Page 120 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Zott has been especially difficult to ignore today.

“Oh yes, I can see now why you kept your Master a secret,” he whispered when I first stepped through the door, leaning in conspiratorially until I could see every waxed hair of his thin moustache. “You are destined for great things, my dear. Very great things. We must ensure you are properly polished and apply yourself with particular diligence, yes? I trust the prince is helping you practise our lessons at home, even if he is unable to attend classes.”

When I headed for my usual place on the floor beside Felix’s desk, Zott hurried after me with a floor cushion for me to sit on. He patted the cushion twice, asked whether I was comfortable when I sat, and took pains to ensure I could see the board clearly.

“Sit straight, please,” he reminded me with a fond chuckle that made every muscle in me tighten. “A prince’s pet must always display proper posture.”

He hovered long after I assured him I was comfortable, smiling too broadly and leaning close enough for his cologne to engulf me—thick and cloying, barely concealing the sourer scents beneath it: sweat and the unmistakable tang of arousal.

I exhaled when he finally stepped away, though I felt no less ridiculous.

And that was before he wrote FELLATIO on the blackboard.

Eliza kneels beside me on the hard floor, hands folded, her blue collar gleaming. Her attention keeps darting eagerly towards the door. The mayor warned her he might not be able to attend today, and she has spent the entire lesson insisting she does not mind while checking for him every few minutes.

As usual, I am exempt from the practical.

Yet I watch the door too, though for very different reasons. Nathaniel has not appeared at a single one of Zott’s lessons, but after my stunt at breakfast, I keep waiting to see whether today will be the day he finally comes.

Which is pathetic. If I were forced to endure what the others do, I think something inside me would break. But the same reckless part of me that exposed him so publicly wants the door to open. Our confrontation remains unfinished, and I want him to return so I can defy him again. So I can prove that whatever he believes he has reduced me to, I am still capable of making him lose control.

It makes no sense. I dread that he will appear and make an example of me. Yet I resent him for not coming.

Zott continues the lesson, cheerful, expansive and revoltingly precise as he draws crude diagrams in chalk. The vampire students sit at their desks and take diligent notes. I prop my parchment against my knee and doodle drawings.

Zott calls a vampire student and the uncollared female wolf assigned to him for Pet Obedience to the front. At Zott’s urging, the young vampire directs her to kneel.

What follows is disgusting and engrossing in equal measure. I cannot look away.

The demonstration takes several long, humiliating minutes. The wolf struggles—gagging and choking every time the vampire pushes his cock in more than a few inches—but each time she tenses, Zott intervenes.

“Slower,” Zott instructs the vampire. “Give her time to relax. We mustn’t frighten our pets—not if we expect them to perform at their best.”

The vampire student eases back, gives her time to breathe, then begins again with greater care. He shoots Zott an uncomfortable glance when the professor lingers, but Zott only nods approvingly and praises his patience.

Then the rest of the class begins the practical. Chairs scrape across the floor as vampires turn to their assigned wolves and direct them onto their knees.

The vampiresses have apparently been given free rein to practise other positions with their pets. Victoria has taken that as permission to do absolutely nothing, lounging at her desk while her wolves kneel obediently at her feet.

Felix drags a bucket over and places it beside Jane before seating himself sideways at his desk and guiding her into position between his knees.

“Don’t feel bad if you need the bucket, pet,” he murmurs, almost kindly. “It happens. Just breathe through your nose.”

A sick joke, calling Jane his pet, even if it is part of the exercise.

She does not belong to Felix. Not truly. But during these regular lessons, the distinction means almost nothing. Zott has assigned her to him, just as he assigned Eliza and me, and in every class Felix gives the orders, while Jane is expected to obey, as though the arrangement extends beyond the classroom.

As usual, he is horrible to her, gripping her by the hair and moving her exactly where he wants her.

Jane gags hard on the first deep thrust, eyes watering as her body jerks. It is a close, ugly thing—she hovers on the verge of being sick without quite losing control, though he pauses several times to let her retch over the bucket.

“Gentle!” I cry in dismay.

“I am being gentle,” he replies, thrusting again—deep enough to make her choke, her fingers curling against his thighs as she tries to pull off. He thrusts again. And again.

I desperately search for Zott. He is across the room, bent over another pair and correcting the angle of a wolf’s shoulders.

“Professor!” I call, but he does not hear me over the low murmur of conversation, clipped instructions and wet, choking sounds filling the room.