Chapter Three
FML! This is my first coherent thought when I roll over in the morning to discover that while I’d intended to sleep only briefly, I’ve dozed for a few hours. “Great way to start your first day, Katia. Late.” I mumble grouchily, dragging myself into an upright position. I’m told that with age I will require less sleep, but at seventeen, with all of the physical and emotional changes taking place, my body requires a constant stream of blood and rest to stay fully charged. Right now I feel like I could sleep for days. Probably I shouldn’t have stayed up all night. It’s not like I don’t know better.
Since I only have about 20 minutes to get myself to class, I jump out of bed and head straight for the fridge. I’m starving again and know that there won’t be time to stop in the dining hall for blood or food. I don’t eat much human food, as it carries virtually no nutritional value for me, but I still eat on occasion as an indulgence. After all, who doesn’t like a decadent slice of chocolate cake to celebrate a special occasion or a nice juicy steak once in a while?
I decide that if I hurry I can squeeze in a quick shower while the blood warms. I scan the date on the package and hastily tear the bag open with my teeth, moving next to pour the contents into the last clean mug. Wasting no time I haul ass into the bathroom and set the shower to scalding knowing that my enjoyment of the steamy spray is more mental than physical. Sure it’s practical to be clean, but it’s not like the jets will do anything to relax my muscles or alleviate tension. That’s the upside to being a vampire: with a few exceptions, all physical ailments are immediately self-correcting.
After scrubbing myself from head to toe with my favorite pomegranate-mango body wash, I dance quickly from the shower to the hot plate, my naked body leaving a trail of water drops behind. I grab my breakfast, knowing I’m going to need every bit of strength it offers for my next endeavor: the closet. I’d avoided looking at its contents yesterday knowing full well that it would be stuffed with piles of beautiful and expensive things about which I could care less. Lissette fails to grasp that I’d be just as happy with a sweater from Old Navy as I would be with one from YSL. I find the functional aspects of clothing more attractive and practical than worrying about fashion, which I deem next to worthless. But it makes Lissette happy, so I acquiesce to her indulgences and accept the gifts without complaint.
As I step up to the closet I brace myself and yank open the door forcefully. I don’t have time to delay, so it’s best to just get it over with quickly. I sigh with relief realizing that although it’s a walk in, this closet is smaller than the one back at the manor. I scan the contents quickly noting that jeans are stacked neatly on the shelves to my left with a variety of skirts hanging beside them. Dresses, sweaters, and tops are to the right, and the back wall is lined with racks of shoes and accessories. Apparently Lissette has stocked my closet for all possibilities.
I reach blindly to the left grabbing the first pair of jeans in the pile while my right arm extends to snatch a long sleeved black t-shirt from the rack on the right. It doesn’t really matter what I wear, only that I’m not late. I enter the closet and grab a pair of soft, flat leather boots and make my retreat. I throw the ball of clothing on top of the dresser and begin searching its drawers for undergarments. Belts, socks, pajamas. On my fourth try I hit pay dirt and pause only briefly to take in the rainbow of lacy garments Lissette has picked out for me. Apparently her attempts to make me more fashionable and feminine know no limits. I shake my head in amusement and grab what I think will be a pair of lacy black boy shorts and the matching bra so delicately placed alongside of them. As I tug the panties up over my thighs, I try to imagine the poor soul who had unpacked this stuff, undoubtedly following Lissette’s exacting instructions on how things should be laid out to make it as easy for me as possible. Yes, there was a time when I would have been overjoyed at such a sick wardrobe, but that time has passed. There are more important things in life than clothes. It’s a lesson I had to learn the hard way.
I hurriedly begin to dress realizing that the jeans won’t leave much to the imagination and that the t-shirt, which hangs off the shoulder, is far from understated with its gold trim and ruched sleeves. A glance in the mirror reminds me that I haven’t brushed my hair and that I’m still missing Aldo’s amulet. I never go anywhere without it. I check the nightstand and find it right where I left it along with my gold cuff bracelets. I hurriedly put the finishing touches on my outfit and race back into the closet in search of a book bag. I find a red leather messenger satchel and am satisfied that this is the most practical choice among the bags and clutches that line the shelves of the closet. A glance at the clock tells me I’m making good time but that I need to pick up the pace. I don’t know where I’m going, only that my first class is Historical Perspectives with Professor Moore.
After shoving my textbooks into the red bag and grabbing a headband from the bathroom I’m off. I’m surprised to find that the halls are deserted and attribute this to the fact that most students would have vacated the dorms earlier in search of breakfast or socialization. Since I’m running late I’ve probably missed the rush.
I easily find my way to the main hall where I’m met with a thrush of students and teachers also trying to make their way to class. The slow movement of the crowd allows me a moment to consult my map discreetly. It seems that Historical Perspectives is on the second floor in the east wing, which I have yet to explore.
I move swiftly through the crowd while observing my peers and push to the left as I see an opening for the stairwell. I race up the stairs taking them two at a time. I’m relieved to see the crowd is much thinner on the second floor and that there are only handfuls of students still milling around. I head to the right only to realize I’m going the wrong direction when I see that the numbers on the classroom doors are increasing. Typical. My sense of direction often leaves a lot to be desired. As it turns out, a profound sense of direction is not an inherent vamp trait, despite what Hollywood would have you believe. Making a quick 180° turn, I crash face-first into the guy behind me.
“Whoa!” he calls out as I slam into him. The momentum of our collision forces us both to take a step back.
“Sorry,” I return in a hurried voice. The response is more habit than true regret. I try to sidestep him, but we move in unison, as he makes a useless attempt to let me pass. It’s the awkward dance of two people who just can’t get out of one another’s path.
“Lose your way?” he asks, flashing me a confident smile, his full lips parting naturally to reveal his teeth. I don’t know why, but that smile irritates me. Perhaps because it’s brimming with perfect teeth and accented with a perfectly placed dimple. Or maybe it’s because his eyes are filled with laughter, no doubt at my expense. Yeah, that’s probably it.
“No,” I reply indignantly, hoping he can see that his alluring smile has no effect on me. The guy’s probably used to girls falling all over themselves to be a recipient of that smile. He’s tall and muscular with angular features and curly black hair, which falls carelessly over his piercing blue eyes. A nice touch to make the girls swoon. I’ve seen his type before. Hell, I’ve dated his type before.
“Could’ve fooled me.” He shifts again, blocking any chance I have of passing by. “Nikolai Petrov,” he introduces himself, offering me his hand and leaving me no choice but to give him my name in return.
“Katia.”
“Well, Katia. We must stop meeting this way,” he says, leaning in so that only I can hear his words. I quickly analyze his accent and determine it’s probably Russian.
“We’ve never met,” I say, stopping short. I realize my mistake as the familiar scents of flora and spice surround me. This is the guy from last night. My attacker turned savior. “We’ve never met before,” I reiterate firmly, holding my ground. I know he’s not going to rat me out, but it’s best not to allow any familiarity. We aren’t friends nor will we ever be.
“I see you’ve met Katia Lescinka,” Lexie dra
wls, sidling up next to me and placing her hand on my arm like we’ve known each other forever. I had been so wrapped up in my irritation that I didn’t notice her approach. I shrug her off and glance around quickly to see that she’s not alone. Lexie’s got another girl with her, and, if I were a betting person, I’d say she’s not happy to see Nikolai and me talking. While her lips are plastered in that fake smile of a frenemy, her eyes are flat and cold as she introduces herself.
“Jade,” she states simply by way of introduction. She doesn’t bother with the usual niceties and dismisses me with a flip of the hair, as though I were no more important to her than a glass of spilled milk. “Nikolai! How I’ve missed you!” she gushes, eyes coming to life, as they settle on her prey. I can’t help but notice that her pink sweater is at least two sizes too small, her skirt six inches too short, and her back arched a little too hard to show off her voluptuous breasts.
For the love of God. I just want to get to class and don’t need this. It’s clear there is something between these two. And why not? They’re both perfect specimens: Nikolai with his winning smile and Jade with her shiny blonde hair and heart shaped lips. There’s no doubt in my mind that this girl is used to getting what she wants, and, from the way she’s eyeing Nikolai, it’s plain to see what’s next on her list.
“Well, that’s my cue,” I cut in, detaching myself from the group in a last ditch attempt to get to class. Apparently none of them share my concern for punctuality, as they make no move to do the same. The halls are virtually deserted now, so it’s impossible not to hear the remainder of their conversation, as I distance myself from their little group.
“That’s Aldo’s great niece?” comes the scathing question. “Not much to look at,” Jade laughs snarkily.
“I don’t know about that,” Nik replies. I’m certain they are watching me. I can feel their eyes on my back, boring into me like lasers. Before Jade can reply, Lexie cuts in, anxious to share what little she’s heard through the rumor mill.
“I heard that her grandmother, Aldo’s twin sister, had a major falling out with the family and ran away to live in the mountains something like six or seven hundred years ago. Totally off the grid. No one could find her. Not even the Linkuri.” She pauses to make sure she’s got the undivided attention of her cohorts. She’s clearly determined to make the most of the moment. “The family didn’t even know if she was still alive. Then, out of the blue Aldo finds this girl whose own mom, his supposed niece, has just died from the blood disease. Says she’s an orphan. The only one left in the family and his only heir since his own wife never conceived. Can you imagine? I mean, how can Aldo even be sure she’s who she says?” questions Lexie.
“Scandalous,” Jade snickers. “And the best day ever for a fugly mountain troll. Imagine all that power just falling into your lap. What a freakin’ waste,” she finishes derisively.
Nikolai remains silent at first. Just when I decide that he’s not going to weigh in on my juicy background, he speaks. “Aldo’s not only powerful, he’s intelligent. Best not to be overheard questioning his decisions.” His reply is neutral at best. It just pisses me off more.
“What the hell do they know?” I grumble, quivering with anger.
By the time I reach the end of the hall and my classroom, my temper is at a steady burn. My hands are shaking, and I want nothing more than to go back there and tear them to shreds. They have no idea what they’re talking about, and I hate the fact that they can stand there so callously and analyze my life without knowing the facts, without knowing me. But I remember my promise to Aldo, and it keeps me from turning back. I cannot let them get under my skin. Besides, this is only day one and things are likely to get worse before they get better. They always do. Head held high I reach for the door knob and enter Historical Perspectives prepared for the lecture I am likely to receive for my tardiness. They will not defeat me. They do not matter.