tail.
"I was high, right?" she asked.
Jack smiled tentatively. "I wish. Get some sleep, Maddy. We got this."
Bash hadn't missed the way she looked at him, like he might just be worse than a human-faced, lion-clawed, snake-tailed monster.
He'd stayed as far away from her as possible in her borrowed accommodations within the impressive and cold Stormhale house on the hill.
The girl was still too weak to be moved.
"I'm sorry," he told her. "I just turned and—"
"I know who you are," she replied, cutting him off. "And I know about new vampires. It's cool. The demon left when you came, so it's doubly cool. Seriously. Chill. And you couldn't help yourself. No harm, no foul. Just…stay away from me, please? For now. While I heal."
Fair.
A knife to the chest, but better than what he deserved.
It might make him sound like an ass, but Bash was glad about the sentinel patrol. He definitely wasn't happy that the girl—Maddy—had been hurt, but having something to do, a purpose he was good at, in order to protect people? Yeah, he'd missed that.
After his nighttime astrology class, he headed to Oldcrest’s southwest border, near the Wolvswoods, his assigned post.
And he stopped dead.
"Catherine."
What was she doing here?
"Sebastian."
It's Bash. That's what he said to everyone else. What he should have said to her. But somehow, this stuck-up girl using his full name felt right.
"You're patrolling with me," he guessed.
"I'm not thrilled about it either. Never was very fond of babysitting."
He shook his head in disbelief. "Your people skills are horrendous. Didn't they teach you how to be nice, along with all the other shit you learned?"
She shrugged unapologetically.
"Oh, I can be nice. Is that what you want? For me to coddle you like everyone else?"
No. Not at all. Quite the opposite.
Bash was uncomfortable around mortals. Better around huntsmen, Jack in particular. Okay with vampires, because he knew that if he went crazy and attacked them, they could defend themselves.
But he only felt one hundred percent relaxed around one person. Her. Catherine Stormhale. The woman who didn't pity him, and who'd already put him on his ass once. Unlike absolutely everyone else, she didn't smell like dinner, not even a little bit.
She smelled like winter. Cold, crisp pine needles, apples and cinnamon. A delicious perfume that didn't make his throat tighten in thirst.
"You know, I think I'd love to see what you look like when you try to coddle," he replied, amused at the very thought.
That might prove entertaining. She didn't have a shred of sweetness to her.
Catherine rolled her eyes and pointed north of the Wolvswoods.
"All right, you just missed Chloe and Mikar; they said they'll cover the northwest, from this point to the lake on the other side of Night Hill. We have southwest, from here to the border, near the rail. Crysalia and Anika have southeast."
"What about northeast?" Bash asked, frowning.
Catherine shrugged. "Most of that is the lake, and Cosnoc. Levi said we don't need to trouble ourselves with it."
Cosnoc. The hill where Eirikr had been locked up these last fifteen hundred years. Vampires were always tight-lipped about the specifics, especially with huntsmen, but Bash understood that the area was warded, even more than the rest of Oldcrest.
"So no one guards it?"
"No, there are always guards around it. It just doesn't have to be us."
He nodded.
"Should we split up?"
Catherine sighed. "I wish. Mikar was clear—we're supposed to work in pairs. They threw a manticore at the borders, so who knows what it'll be next."
As she wasn't hiding her opinion that working with him wasn't her idea of fun, Bash believed he'd be in for a dull six hours.
He was mistaken.
They were walking side by side, heading south, when she stopped, head snapping left.
Bash halted next to her, frowning, as he couldn't hear anything that would have alerted her.
"What is it?"
She blinked, startled. "Sorry, nothing."
"Obviously not nothing."
She pointed in the distance, through the trees.
Bash knew his sight and hearing had improved after he'd become this thing, but he hadn't had much cause to use either yet. Following the direction she indicated, he squinted, eyes piercing through the darkness.
Then he saw it—a small brown and white owl, picking at her feathers. She was adorable, and Bash couldn't stop staring, looking at each individual feather. He realized he'd never exerted his eyes like this. He shouldn't have been able to see quite that far, and in so much detail. But it wasn't unpleasant at all.
"She's fascinating."
"Animals generally are interesting when left undisturbed. We're far enough away to observe them as they go on with their little lives."
"Do you
do that often?" he asked.
She resumed her walk, and he followed, reluctantly turning away from the cute night hunter.
"Not as often as I'd like. There are things to do, lessons, assignments. But I have more time here. I got to you fast last night because I was in the woods when I smelled the blood."
"Watching owls?"
She shook her head. "Drawing ravens. Close enough."
"She draws, too!" He laughed.
"Terribly. I took it up a few days ago; give me a century or two, and perhaps my skills might extend past stick figures."
"Ah! And you didn't see fit to mention that when the others asked what you didn't excel at."
"They were having too much fun guessing to let me say my piece."
Then they fell quiet, as they had a job to do, but after their little chat, the silence was comfortable. They walked down to the southern borders before heading back to the woods. The owl was gone from her tree, no doubt to hunt for dinner.
"Look here," Catherine whispered, eyes on the ground.
He followed her gaze to find a red fox huddled around three little cubs.
The owl had been interesting. The foxes, though…
Bash looked away.
He used to like foxes. Now, they smelled like food. Bland food, but food nonetheless.
Catherine watched him with a frown.
"I'm fine. I'm in control."
She snorted. "Yeah, right. Not even close."
He couldn't protest. It wasn't the foxes, really. But their scent reminded him that he was thirsty. And now he imagined the smell of blood from yesterday. Tons of human blood flowing, seasoning the air. He could almost taste it, making him feel sick. And ravenous. And disgusting.
"You know you're making things worse, right?"
"Look, not all of us are century-old undead, born with a silver spoonful of blood between the fangs."
He'd meant to hurt her, but Catherine didn't so much as flinch.
"I'm a year old, dickhead.”
Now he was genuinely surprised. With all her accomplishments, he’d assumed she was as ancient as any of them.
A fucking year old. She was a fledgling, barely more experienced than him.
Sure, unlike him, she’d been prepared from an early age for the change, but Bash wasn’t just a regular who was ignorant of the process or what it meant. He’d studied vampires his whole life too.
That shut him up. And made him feel worse.
“And I was never anywhere near as unstable as you. You know why?" Catherine pushed.
"Because you're a Stormhale princess," he snapped.
"Because," she echoed, "I never avoided humans. I never stayed away, and sniffed the air all the while drinking blood made to imitate theirs, as if to make the temptation even more impossible to resist. You're not letting yourself get used to anything. You're stuck in the first stage, the feral thirst that's meant to last hours, not months."
Bash turned to face her, fists tightening. If she weren’t a woman, he would have snapped.
As if the fact that Miss Perfect was a new vampire didn't sting enough, now she was telling him he sucked at this because he wanted to? He'd never asked for this. If it had been up to him, he would have asked for a quick, clean beheading. But he couldn't. Because of his siblings, Jack, the rest of the huntsmen, he had to fight through this. Linger in this world for their sake. Her indifference, her contempt? He didn't mind. But she didn't get to lecture him.
"I think I hate you," he told her, taking one step closer to her. "I've never hated anyone in my entire life. But you? You have everything. Beauty, wealth, friendship. And look at what you do with it. You delight in making others feel small. Shall I crawl at your feet to please you?"
"You're already crawling. If you wanted to please me," she replied, walking forward, closing the distance between them, "you'd grow a spine and stand up."
Then his mouth was on hers, or hers on his; he had no clue who started this messy, hungry, haunting kiss. She leaped in the air and wrapped her long legs around his torso; Bash grabbed her waist and pulled her against him, desperate to feel more, taste more.
Bash had no idea how, or why, since he'd just professed to hate her, quite sincerely. Perhaps because he hated her so very much, he wanted everything. Needed to touch her, sink inside her, make her scream his name.
But right then, she pushed against his chest, unhooked her legs, and jumped back to the ground.
"What the hell?"
He didn't know whether to be confused about the interruption or the fact that they'd been making out in the first place.
"That won't happen again," she said, a clear warning in her voice.
They conducted the rest of the patrol in silence. Bash was confused, annoyed at himself, and pissed at her. Mostly pissed at her.
At six in the morning, they headed to the dorms. She stopped on the second floor and he climbed to his room on the third.
Only when he woke up around midday did he realize three things.
He'd slept. He was in his own room. And he hadn't drunk a drop of blood for twelve hours.
A Residence
Cat didn't sleep. Nor did she deserve to. What the hell? She had no business kissing Sebastian in the woods, no matter how long it'd been since she'd last seen some action.
She'd never been fond of celibacy. In Rome, her family gave her Saturday nights off; she headed straight to hot tourist spots and played with the hottest guy she could find for half a night. Here, there was nothing for miles upon miles, and she'd been ordered not to leave Oldcrest without an escort.
When Levi had asked her to go to London last March, she'd had to call her aunt and request permission.
Yes, it was sad for a twenty-seven-year-old, grown-ass vampire. But that was what it meant to be a Stormhale. If Aunt Drusilla had heard that she'd gone out of the territory after being explicitly ordered not to, there would have been hell to pay. Punishment. Not physical, although Drusilla didn't squirm at slaps when she felt it was necessary. But Cat’s true punishments were worse. She'd wait for Catherine to truly fall in love with something, and then rip it away from her.
The first time, it had been her owl, which she'd found wounded outside of their land and nursed back to health. When Cat failed her magic tests, Drusilla crushed it in her grasp. Then, there’d been the piano. Cat loved playing, and at the time, she'd been good.
When she was nineteen, Drusilla told Cat to seduce a visitor. It wasn't the first time that she'd been given such a task, but Cat hadn't fancied the guy. He was a complete tool, and sexist to boot. So she said no, and Drusilla broke her fingers, twisting them one by one.
She remembered that day well.
"That man owns a bank I want to be in business with. And he's not easy to please. But for some reason, he fancies you, a stupid, spoiled brat. So, you will fuck Robert for your family, Catherine."
She'd already snapped the index fingers by then.
Catherine steeled her resolve, straightening her spine.
"I won't."
Drusilla moved on to her middle fingers. And then the rest. Catherine managed not to scream or cry, wincing through the ordeal.
She knew Drusilla could have forced her, regardless, but she didn't. And after that day, she never demanded that Cat whore herself again. She'd earned her aunt's reluctant respect.
But she'd lost her ability to play music.
That had happened years before Cat turned, and so the healing had taken some time. Though a competent doctor reset the fingers, she never played again, even after regaining the use of her hands.
The incident had taught her one lesson. She couldn't afford to show what she loved. What she hated. What she felt. Not in the pit of vipers where she'd been raised.
Cat refused to feel.
Hence why that kiss had made no sense whatsoever. She was on a dangerous slope. Because she'd definitely felt last night. Lust. Desire. Intrigue.
These were feelings for normal people who had their
freedom, not Stormhale heirs.
She sighed, heading out of bed and down to the right wing’s common room.
It was empty, as usual. Few residents lived in this part of the house, and they didn't have the same sense of community as the rest of the Institute students. They were the predators. Cat got along with Chloe, but the others gave her a wide berth.
The ground floor was decorated in black and white, like a chessboard, with a checkered floor, black velvet sofas and armchairs, and white tables and sideboards.
Her eyes went to the first object she'd noticed after moving in, tucked in the corner of the room.
A piano.
Six years had passed since she'd played anything at all. No doubt she'd entirely lost the ability by now.
"Hey!"
Chloe surprised her, which meant that her mind really was a mess: vampire or not, the woman definitely wasn't stealthy.
"I didn't think you'd be up already. Didn't you have patrol a few hours ago?"
She nodded. "Yeah. You know, undead and all. We don't need that much sleep."
Chloe laughed. "That's definitely a perk. Fancy sparring, then? I don't have a class until two."
Cat stole one last glance at the piano before turning her heels and heading out of the common room.
"You know what? Sparring sounds great."
After leaving Chloe as sweaty and out of breath as one of their kind could be, some of Cat's frustration had dissipated. She was starting to untangle her thoughts.
Too much had happened all at once. The manticore yesterday, the wounded girl in her family home on the hill, Bash. All small concerns that had effectively hidden why she was feeling uncomfortable. The questions and theories that had robbed her of her peace of mind the last few months.
But now, Cat had an inkling.
The entire situation in Oldcrest felt like a major setup. The term had started in October, so how come she, along with a dozen new students, had turned up at the same time in January? She'd have to check with the administration to be certain, but Cat doubted so many people usually started in the second semester.
Then the demon attack. Why make it so very obvious, leaving bodies out in the open? It felt like a warning more than anything else. Or perhaps a test.
