Page 34 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

He wouldn’t have expected it. He’d thought he’d won; his prize nearly delivered. That, and he’d watched me too closely the whole ride to risk it, those unnerving blue eyes tracking every breath, every twitch of my hands. But I’d gambled that he would relax once the Academy was in sight.

And he had.

What I hadn’t counted on were the guards.

Now I’m running for my life.

Shouts erupt behind me. “Stop her!” Boots strike stone. A guard.

I don’t dare look back to see which one. Instead, I’m sprinting down the road, heart hammering in my chest, searching for somewhere—anywhere—to go. The Academy’s tall wrought-iron fence slides past on my right, the road to my left wide and bordered by impenetrable houses, leaving me open and exposed. There’s no cover ahead, either, only more townhouses with darkened windows and thin torchlight stretching across the cobblestones.

I run faster. If only I could shift—

The collar burns at my throat at the mere thought. If I could morph, I wouldn’t just run. I’d rip them apart first. Take the prince’s head as a trophy. Then I’d keep going.

Human legs propel me forward as I angle left, bolting across the road, lungs burning as I follow the curve of the street and plunge left into an alley.

It’s not a dead end, but a long corridor running between buildings, white columns flashing past beneath ornate balconies. I run its length, searching for a ladder to the rooftops. A window. An open doorway. Any way out.

There’s nothing. Every door is locked at this late hour, windows shuttered and sealed tight.

I run in silent terror. No one will help me, so I don’t waste breath calling out.

I round a wide corner and keep going. If I can put enough distance between us, I can hide. Vampires are faster in a sprint, but a wolf can run for hours.

Not me. Not like this.

In human form, I have precious minutes before I need to rest.

My leg muscles scream, my breath tearing in and out in desperate drags.

Somewhere. I have to hide somewhere and catch my breath.

I risk a glance over my shoulder, and fear clamps down hard.

The grey-skinned vampire is close behind, one arm outstretched, its ghostly white eyes fixed on me.

It doesn’t slow.

A strangled gasp leaves me as I push harder, forcing my body forward.

If I stumble I’m dead.

They never tire, Byron had warned us over and over as we prepared for that fateful mission last year. They never sleep. They never stop. They will hunt you to the ends of the earth if ordered to. Henrikk help you if they do.

Run, my mind screams. To the ends of the earth if I have to.

But I’m already winded. I’ll never outrun it. Fighting my panic, I throw myself around the corner of a wide alley—and my heart stops.

A stone wall rises in front of me. Too tall to scale, even with the crates and barrels stacked at its base. A dead end.

I spin back, but the made vampire is already there, grey-skinned and ghastly. Another predator might slow its pace and assess its prey before advancing. This one is no longer running, but it moves without breaking stride, reaching me in a few terrifying seconds.

I twist away, trying to evade its grip, but its arm shoots out, its clammy hand closing on me and slamming me against the wall. The air punches from my lungs, and the creature presses in—colder than the stone at my back, hard and unyielding.

“Collared,” it rasps, its breath washing over me, smelling of rot and damp earth. “Running from your Master?”

“I have no Master,” I gasp, leaning back as far as the wall allows.