Page 117 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

He never made it to the kitchen. A group of vampires cornered him before he even left the dormitory floor.

“They only took a little,” he insists, laying a reassuring hand on Clara’s knee.

Clara has not stopped crying since he sat down. “You should have woken me!”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Well, you know. We’d had that fight.”

“You still should have woken me!”

“Or me,” Becky chimes, even though her room is on the floor above.

Similar chants pass around the circle. I find my own lips moving with them, repeating words of solidarity.

“We have to stick together,” Susie says firmly. “We have to.”

I have never seen her look so stricken, sitting stiff-backed with her lips pressed into a thin line.

“It’s fine. Made it back to my room, didn’t I?” Harvey shrugs with his good shoulder. “Besides, some wolves love this kind of thing.”

“But you don’t,” Clara says quietly.

“Well…” He looks away.

I meet Susie’s eyes across the circle.

“Can’t Headmaster Arken do something?” I ask her.

“He already has. He’s the reason other wolves don’t dare bully anyone in our pack. But he can’t protect us from every vampire here. The faculty treats feeding on wolves as ordinary. Fortunately, we haven’t had an ambush like this in months.”

“Months?” I repeat weakly.

“Since Arken and I…formed our arrangement. Vampires have given us a wider berth.”

“I see.”

And I do, I think. Susie has been buying protection for her pack with her own blood. Her own body. Which finally makes sense—her little band of misfits does not exactly boast the toughest wolves at the Academy.

We both look at Harvey. Whatever happened, he had not consented.

Susie leans towards him, lowering her voice. “Did they do anything else?”

Harvey snorts. “Course not. You think they’d want a piece of this?” He lifts his weak hand briefly, then lets it fall. He still does not meet our eyes. He digs into his porridge instead.

The scent of soap clings heavily to him, a muddle of raspberry, goat’s milk, grape, vanilla, jasmine and rose, as though he spent hours scrubbing his skin with every bar and ointment he could find. But beneath the confused aroma is something stale and unfamiliar. More than one person, I think. And unless I am mistaken, at least one of them was male.

Not for the first time since arriving at the Academy, I find myself at a loss for words. I never used to have trouble speaking my mind. Now there is simply too much anger and nowhere useful to put it.

I am angry with the vampires who did this. With the so-called faculty who allow it. With Headmaster Arken especially, who does nothing to stop it, and with Susie for dreaming that his scraps of protection make him worthy of her. Even if it’s a lie she tells herself to endure it, she’s bought into the delusion.

Most of all, I am angry that every wolf here has learned to lower their eyes and endure.

Most wolves, anyway.

The Poplarins claim none of their members has been attacked in more than a decade. I have no idea whether that is true, but if it is, even I have to admit that is impressive. The Poplarins are still subjected to Zott and the same classes as the rest of us, but vampires avoid them in the halls, giving them a wide berth that I find promising.

Not that it matters. The Poplarins do not take collared wolves. I have seen the way they look at me, as though the leather around my throat proves some weakness in my character.

As though I chose it.