I kept hoping Graves would decide to come back up on the bed. But no. He went back to sleeping

on the floor in his sleeping bag, and he moved the bag a little farther away each night until he ended

up almost at the door.

So I just went to class, kept my eyes and ears open, did my homework, and endured Aspect Mastery

as well as I could.

It was the only school I’d ever been to where I actually looked forward to gym class. At the other

Schola the directive had been to stop me sparring with anyone. All part of the plan to keep me dumb

and vulnerable, and poor Dylan hadn’t known what to do. I hadn’t been there long enough for him

to figure out how to go about breaking the rules over me either.

Here, though, things were different.

I hit the mats hard and bounced up, warmth flooding my body as my teeth tingled. “Very good!” Arcus yelled, teeth white against the darkness of his face. “Turn, turn turn!”

I did, instinctively throwing an elbow up to catch his strike. My arm went briefly numb; his fist

headed for my face. I ducked aside instead of back, grabbed his wrist with clumsy fingers, and

pulled. My teeth stopped tingling and ached, a bolt of warm sensitivity crackling along my jaw, and

the fangs would have dimpled my lower lip if my mouth hadn’t been open while I gasped for air.

Sweat flew as I helped him fly past me, my knee bolting up. The strike had no weight behind it because I had to fall back and get my balance.

He whirled on the balls of his feet, the change rippling under his ebony skin. Wiry dark hair sprang

loose, crawling up from his flesh like a fast-forward of plants growing. He was built like a football

player, and pretty graceful too. His wide nostrils flared, taking in quick sharp breaths. “No! Press

your advantage while you can!”

“Don’t have the footing!” I snarled back. “You’d knock me over!”

“Then you shouldn’t lose your footing, girl!” He spread his arms, the crackling of bone receding as

he dropped back into human form, hair retreating along his cheeks.

I skipped back half-nervously, hands up and ready. Watched him.

He feinted; I didn’t fall for it. Moved closer, looked like he wanted to close with a jab or two, but I

faded to the side. As long as I had plenty of room I wasn’t doing too badly. He hadn’t pronounced

me completely hopeless, at least, which I’ve heard he sometimes does.

They had me sparring with wulfen teachers here because the happy stuff in a svetocha’s blood—the

same stuff that will make me eventually toxic to suckers after I hit the girl version of the drift and