Blake’s black eyes glowered at the boy above a sharp grimace. “Do we have a problem?”

  “Firstly,” Jameson waved a hand haphazardly beneath his nose. “You ought to brush your teeth more often.”

  Blake snarled. “A sharp tongue is no true indication of a keen mind.”

  “I only wish my nose’s sense weren’t so sharp.”

  “James,” the Achroman girl named Angelica scolded from across the room. She had seated herself beside the Healer named Clara. Though she was quite a few seats away, her voice was as clear as if she were standing right beside them. “Honestly, we’ve been here five minutes.”

  “Sorry Angie,” he replied, though his glare did not stray from Blake’s. “You know how I feel about pillocks.”

  Natalia did not recognize the phrase, but it was clear that Blake did. He released a deep and low growl as his features continued to alter, coal-black ears piquing inches above his head, eyes obsidian glass. “You ought to watch your mouth.”

  Jameson barred his teeth at that, exposing long and sharp fangs that sent chills down Natalia’s spine. “You don’t frighten me,” he hissed, his voice transforming with his features now. A tuft of blonde fur sprouted behind his ears as his green eyes began to widen, filling their whites with a mesmerizing shade of emerald. Natalia had never seen anything so striking.

  Blake shook his head with a disapproving grin as he moved to close the gap between them. “I’ll give you something to be frightened of.”

  In a fit of courage, Natalia stepped between the boys. She extended an arm out, her palm meeting Blake’s muscular torso with the strange Achroman on her heel. She was not strong enough to prevent Blake from advancing—or breaking her arm, for that matter—yet he stopped. Her hand flat against his abdomen, less than arm’s length away, he’d stopped in his tracks, for no reason other than he wanted to. He continued to eye Jameson over her head, and Natalia wondered just what was keeping him from lurching over her.

  After a moment, Blake met her stare. He held her gaze with the same furious eyes, though his teeth had started retracting. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed so tightly that she could feel the blood pulsing against the skin’s surface beneath his fingertips. She did not flinch. She did not cower. She did not break eye contact, even as she began to lose feeling in her hand. She watched him closely as his features returned to their mundane-likeness. Strikingly dark eyes, dark and bushy brows, and the new puncture wound in his bottom lip; Anger displayed in every facet.

  “Release her,” she heard Jameson say. He was beside her then, with one hand reached out and—to her astonishment—clutching the fabric of Blake’s jersey. Without breaking eye-contact, he released her wrist, and Jameson dropped his arm. The three of them stood in the aisle, amid their hushed peers, as their tutor re-entered the room.

  “Come now, take your seats everyone!” their professor giddied obliviously. Quietly, Natalia, Blake and Jameson all took their seats.

  “Consider yourself lucky,” Blake muttered under his breath.

  Natalia shifted awkwardly in her seat, painfully aware of her classmates’ leers. They weighed on her like the hot afternoon sun. Jameson did not reply to Blake. Instead, he spoke to Natalia.

  “Might I share your book?”

  She looked up at him in surprise. He wore a fixed smile, his brows soft, as if he hadn’t been bothered at all.

  “Uh,” she stammered, clumsily flipping her book to the instructed chapter. “Very well.” Blake scoffed ahead of her. She pushed the text to the edge of the desk, though without the gift of Sight, she wasn’t sure how he’d manage to follow along from across the aisle.

  As if reading her thoughts, Jameson pushed his desk against hers. Its legs scraped loudly against the floor, the only sound throughout the room as Professor Prival prepared for her lecture. Their professor glanced up for a brief moment, and then back down to the unorganized selection of papers atop her desk. Jameson’s desk settled beside hers as he fixed his gaze on the back of Blake’s head with a smug grin.

  “Graceful,” Natalia said, purposefully letting her hair fall around her cheeks to hide their warmth.

  His eyes flicked back to hers, gleaming with an excitement she found misplaced as they strapped in for Professor Prival’s less-than-exciting history lesson. “And pretty, too.” He winked.

  Natalia’s brows raised. “How modest of you.” She fought the chills which ran down her arms as he studied her through pools of lily-pad green.

  He shrugged. “If you don’t love yourself, who shall?” The corner of his mouth turned up despite his smile.

  She did not reply. It was warm and inviting beneath his gaze, but it was not enough to distract her from the stabbing glares of peers around them. They could clearly hear him, she thought. He was bold and shameless, and he was speaking to her, the girl no one else spoke to.

  Thankfully, Professor Prival called the room’s attention. “Today we will be reviewing The Black War.”

  Natalia turned her sights back to the text between them, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. She felt the warmth of his body as he dropped his elbow onto the desk, turning his chest towards her as he read the words sideways. Professor Prival dove headfirst into the story they were all too familiar with.

  “Three centuries ago, Johnathon Tella incited war against the Western Caster tribe, which we now know as Cruxa,” she began.

  Jameson shifted in his seat.

  “Patricia Nueve, the Cruxa Representative, opposed him and his Human army with an army of her own.”

  He shifted again.

  “The Humans stood no chance against the Casters, though it did not deter their plight. They fought under cover of night, slaughtered Caster families as they slept in their beds, determined to rid the Earth of their dark and evil magic.”

  He stretched an arm out ahead of him as if to yawn, only to shift a bit closer to her. He relaxed against the back of the wooden chair. She could nearly feel the fabric of his jeans against her leg.

  “He believed the Casters were a perversion of Humankind. Tella spared no expense in his furtherance, he invested every resource at his disposal, determined to develop a weapon that might disarm the Casters of their power.”

  Natalia had never been more aware of another person’s proximity. He was close enough that she could hear his shallow intake of breath and even softer exhale. His hand sat in his lap, his elbow sticking out, accidentally bumping into her ribs.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  She did not reply. She did not even move.

  “Ultimately,” Professor Prival continued. “He came up short. He died in combat, and his son, Cameron Tella, took over in his steed. Throughout the years the war raged on, neither side willing to back down. It wasn’t until King Ford instilled the Renaih Treaty that the warfare ceased.”

  “Long live King Ford.”

  A few peers balked, some even gasped. Professor Prival’s gaze shot up to Jameson, and Blake spun around in his seat.

  “What?” The dark-haired boy blinked at him.

  Natalia was staring at Jameson, too. He sat tall, proud. His chin was high with confidence. She fought the urge to smile. Or laugh. Or repeat his words.

  “I said,” Jameson spoke. “Long live—”

  Blake held a hand up. “I heard you,” he spat. “We all heard you.”

  “How can you say that?” It was Cecelia, incredulity in her tone.

  “Easily. I started speaking at quite a young age, actually.”

  At that, Natalia did laugh. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound.

  Blake’s glare was poisonous as it shot between her and the fair boy. “Demarcus Ford is a thief.”

  Natalia’s laughs ceased. She gawked at Blake, aware of her own widening eyes as he gritted his teeth.

  “That’s hate speech!” Angelica protested from across the room. “He is your King!” The blonde girl glanced back to Professor Prival, but their tutor’s expression was indeterminable. Her lips were a tight line, and her eyes did not give her away.

  “He steals from us!” Blake retorted. Natalia could not believe her ears. She knew, of course, that the majority of Kneaden did not agree with the ways of their current Parliament, but none had been so bold as to call their King a thief.

  “You’re referring to the tithe?” Jameson asked. His expression was neutral, if not a little curious. “That tithe provides for our people.”

  “Our people?” Blake scoffed. “My father’s earnings provide for the Casters, and the Vampyres, and the Humans—”

  “And your professor.” Jameson’s tone was final, though Natalia was sure that they could expect further protest from Blake. She glanced past Blake’s grimace to their teacher, and though she was clearly attempting a look of indifference, Natalia could have sworn that she saw the corner of her mouth twitch upwards.

  “That’s enough,” Professor Prival declared. “There will be no more slander.”

  With a loud huff, Blake violently spun forward in his seat, and the entire room quieted.

  “Now, where was I…” Professor Prival tsk-ed as she flitted through her pages of notes.

  “The Renaih Peace Treaty.” Natalia’s own voice surprised herself. She fidgeted awkwardly in her seat as Blake subtly shook his head in irritation.

  Professor Prival smiled. “Ah, yes. Thank you, Miss Bane.”

  Their professor went on with her lecture, but Natalia had tuned her out. Jameson’s breaths distracted her completely.

  After a few moments, he spoke again. “So,” he whispered as their tutor went on. She nearly jumped at the intensity of his lowered voice. “You have a name?”

  “Natalia,” she whispered back.

  He leaned in closer, his arm pressing into hers as he lowered his voice even further. “Natalia Bane.”

  She nodded.

  “As in, Councilman Bane?”

  She fought a sigh. “The one and only.”

  “My...” The word expelled a soft gust of air across her shoulder. She turned to find his chin pointed squarely in her direction. His eyes examined her, as if he were solving a puzzle. “I didn’t realize that I had seated myself beside royalty.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked away.

  Chapter three

  Natalia

  Jameson followed her into the hallway. “Wait.” He put a hand on her arm.

  “What is it?” she asked as he matched her stride, shrugging away from his touch. It sent tingles across her skin that she did not welcome.

  “Have I offended you?”

  She stopped. Grievances sounded behind her as peers made their way around. Jameson turned to face her as she spoke. “Offend me?”

  He nodded. She’d found his eyes intense before, but as he stared down at her now with the concentration of someone mid-task, she thought he might just always look like that.

  “No.”

  “Oh,” he smiled, his perfect teeth practically glowing beneath the lit gas-lamp overhead. “Good.”

  “I’ll have you know—” She shook her head, stepping to his side as she made way for her next lesson. “—that I am not royalty.”

  “Your father is in the Royal Cabinet,” he stated, walking alongside her. As if she hadn’t known. “He’s the Territorial Representative of Kneaden.”

  “Yes, but he’s not royalty.”

  “Close enough.” He chuckled. “Where are we going?”

  She blinked up at him. He wasn’t much taller than any of the Kneadeni boys she knew, but something about his slim figure made him seem elevated above the rest. “I am off to Professor Mellow’s room.”

  “What does he teach?”

  “Law.”

  They approached the door at the end of the hall. Dark haired Lycans crowded the few blondes already in the room, visibly arguing over who was going to share their books with whom.

  “And you?” She looked up at him, hesitating in the doorway.

  “And I…?” He blinked. He had the slightest smattering of freckles across his cheeks, nearly the same color of his skin. So fair, she thought. Blue veins stood out beneath the tender skin at the base of his neck.

  He smiled, and she quickly looked away. “What class are you to be at next?”

  “Law,” he chuckled. “With Professor Mellow.”

  She chided herself for being presumptuous. He hadn’t been following her, after all. “Of course.” Her eyes locked on the floor as she turned and proceeded through the door.

  Her usual seat was vacant, as it always was, at the back of the room. She made for it anxiously as her ears tracked the Achroman’s steps behind her. She dropped her books to the desk and fell into the seat gratefully, eager to fall invisible once again. She flipped her notebook open to a blank page.

  A pair of long, pale fingers pinched around a wooden pencil appeared in her line of sight. She looked up, and sure enough, Jameson stood smiling down at her. “You forgot this.”

  She avoided contact with his fingers as she plucked the pencil from his hand. “Thanks.”

  She spared a glance his way after a brief silence. He nodded, dropped a devastating wink, and sat down in the seat in front of her.

  She feared she might evaporate.

  ×

  At the end of their lesson, Natalia stood and collected her things. Jameson hadn’t spoken to her again, and when prompted to read from the textbook, another Kneadeni girl was quick to scoot her desk in beside him. They exchanged smiles, hers clearly more eager than his, before bowing their heads to read along with Professor Mellow.

  Natalia couldn’t stop herself from listening in on their exchanges.

  “My name is Mandy,” the girl had whispered.

  “Jameson,” he’d replied.

  “I know.” The girl had smiled, but Natalia couldn’t clearly see Jameson’s expression. “What’s it like?”

  “What is what like?”

  “Achroma!” The girl’s whispers were eager, and not as hushed as Jameson’s, Natalia had noted.

  “Fine.”

  The conversation had ceased there, and Natalia’s smile gave way.

  “Where are you off to now?” Jameson turned to Natalia as he rose from his seat, hands in his pockets. Girls around them looked and whispered as they made their way for the door.

  “First-aid,” Natalia replied, hugging her books close to her chest.

  He frowned, and she was surprised to find that bothersome. “I’m off to Target Training.”

  “Oh,” she suppressed the surprise in her tone, recalling his close proximity earlier that morning. “You have the Sight?”

  He nodded. Lycans with the gift of Sight were superior opponents. Blake Heathers, for example, had never once lost a duel, and he had his Sight to thank for that. Not only did the Sight allow him to see a great distance away, it more importantly granted him the ability to track his opponent’s every strike. In the thick of combat, a Lycan with the Sight was capable of examining the battle ground and their opponents within it as if in slow-motion. They were able to survey their opposers each and every advance at their leisure, granting them an impressive advantage.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  The room was empty now. “I don’t have a gift.”

  His brows merged in confusion, and something like frustration flickered behind his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is just what I said. I don’t have a gift. I do not have the gene.”

  As he blinked down at her, his gaze still so intense and unwavering, she looked away. “Well,” she coughed. “Suppose I’ll see you around.”

  She stepped beside him and left the room.

  Through the crowded corridor of students, she heard the chatter.

  “They’re all so beautiful!”

  “Don’t tell Antony I said that.”

  “Do you think she’s unattached?”

  “Jameson Brand—”

  She tuned out the noise and hurried faster towards Professor Deriht’s classroom.

  First-Aid was a notoriously boring class, but Natalia looked forward to it most of all. It was calm, and quiet, and she’d actually obtained a bit of skill in bandaging wounds. It was a nearly pointless skill, considering a Lycan’s regeneration rate whilst in their wolf-form, but a skill, nonetheless.

  She sat at one of the large black-top tables towards the back of the room and placed her books down in front of her. Students filled the seats ahead two to a table as she fiddled with the broken tip of her pencil.

  “Angelica seems nice,” the girl in front of her rambled. It was Clara, the healer from Professor Prival’s lesson. “I hope she’ll be in my special-studies class.” The fourth special-studies class was Blood Erudition. This class was meant for Lycans who’d been born with the gift of Healing.

  Once upon a time, long, long ago, a Lycan mated with a Vampyre. No one could be sure just how long, even the immortal Vampyres of Renaih did not remember a time so long past. Vampyres were a sterile breed, meaning they could not produce a child even of their own volition, but Renaih historians could find no other possible explanation. Vampyre blood was capable of quick and complete healing, the infirmaries in the Dowess territory were often at full capacity. Inhabitants of all species traveled far and wide across the Kingdom to receive treatment from the Dowessi Vampyres, just a few drops of their blood could close the deepest of flesh-wounds and cure infections. Their blood had also been rumored to cure long-term ailments, though their trials were limited by Parliament law. It was no secret that the progressive Vampyres of Dowess itched and ached to further their studies in blood-trials, but Prime Minister Darrius Fenalli had been clear. Blood tampering was to be closely monitored, and Prime Minister Fenalli would require all patient records and outcomes before new treatments were made available to the public.

  A Lycan with the gift held their healing properties in their blood, much like the Vampyres. Unlike the Vampyres, Lycans did not regenerate blood at the same rate, and those with the gift could not receive blood-transfusions due to the anomaly. Though a Lycan with the gift could heal small wounds for small amounts of their own blood, they were limited as to how much blood they could spare. It was a precious gift, not to be squandered or used frivolously.