Page 153 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Like most wolves, I hate lingering between forms. The body is made to choose one shape or the other, not remain in an unnatural in-between like Susie.

Susie. Waiting outside.

So what?

She cannot shift. She cannot catch me. I could bound upstairs, find the headmaster’s office, and launch myself into the sky before anyone understood what they had seen.

But it is nearly lunchtime. Students will soon flood the corridors, and the Capital beyond the gates is wide awake. I cannot burst into Arken’s office in the middle of the day and trust it will be empty. And if I’m discovered before clearing the Academy grounds—

No. I have come too close to gamble everything on a reckless dash.

I curse silently and let the shift recede. Scales sink beneath my skin, claws shorten into fingers, and the pressure between my shoulders fades.

Freedom is close enough to taste, but I have to wait until nightfall, when the Academy is sleeping, and the city is dark. Which means I must go to class and sit through dinner, acting as though nothing has changed.

Which means…

Putting the collar back on.

I stare at it. Every instinct in me recoils. For more than a month, I have tugged at that damned thing. Hated it. Dreamed of tearing it from my throat. Now it lies harmlessly at my knees, and I am considering fastening it again by choice.

Slowly, I stoop and pick it up.

The blood on the buckle has dried, as has the blood on my hand. If I fasten the collar now and the blood no longer works later, I will have locked myself inside it again.

Unless I no longer need his blood.

The possibility sends a thrill through me.

Nathaniel said only he could remove the collar. But he did not say the collar was made specifically for him.

What if the collar’s enchantment only cares who fastened it last?

I take a steadying breath. There is one way to find out. I wipe every trace of blood from the buckle with the inside of my sleeve. Then I lift the leather band to my throat.

Magic hums through it the instant it touches my skin. The ends of the collar draw towards one another, eager to close, trying to guide my reluctant fingers into place.

Do it, the magic urges in my mind.

For several heartbeats, I stand frozen, the clasp poised above the buckle. Then I fasten the collar. The clasp clicks with awful satisfaction.

Instantly, the sea of magic around me vanishes.

The room turns eerily muffled—not truly silent, but stripped of the ceaseless hum I had only just rediscovered. The glowing clock becomes almost ordinary. The sconces become mere flames trapped behind glass. The stones fall silent beneath my feet.

For one terrible moment, panic claws through my chest. What if my theory was wrong? What if I willingly locked myself inside it again?

My bloodied hand hangs uselessly at my side. With the clean one, I reach behind my neck and find the buckle.

Please, please, please.

I press, and the clasp releases. This time, I catch the collar before it falls. For several seconds, I can only stare at it as a savage burst of triumph rushes through me.

It worked. I fastened it, then removed it. The collar answers to me now.

Not him.

Me.