Page 7 of Blood of a Huntsman

Mages and Monsters

Bash didn't know why he'd taken this class. He sucked at this. He sucked at everything, mostly because nothing kept his attention. Nothing but blood.

The ache that had been incessantly pounding at the back of his head for months grew stronger as he followed the professor’s instructions and focused on the stone in front of him.

Dammit. How fucking useless.

"You're thinking about this too hard," said a voice he recognized without issue.

His mind—that never stopped these days, even as he slept—only had to hear, smell, or taste something once to know it as well as if he'd known it his whole life.

But this voice in particular rang so very distinct from any other. Probably because Catherine Stormhale, though she was fluent in English, Latin, French, and who knew what else, had the most delightful faint Italian drawl coloring her speech.

He lifted his head and found her looking at him, her pretty face scrunched into a scowl.

She scowled often. Whenever she didn't sneer or roll her eyes.

"I'm no witch," Bash grunted.

"No, you're a vampire," she whispered. "If you had elemental gifts, they would have been awakened when you changed."

"What business is it of yours?” he bit back.

Cat's eyesweren't expressive at all. The opposite. She was so very great at seeming indifferent that he put it down to years of training in the art of being a lady vamp. A predator with a tongue and mind as sharp as her fangs and claws.

But now, he would have sworn she was a little hurt. He refused to feel sorry. He just wasn't her problem.

"None," she replied with a shrug before turning back to her own desk.

He redirected his attention to the blue elemental crystal before him, focusing as hard as he could.

Then, she spoke again, quieter if possible.

"I felt something when you worked on the earth crystal."

Bash glanced at her back. She held herself so damn straight, it was frustrating to watch. Come on, everyone slouched, dammit.

He put the blue stone down and grabbed the brown one beside it.

She was right. Concentrating on that one felt easier, more natural. Although it wasn't doing anything. But at least his head no longer felt like it might split open.

"That's epic! Can you help me too?" Greer, the witch beside Catherine, whispered.

Before she could say a word, their professor answered. "I think not, Miss Vespian. You'll do your own homework. Catherine, that's quite enough flaunting for one day. Behave. If you concerned yourself with your affairs rather than everyone else's, you may have noticed an oddity with your own results."

"I know I respond to water as well as air, sir," she replied. "But that's minimal."

"Does that make it irrelevant, my lady?" he asked her.

Bash could tell Catherine was uncomfortable with this line of questioning, and his instincts were to rush to her defense, do something to help her. That was who he was, and becoming this…thing hadn't changed that, at least.

The professor walked away from Catherine, who relaxed, to Bash’s relief.

These days, protecting people wasn't his primary desire. Even now, he smelled everything, everyone. Catherine, Greer, the other students, even Fin Varra. The vamps had told him he'd want human blood. To hunt and drain people. They hadn't said he'd want everyone else's too.

His new instincts cautioned him against the powerful creatures around him. They told him that every person in this room was a fellow predator, not easy prey. But that didn't stop them from smelling delicious.

The very thought made him sick to his stomach.

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