Page 24 of Blood Day

He’d failed.

And I suspected he was now dead.

Since this course happened only once every seven days, I hadn’t been sure of his fate. But given his absence, it seemed likely that Master Peyton had finished the job of killing him.

Fortunately, Six didn’t make a sound.

But his face expressed an agony that made my heart squeeze in my chest.

Master Peyton would continue until she felt his training was sufficient.

Or until the bell dismissed us.

We all had one more class before our free day began.

It happened once a week after our fullest class day.

I had four primary courses at the moment. One was a political course about the royal vampires of the world—this one happened twice a week.

Then I had a hospitality course and Master Cedric’s course, both of which occurred six days a week.

The hospitality course was considered to be a vocational focus class, while Master Cedric’s combat training counted as my required daily physical activity.

Sexual arts and my political lessons were considered general education courses, both of which were required but taken at a time of my choosing.

Or that was how my advisor had phrased it.

She was a vampire I’d never actually met in person, but we spoke via a telecommunication screen on a monthly basis. She always reviewed my current marks and curriculum, then shifted my classes around as needed to meet certain requirements.

I never fully understood those requirements, though. She just gave me options and let me pick what I wanted to study.

And lately, she’d been pushing sexual arts as my general education choices.

I was required to take a certain amount before my Blood Day, and I hadn’t met that expectation yet.

So here I was, still on my knees, watching Six silently scream.

By the time the bell rang, I felt numb.

Six was moving, but he appeared just as pale as the male from last week. His cheeks were sunken. His iriseswere more yellow than green. And his legs were unsteady.

I rinsed out my mouth with the requisite supplies at the back of the locker room before moving to my designated locker to pull on my clothes.

Six stood beside me, his movements slow and his gaze downcast. He seemed to be struggling to pull up his black jeans. Then his fingers trembled so hard that he couldn’t do up his zipper or button his pants, so I reached over to do it for him.

He grumbled something that sounded more like a “Fuck you” than a “Thank you.” But I didn’t take offense to it. I understood his anger. I accepted it. And I helped him pull his shirt over his head even while he glared at me.

We both knew the rules here.

We existed to survive.

I’d done exactly that. He would forgive me eventually. Or he wouldn’t. That decision wouldn’t really matter in a few months after our Blood Day anyway.

Six tried to bend to put on his shoes and flinched violently.

So I went to the ground and helped him.

He didn’t grumble this time, but I could see the misery in his features as I stood again. There was a hint of understanding there as well, along with a note of embarrassment, and maybe a little envy.