Page 51 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

I jolt awake with my heart thudding in my throat, gasping for air, my body heavy as stone beneath a coat that is not mine.

For a moment, I lie there in the pitch black, disoriented and aching, certain I am back in my old room in Nordokk. The air is too cold. The mattress too narrow. The dark too complete.

And the smell has none of the warmth of the timber-walled safehouse.

Then it all slams back into me.

The Academy.

The collar.

Prince Nathaniel’s coat.

My locket gone.

Fresh loathing rises in me.

Another knock.

“Kira?” Susie’s voice comes softly through the door. “It’s me, Susie.”

I shove myself upright too quickly, get tangled in the heavy wool coat, and stumble out of bed. My shin cracks against the desk.

“Ouch—fuck,” I hiss as pain shoots up my leg. I grab the edge of the desk, teeth clenched, and glare into the dark as if the room has wronged me personally.

“Lights on,” I snap.

Nothing happens.

“I said lights fucking on!”

The clock above the door flickers to life first, its face wavering as if frightened into obedience. The sconces follow reluctantly, waking to spill weak light over the stone walls.

Seven in the morning. I blink at the clock, willing it to wind back and grant me just another hour.

I feel like death.

“Kira?” Susie calls again, more anxious now. “Are you decent?”

I look down at myself. Torn tunic. Stained trousers. Nathaniel’s coat sliding off one shoulder.

“I’m alive,” I reply, shrugging off the coat and shoving it under the bed before crossing the room.

I hesitate before opening the door.

Susie stands in the corridor wearing a bright smile and the Academy uniform—navy blazer with red piping, crisp white shirt, red pleated skirt, and red socks that finish just above her knees. Her strawberry-blonde hair has been loosely braided back with a red ribbon, and her plume of a tail is neatly brushed. The gold collar at her throat gleams in the pale corridor light, the flames now a sickly yellow colour that does not resemble sunlight at all.

She is holding a stack of clothing and a folded towel against her chest.

“Good morning,” she beams.

“Morning,” I manage.

Her eyes flick over me as she continues in a friendly tone, “I hope you managed to get some sleep. Classes don’t start until nine, but I thought you might like to shower and maybe have a look around before breakfast. I’ve brought some uniform pieces for you to try on, too.” She lifts the bundle. “They’re second-hand, I’m afraid, but clean.”

My eyes land on the towel with such longing that I almost embarrass myself.

“A shower would be incredible,” I croak.