Nightworld Academy: Term One(Nightworld Academy #1)(67)

The cloying scent from a school full of sweaty humans still covers my skin and clothes. I underestimated how overwhelming this would be — this is my first time around a large human group for years. Sure, they’re around the academy campus but never like this.

I wrap my arms around my knees and draw them to my chest. The bloodlust gradually loosens, but the need pumps through my body. I chew gum hoping the strong mint will take over my sense of smell and taste and drive away the desire. Not working.

Even though I fed before I followed Maeve, this craving is different to satisfying basic hunger.

Why did I come here tonight? To prove a point to Maeve about my self-control? I wanted to prove a point to myself as much as the others. I don’t want a life hidden from humans. We share a world, and I refuse to be controlled by something that will isolate me.

Walking away from the school hall and drifting off to spend time alone with the girl wasn’t the smartest move, but hell am I proud of myself. But what if Maeve hadn't found me? What would’ve happened?

I smelt her witch blood in the hallway before she found the girl and me, and my senses immediately switched focus from her to Maeve.

Witch blood.

The ultimate taboo. One taste can lead to disaster, because witch blood guarantees loss of control. A vampire who takes took too much and kills a witch faces an instant death sentence.

The Dominion point at this reaction as an example why the supernatural accords are unnatural. Vampires once preyed on all races. Some still want to.

At the academy, I waver between keeping my distance from witches or trying to spend time around them to inoculate my senses against their effect. Most don't want me near. Fair enough. Few outside of our race trust hemia vamps—or any vamps. Katherine’s smart, worming her way into Clive’s affections and Gilgamesh house. She has less success with infiltrating the witches, but none hold the same sway in the school as Clive. They don’t matter to her.

Yet. Maeve is about to change the witches’ importance as a rare future-sighted witch. She thinks her life is tough now? Maeve’s life is about to get damn complicated.

I tip my head so my cheek rests against my knees and inhale the autumn scents of mud and decaying leaves. The breeze helps fill my nostrils with the earthy smell and clears my head.

Maeve.

I want her close even though I want her far away from me, and not because of her blood. I’m attracted to her because she’s nothing like me and want her because she resists me. This attraction could be purely physical, or more. That’s difficult for me to tell; I’m not the emotional type despite the dumb emo kid category they place me in.

Something prompts me to find excuses to spend time around Maeve. To talk and have her focus on me, even if the reaction I elicit isn't the one I’d like. She’s fun to argue with, but the whole blood pumping faster as she gets annoyed is enough to make me back off. Maeve may believe she wins our verbal sparring, but if she knew the real reason I step away, or push her away, her disgust at me would be greater.

Maeve looks at me as if I’m scum. Listens to others and believes their prejudices to the hemia. Maeve won't accept what I am, and I’m unsure she ever will.

I’m unsure I ever will.

I pull a face at myself. Ugh. Whiny little boy. But how many kids at that school are born vampires and have a mother who left the family and joined the Dominion? I'm aware that fingers point, and I’m kept under a closer watch. They don't want to know me; I live under her shadow and she clouds my life.

Do they realise that their treatment could transform this traitor’s son into what others expect? To what my mother wants me to be—a powerful, ruthless vampire on the Dominion council.

Teenage hormones and bloodlust? Way to go, parents. Thanks for that. All because you wanted a rare child to hold up to show how damn special and important you are. You were happy to consort with witches and dark magic to achieve that aim, weren’t you?

I grit my teeth. Witches who are dead now.

Three figures appear from the shadow dragging a fourth with them, interrupting my self-absorbed thoughts.

Crap.

I leap upwards and swing myself into the tree, crouching down on a thick branch. I have little cover. Will they look up? I shrink back further into the bough. I may not understand humans, but I sure as hell know that they shouldn't drag each other around unconscious.

As the group come into view, I dig my fingernails into the bark. Ash. I’d recognise the size of him compared to most humans here tonight.

Biding my time, I plan what to do. I’ve no doubt these are hunters and they’re preparing to kill a shifter kid. His race are easier to "put down" at this age. Young shifters take longer to bleed out, and their hearts longer to stop beating than a human, however much damage their attackers do. At least they can’t turn and rip you to shreds.

Interesting. I toss the gum to one side to regain my senses and prepare myself. Perhaps I could help, but how many of the three could I take on? I pull my bottom lip down, as I think. Their blood would give me more energy, but if I kill a human, I’m screwed. Tobias hid my last fuck-up. And then there’s the other issue—how do I dispose of the bodies? Would Ash help if he knew I’d saved his life?

The three men throw his body to the ground and one pulls cable ties from his pocket. I swallow as I watch them bind an unconscious Ash’s ankles and wrists, sizing up each guy’s strength and agility. One is definitely older, but that could mean more experienced not weaker. Another has the gun tucked into his jeans, and the third is slimmer and younger. I tip my head. Is that one hesitant?