“And the wolves?”

Liam gives a sarcastic laugh. “Same old assholes, different day.”

“Like that’s ever going to change?” Mekhi asks with a fist bump.

“It’ll never change,” I agree. “But beyond the usual, anything I should be aware of with them?”

“Nothing beyond howling at the moon like a bunch of criminals.” Byron’s still looking out the window, and I know he’s thinking about Vivian. “When are you going to do something about that?”

“They’re wolves, By. Howling at the moon is pretty much what they do,” I tell him.

“You know what I mean.”

I do. “They’re not going to hurt anyone else the way they hurt her. I’ve got Cole’s word on that.”

“Yeah.” He snorts. “Like there’s anything trustworthy about Cole. Or his mangy pack of mutts.”

It’s been five years, but in vampire years, that’s nothing. Especially when it comes to losing a mate.

“She’s going inside,” Byron murmurs, and a quick glance at the front of the school tells me he’s right. The pink hat, and the girl it belongs to, are nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll be back,” I tell them, pulling off the red Katmere Academy hoodie I’ve been wearing all day and tossing it on the back of the nearest chair. After all, nothing says intimidating like a school sweatshirt…

I take the steps three at a time on my way down. I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do right now—if anything—but I do want a look at the new girl. I want to see what kind of trouble she is. Because if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that she is going to be all the trouble.

It’s a feeling that gets reinforced the second I see her standing alone, back toward the stairs and anyone who might want to sneak up on her as she looks at the chess table half hidden by the alcove at the bottom of the stairs.

And what the hell? She’s been here all of two minutes, and Macy and Foster just leave her alone out here? Where anyone could approach her?

And by approach her I mean hassle her…or worse.

In fact, I’m not even all the way down the stairs before Baxter is sidling up to her, eyes burning and fangs flashing, just a little.

I get his attention, give him a look that tells him to back the hell off. Not because I actually care if he drinks the little human dry—and she is little, barely five foot four—but because there are rules. And one of those rules is, very definitely, don’t eat the headmaster’s niece. More’s the pity, because she smells really good. A combination of vanilla and honeysuckle underlays the slight tang of too many hours of travel.

Makes me wonder just how she’d taste.

But since drinking her—dry or otherwise—is out of the question, I shove the thought down deep and take the last half set of stairs in one leap.

She still doesn’t notice, and I can’t help wondering if she’s got a death wish or if she’s just spectacularly unobservant.

I’m hoping it’s the latter, because the former would definitely complicate things. Especially here at Katmere, where, at the moment, it feels like nearly everyone is hanging on to civilization by a thread. Myself definitely included.

I move up behind her as she picks up a chess piece and starts turning it around like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Curious despite myself, I peer over her shoulder to see just what she finds so fascinating. But when I see what piece she’s looking at—dear old Mom in all her glory—I can’t help but lean in a little closer and warn, “I’d be careful with that one if I were you. She’s got a nasty bite.”

She jumps like I’ve actually bitten her instead of simply pointed out the danger. So simply unobservant, then, not a death wish. Things are looking up.

I start to warn her about turning her back on anyone in this place, but she whirls around before I can get the words out. And as our gazes collide, I lose all sense of what I was going to say.

Because fuck. Just fuck.

She’s everything and nothing like I expected her to be.

She’s fragile, like all humans. So easily broken—just a twist of my hand or a slice of my fangs and she could easily be dead. Problem solved, except, of course, for the shit storm Foster would unleash.

But as she looks up at me with startled eyes the color of rich, melted milk chocolate, I’m not thinking about killing her. Instead, I’m thinking about how soft her skin looks.

About how much I like the way her curls frame her heart-shaped face.

About whether the cluster of freckles on her left cheek forms a flower or a star.

And I’m sure as hell thinking about what it would feel like to sink my teeth into that spot right below her ear.

What she would sound like when she asked me to do it.

What she would feel like against me as she offered herself.

What she would taste like on my tongue… If it’s anything like how she smells, I’m afraid I might not be able to stop. And I can always stop.

It’s not a realization I’m comfortable with, especially considering I came down here to check her out and make sure she wasn’t going to cause any trouble when things are already so messed up. And here I am, suddenly thinking about—

“Who’s got a nasty bite?” Her tremulous voice interrupts my thoughts, has me looking past her to the chess table…and the piece she dropped when I startled her.

I reach past her, pick up the vampire queen—even though she’s pretty much the last thing I ever want to touch—and hold her up for Foster’s niece, for Grace to see. “She’s really not very nice.”

She stares at me blankly. “She’s a chess piece.”

Her confusion amuses me—as does her determination to pretend that she’s not afraid of me. She’s got enough bravado that it might work on another human, but not with me. Not when I can smell her fear…and something else that makes me stand up and take notice. “Your point?” I ask, because poking the human is way too much fun.

“My point is, she’s a chess piece,” she answers, and for the first time, she’s brave enough to look me in the eye. Which I like, way more than I should. “She’s made of marble,” she continues after a moment. “She can’t bite anyone.”

I incline my head in a you never know gesture. “‘There are more things in heaven and hell, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” Considering the clusterfuck we are currently in the middle of, a little Hamlet seems more than appropriate.

“Earth,” she responds.