Page 127 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

By the final class of the day—another afternoon of golf on the lawn—I feel like an idiot carrying the bouquet around. The parchment has crumpled, several petals have fallen, and Professor Bomcroft keeps beaming at the flowers as though they are evidence of a touching romance.

After class, I untie the ribbon, fold the burgundy paper away, and divide the roses.

One for Susie. One for Harvey. One for Clara, Becky and Eliza. Enough for everyone here I have come to care about, though I refuse to examine that thought too closely.

They accept them at dinner with polite puzzlement. Harvey immediately tucks his into his lapel and spends several minutes adjusting it until he is satisfied.

Susie watches me a little too carefully as I hand hers over.

I hope she cannot read my mind. Because if she could, she would know these are goodbye flowers. It won’t be long now. My first attempt to manipulate Victoria was partially successful. Tomorrow, I will reel her in. And this time tomorrow evening, I’ll be in Nathaniel’s bedroom.

The thought sends a sickening rush through me, leaving every nerve in my body pulled taut and my skin hot.

I use the remaining roses to form a small bouquet. Jane left the dining hall before I could give them to her, but I find her near the dormitory stairs and hold them out.

She looks from the flowers to me. “What are these for?”

“I thought they might cheer you up.” I hesitate. “And I wanted to say I’m sorry if I made things harder for you.”

Jane studies me for a moment before accepting them. “You don’t have to apologise,” she says. Then, more quietly, “But thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her gaze drops to the roses, her lips parting in wonderment. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

A pang catches beneath my ribs. I have to fight the urge to admit, Me neither.

“Are they really from the prince?” Jane asks.

“Yes. They are.” Technically true. “And now they’re for you.”

I walk away before I can regret giving them up.

As I enter my room and flop down on the bed, I find myself wishing someone had given me flowers like that. Not stolen flowers to serve as bait in some ridiculous scheme. Flowers chosen for me. But it is a distant sort of wish, belonging to a life I do not have. A life I may have once I find my way back to the Resistance.

Perhaps Dren will pick me some wildflowers.

I snort aloud. Yes. Right. I would almost rather receive them from Nathaniel. Both possibilities are appalling enough that I banish males, flowers and the entire notion of romance from my mind.

Freedom first. Then I’ll pick my own damn flowers.

My second attempt is not subtle. When I wake the next morning, I wear his coat over my uniform.

The moment I pull it over my shoulders, the familiar scent rises from the lining: cedar, winter air, and something dark and masculine underneath.

So much for growing used to the scent. It closes over me so completely that for one disorienting second he is standing in the room, at my back, close enough to touch. I do not take it off. This will work.

Before breakfast, I make my way down to the third-year dormitory and knock on Clara’s door. The tall wolf answers after several moments, ears drooping and one hand pressed over a tremendous yawn.

“Sorry to wake you,” I say. “I was wondering…any chance you could show me how to make those origami swans?”

Her face lights up in an instant, her sleepiness vanishing so completely it’s almost alarming.

“Of course! Come on in.”

She catches my wrist and draws me into her room before I can say another word.

Within moments, we are sitting on her bed with a box of coloured parchment open between us.