Page 19 of On Wings of Blood

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of fight.” I clenched my hands into fists, itching to let one fly.

He laughed in derision. “Sure. But do you have any skills?”

I said nothing, deciding that was just one of those things he’d have to find out for himself.

He shrugged. “Tomorrow I’ll have Regan show you around. She’ll show you the ropes.”

I nearly choked. “Regan? The girl in the purple dress who looked like she wanted to stab my eyes out?”

He chuckled. “She’ll do what I tell her. Don’t worry, you’ll see. She wants to please my uncle. You need each other. You’ll be best friends in no time.”

“I highly doubt that,” I muttered.

But maybe I could hope. It wouldn’t be so bad to have a friend in this horrid place.

Though I sincerely doubted the girl who thought I’d just stolen her mate from her–or at least planned to make her share him–was about to turn into my bosom buddy.

It seemed as if talking time was over.

Blake had resumed his long strides down the stone corridor. I followed him, refusing to ask that he slow down, forcing myself to keep up with his ridiculous pace.

He hurried me through the halls with furtive glances around the corners, as if he were worried someone might see us together.

From time to time, someone would shuffle past us–a fellow student with their arms full of books or a teacher holding a stack of parchment. If they dared to make eye contact, Blake would glare at them until they hurried on their way as fast as they could.

As our hasty tour continued, I caught a glimpse of the refectory. A huge stone hall with rows of wooden tables and benches.

“You’ll eat there,” Blake said briefly, before forcing us down another hall.

“What about you?” It was a jest, but to my surprise he paused.

“I can eat. We don’t just drink blood, you know.”

“Idon’tknow,” I pointed out. “I don’t know anything about you monsters.”

“You might want to stop thinking of us as monsters and try to see us as the rest of Sangratha does,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“And what’s that? As gods? Heroes?”

He smirked. “Something along those lines.”

“I don’t understand,” I snapped. “Don’t you feed on your own people? You call us all blightborn and yet you need us, don’t you? Where else do you get your blood from?”

He bristled. “You have no idea what our traditions are or how we feed. Some are...” He trailed off, then shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. I’m done trying to educate you.”

“Some are what?” I demanded. “I’m interested. Truly.”

“Sure you are. But you see, Pendragon, I’ve just realized something my dear Uncle Viktor forgot.” He smiled coldly and suddenly leaned towards me, so close that he was inches from my face. I could smell him again. The hint of green apples. The bastard was a vampire yet he somehow smelled like an orchard. It made no sense.

“What’s that?” I asked, my blood growing chill. I resisted the urge to take a step back.

“This school takes care of its own–and only its own. You’re right. You aren’t one of us and you never will be. I have nothing to worry about. You won’t have time to shame me, because Bloodwing culls the weak. I doubt you’ll make it through a single term here. No matter how much help you get, you’ll fail and die and all I’ll have to do is stand back and watch. You’reworried about us having to mate? You think I’d actually pollute my bloodline with yours?” He tipped his head back and laughed. “Tomorrow you’ll start to understand. But in the meantime–” He flipped a hand up and pointed. “Here’s your door.”

Before I could gather my thoughts to say a single word in retort, he was gone. Sweeping around the corner and out of sight, his black cloak whipping behind him like fucking bat wings.

I stared at the door he’d left me in front of. Heavy dark oak with an iron handle in the shape of a teardrop. Like the mark on my wrist.

For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if I was supposed to knock.

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