Page 188 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Chelsea notices too. “She is still collared,” she snaps. “It makes no difference.”

“Not to the pack,” Mark agrees. He gently frees himself from her grip and steps closer, smelling of fur, clean sweat and male wolf—the scent of hard-won power. “But the pack and I are not the same thing.”

I frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

His smile deepens. “It means I cannot accept you as a Poplarin. But that does not prevent me from accepting you somewhere more private.” He lowers his voice. “My room tonight, perhaps?”

The offer startles me. Yet I consider it. Mark is handsome. Powerful. A wolf rather than a vampire. Everything a wolf should be. But one night in his bed wouldn’t get me any further ahead. No information. No pack secrets. No magic.

“I am interested in the initiation,” I say carefully. “I want to join the pack.”

“Is that an ultimatum?”

“Yes.”

“A shame.” His voice is low and husky. “I would have taken very good care of you for your first time.”

Chelsea makes a disgusted noise. “Honestly, Mark.”

“Can you blame me?” He gives me another appreciative look and touches the side of my arm. “Kira is beautiful.”

Chelsea huffs and strides away.

“I had better calm her down.” Mark’s hand remains upon my arm. “But if you ever need anything—anything at all—whether it is someone to talk to or merely someone to spend time with…”

I barely hear him, because Nathaniel has just emerged from the dining hall, and my heart begins to drum. I go very still, wishing Mark’s hand would disappear.

Nathaniel stops mid-stride, and for the briefest moment his gaze meets mine, then it drops to Mark’s hand upon my arm. His face becomes hard and unreadable. Only the slight curl of his upper lip betrays him, a flash of cold contempt, and I cannot tell whether it is directed at Mark or me. Perhaps both. Then Nathaniel turns and stalks away, the tails of his black coat flaring behind him.

The bell rings, bringing me back to my senses.

The dining hall doors open, and the antechamber fills with students leaving for lessons. Bodies stream around me while I remain rooted in place, watching the archway through which Nathaniel disappeared.

“Hi, Kira,” Becky calls, making her way through the crowd towards me with several textbooks clutched to her chest.

I blink. Only then do I realise Mark has gone. “Hi,” I say distractedly.

Becky continues, “Coming to class?”

I nod, then pause. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. I just…” She smooths her brown pigtails. “Sometimes I don’t understand you.”

“Sometimes I don’t understand myself,” I admit.

I turn towards the stairs, but Becky remains where she is. Her gaze has dropped to my hands.

“They look better.”

“Much better. I’m almost as good as new.” The words feel hollow. My hands might be healing, but little else feels repaired.

Her eyes move over me, lingering upon my face as though searching for injuries I might have concealed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Your injuries…” She lowers her voice. “The prince didn’t do that to you, did he?”

“What? No.”