Page 152 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“Mutual,” she repeats, sceptical.

“Yes.”

She presses her lips together. “Well, at least let me take you to the infirmary. If he bit you—”

“There’s no need.” I attempt a grateful smile. “But thank you.”

She keeps peering at me with concern, and part of me appreciates it. The other part finally understands what Nathaniel finds so infuriating about her. Her goodness always seems to lead back to obedience—and to Arken.

“We have reached an understanding,” I add, with as much nonchalance as I can manage. “So you don’t need to worry. I was actually only coming down to change my shirt.”

“Alright,” she murmurs as I move past her. “I’ll wait for you, if you like. It’s nearly lunchtime. We could walk to the dining hall together…?”

My jaw locks. I force it to relax as she follows me towards my room. “Sounds great. Won’t be long,” I promise, shutting the door behind me and leaning back against it.

For several seconds, I simply breathe. Then I raise my hidden hand. Nathaniel’s blood paints my fingers dark red. Some has dried tacky across my knuckles, but a wet gleam remains between my fingers and in the creases of my palm.

I hope it’s enough.

I hope it works.

I did not kneel before the Vampire Prince to gamble everything on a single blade—or letter opener.

Killing him was always the plan, but making him bleed was the fallback—because I have a theory.

The idea first came to me at the Academy gates, when I watched the vampire enforcer prick his thumb and press it to the black iron. The gate recognised his authority and slowly opened.

Perhaps the collar’s enchantment understands the same language.

There is no guarantee. Nathaniel told me that because he collared me, he was the only person who could remove it. He might have meant the enchantment answers to him alone—to his touch, his intention. Or perhaps the collar only needs to believe that his hand is on the buckle. I push away from the door and stand in the centre of the room, silently begging for this to work.

I reach behind my neck. The buckle is cold beneath my fingertips. I find the narrow join I have worried at a thousand times without success and press Nathaniel’s blood into it.

Nothing happens, and my heart sinks. Then something stirs beneath my hand, a quiet hiss slipping through the room. The collar releases so abruptly that it falls from my throat before I can catch it, striking the floor at my feet.

The instant the leather leaves my skin, magic crashes into me. I gasp and pitch forward, catching myself with both hands against the stone floor. It’s like staring at the sun. The room has not changed, yet it feels enormous, the walls expanding and me a speck at the centre of it.

The wall clock ticks fussily, but this time, I can sense the thread of pale enchantment pushing its hands along. The flames in the sconces are restless with magic, and a spell lies curled within the door’s lock, small and watchful.

And the walls…

Old magic climbs the walls and spreads across the ceiling like buried veins, vanishing into the castle above. Hundreds of lesser enchantments flicker far overhead, suddenly discernible.

I sink onto my heels as stars burst across my vision—the inevitable protest of a sense starved for a month and given the whole world at once. It is too much, yet I welcome it.

Slowly, the vast web recedes until I sense only the magic within this room. The rest waits beyond my ordinary perception, the torrent in my veins gentling to a steady flow.

A laugh bursts from me. I cover my mouth with my unbloodied hand, but I cannot contain the grin stretching beneath it.

I am back.

The relief is so fierce it hurts. I can shift now. The thought is barely formed before the change rushes through me.

Magic pours beneath my skin, hot and fluid, filling the shape that has waited there. My clothes melt into the change. Black scales sweep over my hands, my fingers lengthening into claws. Pressure builds between my shoulders as wings begin to form.

Then I hear Susie greet someone through the door as they pass.

My morph falters, leaving me suspended between forms. I stare at my half-wolven limbs—scales gleaming to my wrists, claws pressing into the stone, shoes partly dissolved. Beneath my shirt, folded wings strain painfully against my back, longing to be freed.