After failing as a vampire hunter, 17-year-old Cleo is sent to an academy full of vampires as a false peace treaty. Her true objective is supposed to be finding the hidden heir to the dark world while befriending the current one, but the current hei...
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The next day I woke up sore and exhausted. Claude and I had continued sparring each other until late into the night, all the way until Kaz realized we were missing and started blowing up our phones. Claude had wanted to remain, but after my encounter with the hunters, I didn't want to make Kaz worry unnecessarily. Besides, Claude made it clear that he had the upper hand. It wasn't even only about physical power. Claude must have grown up learning self-defense because the way he moved was precise in a way only acquired from years of practice.
It made sense considering he was the prince. But to say it wasn't frustrating would be a lie. I hadn't been able to land one more hit on him, but it wasn't all worthless. I learned his patterns and managed to avoid and deflect moves that probably would have landed before. I felt like I learned more with him than fighting with a dummy, that was for sure. He'd had a point about taking turns instead of just going at each other.
I rolled over in my bed and opened my eyes, momentarily alarmed when I didn't recognize my surroundings. A night light that Kaz had put by the door provided the only light in the windowless room. I had no idea what time it was. I reached over and flipped on the bedside lamp, hating how enclosed the room felt. I didn't want to be stuck here for long.
Yawning, I pushed open the door into the bathroom, padding in barefoot. The floor felt clammy under my bare feet and there was moisture in the air. I snapped my eyes open.
Claude stared back at me from in front of the sink, only clad in the black slacks of the academy uniform, his torso completely bare, hair a wet mess on his head.
I sucked in a deep breath.
"Don't even start," he said, completely unperturbed by my presence. "You are supposed to knock, remember?"
"I forgot," I squeaked.
His lips pressed together as I continued to gawk at him. Water dripped from his black hair onto his bare shoulders, sliding down his skin to the hollow of his collar bones. A sigh left Claude's lips and he faced the foggy mirror above the sink, using a towel to dry his hair. "It's expected if you want to look, but at least close your mouth."
I blushed and snapped my mouth shut, but before I could think of a response, my gaze caught the smooth skin of a scar, just barely touching Claude's ribs, curling around his side, and then out of sight. I remembered the scars I'd seen on his back before. What were they from?
As he toweled off his hair, I kept getting more glimpses of the marks against his skin. It wasn't any of my business, so I didn't ask, instead glancing at his reflection in the mirror. He was watching me through the glass and I quickly averted my gaze.
"I know you want to ask. About the scars."
"You don't have to tell me," I mumbled, clasping my arm.
"My father was not a good father, either."
"Huh?"
He tossed the towel down onto the counter and turned so that his back reflected in the mirror. There were more scars than I realized before, most old and faded. The wound from the Leecher had healed up completely now, pink and smooth, and I wondered if it was due to the blood Claude drank. Still, it all looked painful. The few scars on my skin had histories I'd rather not think about. Were Claude's the same way?
