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Chapter Forty-Five

B riony

“What?” I say, blinking hard against the fiercely bright clinic lights. Did I catch that right? Did I hear what I think I heard?

Fox hangs back in the only shadow in the room and I can’t read his face.

I push back the stupid blanket and scrabble over the bed.

“What did you just say?” I whisper, my body shaking.

I must have misheard. There is no other explanation for it. Because Fox Tudor could not have said what I think he just said.

“Are you on something, man?” Dray says to the professor. “Drink something a little psychedelic?”

“I’m perfectly sound of mind,” he snarls.

“But you said–” I begin.

“You’re not her mate,” Beaufort says, stepping into the space between me and the professor. “That’s bullshit. And I don’t know why you think you can mess with our heads and her head, but–”

“Messing with your heads?” the professor snorts. “Why would I waste my time?”

“I don’t know, you tell us.”

“She’s my mate” he says and I can’t help gasping, my head reeling. Because he said it again and this time, there was no doubt about the words he uttered.

The room spins and I have to grip the blanket in my fists to stop from tumbling away.

“Not possible,” Beaufort says.

“You think just because he has some fucking marks on his wrists – ones none of the rest of you have – ones she doesn’t even have herself – that makes you her fated mates!”

“No, there’s more,” Dray says.

“Such as?” the professor says, not sounding in the least bit convinced.

Dray peers Beaufort’s way and his bond brother shakes his head.

“What …” I begin, my voice catching in my throat. For the first time I realize how raw and sore it is. “What makes you think I’m your mate, Fox?”

It seems like the craziest thing I’ve ever heard – and jeez I’ve heard and seen a lot of crazy things since arriving at the academy.

There’s a long pause. Beaufort must be right. The professor is just messing with us. I don’t know why but–

“Your scent.”

“Huh?” Dray says, ears obviously pricking up. As a wolf, I suspect he considers anything smell-related to be his domain .

“My scent?”

“Yes,” he groans, “it’s the most delicious, delectable, damn-right hypnotizing scent I’ve ever smelled. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop wanting it.” His voice hardens. “I’m addicted to it. I’m addicted to you.”

My mouth falls open. All those times it felt like he wanted to kiss me, and I dismissed them, sure I was imagining things. All the times I felt this electricity in the air between us and dismissed them too, concluding it was simply his magic in the air.

How did I not see this?

“Dude,” Dray chuckles, making the professor growl. “Her scent is fucking awesome – you can smell how wet her pussy is all of the time,” the professor growls more fiercely and his cold magic crackles in the air, “but that doesn’t mean she’s your freaking fated mate.”

“It does,” he says. “For my kind.”

Dray considers the professor, something flickering in his eyes. “So it’s true what they say about you, Prof.,” he says, licking his lips.

“I’d like to talk to the professor alone,” I tell the Princes.

“Err, no,” Dray says.

“It wasn’t a request,” I tell him.

“Still, no.”

“Come on,” Thorne tells the others. “We’ll be right outside the door,” he adds, and I’m not sure if those words are directed at me or Fox.

The three Princes walk out of the room and Dray glares at the professor before closing the door.

When it clicks shut, I round on Fox.

“What the hell?” He takes a shocked step backwards. What was he expecting? Me to run into his arms? “Is this some kind of joke or– ”

“No, I’m deadly serious.”

“You truly believe that I am your–”

“Fated mate and I am yours.”

“But I’m the Princes’ fated mate,” I protest, rubbing at my bruised wrists. This is the most incredible conversation. It was hard enough to believe that much was true – but Thorne has the markings now. Whatever exactly Beaufort saw in that vision, it must have been right.

It isn’t possible for me to be Fox’s mate too.

“So they say,” he mutters. “You really think you can trust them?”

“But I should trust you?” I flop back on the bed, folding my arms over my chest and shaking my head in disbelief.

“Why the hell would I lie, Briony?”

“I don’t know. Just like I don’t know why they lied about my sister.”

“Just like you’re lying about whatever has been taking you into the forest every night.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

“Seems like I’m not the only one,” he scoffs.

“Fox,” I say with exasperation, his name making his body taut and alert with concentration. “Do you even like me?”

“I’m obsessed with you, Miss Storm. I’m on the brink of losing my damn mind.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

And why do I feel disappointed? I bet those in the academy who aren’t crushing all over the Princes, are probably crushing over the hot and broody professor. I bet he has even more admirers outside the academy too. After all, the professor counts Madame Bardin as a past lover.

He says he’s obsessed with me, yet my warped logic and really fucked up heart would rather he said he liked me .

Why do I even care? It’s not like I have feelings for him too … do I?

“When I thought you were …” His neck cords tighten and his voice trails off.

“And you think all this just because I smell nice?”

“It’s more than that, Briony. It’s a sign. A clear sign.”

“For your kind?” I repeat his earlier words and he nods. “Shadow weavers? But then why–”

“No, Briony, not shadow weavers.”

His eyes glow in the shadows and I shiver, the air suddenly cold.

“Then what?”

He takes a deep inhale and slams his fist against the light switch. The bright lights extinguish immediately, plunging the room into darkness.

And then he’s right beside me, eyes shining in the darkness, the coldness of his magic brushing against my skin.

I’d recognized almost immediately that he was different from most other shadow weavers. His magic cold, where theirs was warm. His eyes glowing like they do. But then Madame Bardin’s had been similar and so I’d never really questioned it.

But now, I understand. They are different from the other shadow weavers. Just like Dray and the other shifters are different too.

“What are you?” I whisper. Although, deep down in my heart I already know. I’ve always known.

“Something deplorable. Something that belongs in the shadows. Something you should be afraid of.”

“Vampire,” I whisper, not wanting to believe it.

Not Fox Tudor.

Not beautiful Fox Tudor – so full of life and exuberance. So damn beautiful .

“Yes,” he whispers, and there’s a lisp in his voice now and through the darkness, I see his fangs have lengthened, sharp and pointed and ivory white.

“But you weren’t always,” I say, my voice sounding far away.

He’s right, I should be afraid of him. Terrified maybe. And yet, I’m not. I’m strangely calm. I always have been in his presence, even if I’ve always sensed the danger somewhere in the periphery of my mind.

“No,” he says, shrinking a step away, his fangs retracting. “I wasn’t always. Once I was just a boy from Slate Quarter.”

Now I understand the change. The sunlight sucked from his skin; the life sucked from his body. Changed from something alive and vibrant to something immortal, flickering always on the line between life and death.

“Then how?” I ask.

“Another vampire,” he says. “They fed from me.”

“But that would kill you, wouldn’t it?” Or is he more dead than I think?

“No,” he says, “a vampire can choose how much they take. Just enough to whet their appetite, to suppress their hunger, or enough to kill.” I shiver again and he takes another step back as if he knows his presence is chilling the air.

“But that in itself is not enough to transform a human into a vampire. The vampire must allow the human to feed from them – to take in their blood.”

“Oh my gosh!” I say, hands flying to my mouth. “That’s how you obtained your powers! You took another vampire’s blood.”

“Yes,” he says, nodding, and pacing across the room. “And it’s my biggest fucking regret. But I was young and stupid. Swayed and seduced by power and immortality. By a different life.”

“Regret it?” I say. “But you’re a shadow weaver. A professor. You escaped Slate Quarter.”

He spins round and fixes me with those glowing eyes. “You don’t know what I’d give to return home – to go back to Slate, to go back to how things were.”

“Because you’ve forgotten how awful it is, Professor,” I spit.

“You think this existence is a good one?” He turns his palms towards me. “Confined to the shadows, never able to feel the sunlight fall across my face. Forced to feed on the weak, always hungry, never satisfied. No friends, no companions. No chance at a family or a life of my own.”

“Feed on the weak?” I cry. He can’t mean …

“What do you think I was doing out in the forest last night, Miss Storm? Searching for my next feed.” He must register the horror on my face and the way I shrink from him. “Not humans,” he spits, “I’m not a monster.”

“Then what?” I ask.

“Deer mostly,” he says with disgust. “Rabbits and squirrels if I’m desperate.”

I let out the breath I was holding.

If he wants my sympathy, I’m finding it hard to give it to him. Then again, I know what it’s like to have no options, for others to dictate your decision.

“The vampire who forced you to–”

“Didn’t force,” he says firmly. “Fool that I am, I chose this existence, Briony.”