Page 12

Roxy

I woke on the cold tile floor in front of a locked door. What door it was, my fuzzy exhausted brain didn’t know, but after lying there for a few minutes, it came back to me. Marked Blood Academy, the prison I’d been sent to because I’d been injured in battle.

Countries often treated their veterans poorly, but I’d never heard of one that locked them up for an unspecified time of incarceration because of it. Of course the shifter council was not a country, and they did not run the packs under them in a democratic fashion. In theory, each pack made their own rules, but if the council didn’t like them, or if they wanted something, like fang fodder, they demanded people as tribute.

Once I’d gotten into the war, I appreciated that it must be fought, but somehow didn’t appreciate it being fought by me. I’d had less than a week of training because my superior officer insisted that the defense classes that had been part of the Urban Academy’s curriculum should be sufficient. And thank the Goddess I’d had that much because without it, I’d have died sooner. Not that I died. But would I still be likely to?

Nobody seemed to have any idea what was going to happen with me. When I’d asked, I got shrugs and the occasional, “We’ll have to wait and see.” Or similar comments. And when I tried to find out about other people’s situations, symptoms, survival rate, I got silence. But, here at Marked Blood, there were hundreds or maybe more of those who did not die right away or, presumably, turn into vampires, and most of those I had encountered the day before appeared to be in good health.

Unless they had a basement for those who did turn? I’d been told execution was the solution, but who knew for sure if that was accurate or if they just locked them up in coffins in a dark hole under this creepy school?

The dark timbre of the gong I’d heard the day before resounded, followed by a series of messages about the coming day and schedule changes and other things that didn’t mean much to me as I pushed to my feet, moaning at the stiffness a night on a cold floor could bring. Considering how poorly I’d been sleeping, it was amazing I’d managed it in such an awkward position and without even so much as a blanket. Maybe the fever that was spiking at night had helped with that. But listening to the announcements over the intercom hidden somewhere in this room, my weird sleeping arrangements were not too important.

Apparently lunch was not going to be tacos, and the afternoon shifts were canceled. At least, that was how I interpreted the garbled drive-thru-style voices. If there was something critical on there, I’d probably miss it. Maybe translating the mechanical noises emanating from the speaker was an acquired skill.

Either way, I needed to get ready for the day, and hopefully if there were any changes in my schedule, someone would tell me. In a normal world, I’d get a text or a DM, but not at Marked Blood.

Here, phones were not allowed. At least for me.

I checked the door, but it was still securely locked. Although I was fairly confident they’d let me out eventually, I still didn’t like the confinement.

After another shower in the adequate bathroom to rinse off any dust from the floor, I pulled out the uniform and laid it on the bed. Desi’s advice about the shorts came to mind, and I dug through my things and found a pair of reasonably short black bicycle shorts that should do the job. I had a hairbrush in my purse that somehow ended up in my bag, along with a tinted lip balm way down at the bottom, and that would have to do it for self-care.

Just as I swiped the balm on my bottom lip, a loud click came from the door. I nearly tripped over my own feet in my rush to get there and out into the hallway. Nearly forgetting the book bag that must have been dropped off while I was lost in the dark.

Even with the information I had been given, there was no possibility I could find my first class, so I headed for the dining room instead with the hopes of getting a cup of coffee and maybe something handheld to eat while I tried not to get lost again. I never had this problem at Urban Academy.

And of course I couldn’t find the dining room. But I did stumble upon the administration building, which worked out better than I could have hoped. The student manning the receptionist’s desk informed me that someone would take me to my first class, and I should just have a seat.

I expected Odin, since he was doing that kind of job the day before, and a familiar face would be welcome, but instead, it was one of his friends from his dining table.

Sol.