C1 The Hunt

Nightcrest academy went by two monikers: The School that Wakes at Sundown and The Mother of Blades.

I liked the second one. My blades were my dearest possession, after all. I even named them. The large, curved one was Amethyst. The small, pinkie-sized blade I usually kept in my sock was Dancer. The medium one I strapped to my waist was known as Lance. There were dozens of others I kept wrapped in a collection of silken pockets—some of them used daily and some I’d received as gifts that were just too pretty to scratch up. Over the past four years, the academy had taught me to use my knives well, and my knives had proven to be my greatest, most loyal companions.

Mostly because everyone else sucked.

That was why I thought nothing of it when I found my locker open the day of the hunt. In retrospect, I probably should’ve been suspicious of the fact that Zia was the only one in the locker room at the time. Zia who hated me since the moment I crossed her boyfriend Freshman year and his eyes never quite looked away after that. Zia who once left red paint on my chair in morning instructions so it would look like I’d gotten her period.

Zia was a constant reminder that Nightcrest Academy was like any other school in the world—students gathered in cliques, and others were out-casted. Dances took place twice a year, and relationships swarmed the school as quickly as weed-flowers. But the most important reminder Zia could’ve given me was this: Even in a place like Nightcrest, it was best to stay on your toes.

I guess at some point, I’d forgotten.

A really dumb thing for a half-breed to do.

At Nightcrest, we were called Daywalkers—the only students who could participate in daylight classes. Like them, I was unaffected by the sun. Like them, I should’ve been asleep at eight-PM, not preparing for classes.

But the difference between the us was obvious. The Daywalkers were feeble, weak vampires, who wouldn’t dare associate themselves with the Purebloods. I was a vengeful, chaotic girl who couldn’t take no for an answer. When I was denied entrance to the night classes, I responded with fiery grit, training night and day until I ranked one of the highest fighters in all of Nightcrest.

And now my efforts were finally paying off.

The Hunt was the most important event of the year. It marked the final night before graduation, when dozens of the most high-ranking students participate in a challenge to determine who was most worthy of serving the Bloodprince’s Court. Personally, I didn’t care much about some egotistical prince, but to serve the court as a Vanguard was one of the highest honors and one of the best-paying positions in the country.

Becoming a vanguard meant I’d get to live in Silver City.

The most glamorous place on earth.

I had only heard tales of Silvery City, but I dreamed of the high-rise buildings and lush night-parks, and all the tall, beautiful vampires who roamed the sidewalks at Sundown while the humans slept. For human beings, admittance into Silver City meant belonging to the one-percent of the world’s wealthiest people. For vampires, it meant having ties to the Bloodprince.

My legs shook with anticipation as the joined the other contestants of the preparation line. The sun had sunken well beyond the tree-caps of the lush forest in front of us, casting violet hues on the twilight sky. The contestants around us were just strapping on their blades—hilts around their ankles, their waists, their arms. I had been prepared for some time, too restless to sleep until sundown. The moment I’d found my blades in the locker room, I’d stuck them to my body and they hadn’t left me since.

I looked upon the crowd around me—most of the girls feeble, slender vampires with minimal muscle. Most of the men athletic, but small. I was going to win this challenge. I felt it in the air, the sounds of crickets in the distance, my heartbeat singing in my ears.

By the end of the night, I would be a Vanguard, with a place in Silver City just like the rest of them.

Professor Benson, the close-hand combat instructor, took stance in front of all the vampires who lounged on the lawn and practiced knife-throws at target-boards.

“So, we’ll go over the instructions once again,” Benson said. “As you all know, some of you may not be returning from this challenge. It is a frightening prospect, yes, but every year, there is always at least one casualty.” Lily swallowed hard, but this wasn’t news to her or anyone else. Vanguards sacrificed their lives for their kings—why should the test to prove themselves be any different?

“I’m going to send you out in sections,” said Professor Benson. “This is to avoid friendly fire, for better sake of the term. These lands are wrought with wolves. Bring us back the claws of one before midnight. The prince will be arriving in the next two hours and he’ll make his selection before dawn breaks.”

I felt the nerves wriggle in my belly.

Benson gave us a few more moments to prepare, then called everyone up to the starting line. My instincts twinged as Zia sidled up beside me, looking much too smug. “Good luck, Bloodcow.”

I flinched at the slur, but turned my attention to the forest, seeking the treetops to watch the ones that moved more consistently than the others. This was where the wolves hid.

The moment the sun disappeared behind the trees, Benson fired off his pistol into the sky and every vampire lunged into darkness.

The trees enveloped me, whacking me with their branches and sticking me with their needles. I was running through the slats between them, leaping over stone and moss and streams until I came to the location where I’d seen the trees shuffle.

The earth was dark here, and I didn’t possess the eyesight that the Purebloods had, but I didn’t need it. A true vanguard used every instinct to spot their pray, not just one.

I crept along the brush, slipping silently behind trees and watching in the distance as one of the other competitors stumbled upon a wolf. It had been crouched below a bush then they attacked. Their first swing missed and the wolf slithered off deeper into the brush. If I followed it long enough, I could find it—kill it and take the claws for my own. I started in its direction when—

Something hit me, slamming her to the forest floor. I tumbled and bounced back to my feet, my blade already in my hand. The man that stood before her was large, with brown hair that curled above his eyes and a chest full of muscles. I wouldn’t have known him for a wolf if it was not his smell, and the fact that he was panting and watching me with white eyes, like he’d been running from someone else.

I flexed her fingers tightly around the blade and leapt at him. Stab in the stomach, not the heart, we’d had been taught. Werewolves had outrageously strong hearts. Never bite. Never taste their blood.

Werewolf blood was simply as toxic as oleander.

That was why I pressed my lips together tight to keep the blood from my mouth as I lunged to him with my blade prepared. He blocked the knife with his forearm, the blade only striking bone-deep before it exploded into broken metal and a shattered wooden hilt.

My heart dropped into my stomach. “No! Lance!” I cried out.

Before I could produce another blade, the man had me by the throat, pinning me to the bark of a tree. He had picked up the broken blade at some point and was holding it to my cheek. He could have killed me then, but instead, he sought my eyes in the darkness.

His were the color of earth; rich, deep amber, with long black lashes.

It was just as I’d read in class. Like staring into the eyes of a wolf. Seeing the soul inside.

His large hand was crushing in on my throat. I clawed at his wrist, tears climbing my eyes. I didn’t want to beg…but I didn’t want to die, either.

“Don’t follow me,” he snarled lowly, his breath against my face.

I nodded and he let go, watching me slump to the forest floor before he turned away.

Then he burst to a wolf—a beast with a coat like brown-sugar and eyes like moonlight. He turned to look at me one last time, then he vanished into the forest.