Page 49 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

My pulse stutters when they spot me, frozen in the doorway.

Her steps slow and they come to a stop several feet away.

The vampiress’s large eyes regard me with sharp interest, her smile playful.

“Well,” she says lightly. “What have we here?”

“Hold on. I know.” The male narrows his eyes. “Bailey?”

She clicks her tongue impatiently. “No, Felix. Bailey’s a third-year. Don’t you ever look at their faces?”

“I try not to.”

They both turn fully towards me. Something in the way they look at me, assessing and amused, drops my stomach.

The vampiress tilts her head, her voice softening as though I am some skittish creature she means to coax closer. “Hello there. What’s your name?”

“Kira,” I breathe, my hand slick on the doorknob. Every instinct in me screams to shift, to scramble back and ready myself to fight, the collar burning at my throat.

“Well, Kira,” she simpers. “Want to play? I’ve had enough, but I think Felix is ready for round two.”

The wavy-haired vampire cocks his head at me.

“N-no,” I gasp.

I slam the door in their faces, the crack of wood against stone echoing through me.

Locked?

Breathing hard, I grip the handle.

I hope so. There is no bolt. No whisper of magic I can detect. No way of knowing beyond Nathaniel’s word.

Muffled laughter drifts from the other side. Then their voices retreat down the corridor.

Only when the sound fades do I move.

Heart still racing, I search the room for a weapon and find nothing. The desk drawers are empty. Nothing beneath the desk or atop the wardrobe.

No way to defend myself.

I wrap my arms around myself and try to still the tremor running through me. Cold, fear, or exhaustion, I don’t know, but I soon cross to the bed and sit. The sheet seems clean, at least—starched, crisp and bright.

Still fully clothed, I curl up on the thin mattress, conscious of how the fabric sticks to my sweat-damp skin, and draw my hood around my face for warmth.

If I could shift, my scales and fur would keep me comfortable enough. But in human form…

I sneeze hard, several times, then sit up and drag the corners of the sheet around me. That’s when I notice it.

His coat, draped over the end of the bed.

Did he leave it here by accident?

I seize the wool coat and search the pockets, inside and out. Only a handkerchief remains, black with Henrikk’s crest stitched in red thread—two serpents.

Turning the coat over, I run my hands along the lining more carefully. There. And there. Hidden pockets, padded and reinforced—sheaths for daggers. My pulse quickens as I slide my fingers into them, but they’re both empty.

“Damn it.” I watched him return the silver blade to his coat in the alley. It isn’t here now.