Chapter 135: Nope, the Sequel

By seven o’clock, Blair was sitting at the dining table with her notebook open, three pens lined up in a neat row, and her brown contacts in.

She had been ready since six.

Daemus sat on the living room couch with his arms crossed, glaring at the front door. He had been sitting there since six, too.

Clarice, on the other hand, was in a wonderful mood. She had made pancakes. She was humming. She had changed her dress twice.

"You seem happy," Daemus said suspiciously.

"Can your mother not be happy?" Clarice set a plate of pancakes in front of Blair with a bright smile. "Eat, dear. You’ll need your strength."

Blair looked down at the pancakes.

The doorbell rang.

Daemus shot to his feet, but Clarice was faster. She glided past him, smoothed down the front of her dress, and pulled the door open.

"Prince Killian," Clarice greeted warmly, dipping her head. "What an honor."

Blair’s pen rolled off the table.

She didn’t pick it up. She couldn’t. Every muscle in her body had locked into place, the same way a rabbit freezes when a shadow passes overhead.

Killian stepped into the house.

He was dressed casually, in a plain black shirt and dark jeans, his silver hair falling loose across his forehead. Somehow it didn’t make him look any less terrifying. His purple, slitted eyes swept across the living room, past Clarice, past Daemus, and landed on Blair.

They stayed there.

Blair stood up, picked up her notebook, walked very quickly into her room, and shut the door.

The living room went silent.

Through the door, she heard Daemus make a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

"No," Daemus said. "Absolutely not. Nope."

"Your godfather disagrees," Killian replied smoothly.

"Jack sent you?"

"He asked. I accepted." A pause. "You seem upset, wolf."

Blair pressed her ear to the door. She could hear Daemus breathing hard through his nose, the way he did right before he did something stupid.

Then, he muttered, "That bastard."

Keep your temper. The text was like a warning label on a bottle of poison.

"Daemus," Clarice said sweetly. "Manners. Prince Killian, please, come in. Would you like some tea? Luna will be heartbroken she missed you."

"Tea is unnecessary."

Footsteps crossed the living room. They stopped right outside her door.

Blair backed away from it slowly, clutching her notebook to her chest.

Three knocks.

"Human." Killian’s voice was cold. "I did not cross the city to tutor a door."

Blair closed her eyes.

Then she opened the door.

Killian was standing right there. Much closer than she expected.

Blair squeaked and shut the door again.

It stopped an inch from the frame. A pale hand was braced flat against it.

"Do not," Killian said.

Blair stood in the doorway, clutching her notebook to her chest, staring at the second button of his shirt.

She was trembling.

Killian’s eye twitched.

Brown hair. Brown eyes. A sweater three sizes too big. She looked like any other lesser on campus, the kind he would never look at twice. But lessers did not survive the bite of an Inland Taipan. And no one sent a fake doctor to steal the blood of a lesser.

Since that day, he had not dismissed a single thing about her.

He still hadn’t found that doctor. The man had vanished as if he’d never existed. Then Jack had called at dawn with the words the doctor who stole her blood and I know where he went, and Killian had been in a car before the sun was fully up.

He did not care how the crow knew. He had seen Jack in his beast form outside her hospital room more than once. The crow clearly had his own interest in her.

Two days of instruction. In exchange, a name.

It was a fair trade.

"Look at me," Killian said.

Blair’s grip on her notebook tightened. Slowly, as if it physically hurt, she lifted her gaze from his shirt button to his collar. Then to his chin.

Then to his eyes until her gaze dropped to the floor again so fast her hair swung.

Killian frowned.

"Table," he said. "Now."

Blair edged out of the room. She did not walk past him so much as orbit him, pressing her back to the wall and shuffling sideways the entire length of the hallway so that at no point was she ever within arm’s reach.

Killian watched her do it.

His eye twitched again.

Daemus was already at the dining table when Blair got there. He had dragged a chair to the head of it and was sitting with his arms crossed, legs spread wide.

Killian took the seat across from Blair and set a leather bag on the table. He looked at Daemus.

"Leave."

"No," Daemus said.

"No one invited you."

"It’s my godfather’s house."

"Then go sit in your godfather’s yard." Killian began unpacking textbooks. "Like a good dog."

Daemus’s ears flattened. "Say that again," he growled.

"Are you a good boy?" Killian questioned with a smirk.

Daemus shot halfway out of his chair.

"Daemus Krelin!" Clarice’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

Daemus sat back down. Hard. "He started it," he muttered.

Killian’s forked tongue flicked out, the smallest, smuggest flick Blair had ever seen.

"You’re only here because you don’t have any friends," Daemus grumbled.

"I have many friends."

"Name one."

Killian paused. "The Jackals."

"Bro. They’re your employees."

Killian’s jaw tightened. Daemus grinned for the first time all morning.

Blair stared very hard at her notebook and tried to become part of the chair. Then Killian reached into his bag again and pulled out a white box.

It was long and rectangular, tied with a thin black ribbon, the kind of box expensive jewelry came in. He set it on the table and slid it across to her with two fingers.

"For you," he said.

Blair stared at it.

Nothing good could ever come to her in a box from Killian Lexur. Nothing had ever come to her from Killian Lexur at all, which somehow made it worse. She did not want it. Every instinct she had was screaming at her not to touch it.

But you did not refuse the Crown Prince.

She picked it up with trembling hands and pulled the ribbon loose. She lifted the lid.

Nestled on a bed of black velvet was a long, curved fang. It was pale and wickedly sharp, yellowed faintly at the root.