Chapter One
PUNCTUATING MY FOOTSTEPS WITH SWEARS WAS hardly the key to stealth, but as I vaulted the thigh high stone wall off the corridor which bridged the science wing and the library, I couldn’t help myself. I’d been reminded of the slick grass verge on the other side when my feet touched down. I slid gracelessly down it, leaving two ugly, muddy streaks in my wake. It was only thanks to luck and inertia that I remained upright and on course for the lawns. The blades of regimentally short grass soaked my boots with dew as I raced through them to the Den before my teammates were roused from their slumber for roll call.
My pencils were in my hair, stabbed through the base of my brunette ponytail and slipping back and forth. Their points periodically jabbed me in the scalp as if to remind me of their presence, or perhaps that they were the very reason I was running late in the first place.
The sun barely peeked over the horizon, begrudgingly rising to meet the morning, its warm August glow crawled slowly across the grass towards the cold grey concrete outbuilding we called home. It stood apart from the majestic school in whose shadow it had been built; the grand building was a creamy, off-white which had tinted with yellow with age. It was adorned with turrets, arched, leaded windows, and enormous statues of knights stood atop the parapets. It was more a palace than an institution of education, which made sense considering the students were basically royalty. An enormous clock was front and centre, a large bell in the tower above it threatening to ring in the hour as the hands ticked down the minutes. I pushed myself hard – too hard, maybe – because I collided with the heavy reinforced oak and metal door with no grace at all, grazing my palms which I’d thrust out to stop myself. The act saved me from a concussion or broken nose, neither of which I wanted on the eve of the first day of the school year, but the sound had surely resonated through to the building beyond.
I pressed my ear to the wood and listened. It was difficult to make out much of anything through the dense barrier, but I could hardly linger outside for fear someone might be on the other side; doing so would only make me later than I was already. I swallowed hard, trying to push down the rapid beating of my heart and the ache in my lungs. I raised the circular iron handle, twisted, and pushed open the door. Despite the age of the building, it was well maintained, so there were no creaks from the hinges to announce my return. The only sounds were of movement upstairs and of the handle as I gently set it back into place. The scent of breakfast wafted from the kitchen at the end of the hall where the maids had likely been working since long before sunrise, and my stomach rumbled furiously. Fresh bread was one of the homeliest aromas in existence and it permeated every corner of the building. I was certain that the others must have picked up on it. I wouldn’t have much time until they descended; nothing could wake a house like the smell of food.
A trail of dark, wet boot prints gave away my presence. They followed me across the stone floor as I crossed the threshold and crept to the base of the staircase, my teeth clamped together, and my fingers outstretched for the mahogany bannister. I’d barely brushed it with my nails when he took the corner on the landing, stopping at the top of the stairs to watch my pathetic break-in attempt.
‘Evelina. Where were you?’ Pyotr demanded. His voice reverberated from the brick walls, bare but for the few tapestries depicting grand battles and framed sepia photographs of the many previous occupants of the Den and their comrades since its inception. Pyotr cut an intimidating figure; all muscle, dark hair tied back neatly, and dark grey eyes.
My hands flew up to tear the pencils free from my hair. I jammed them into my back pocket. ‘Nowhere.’
Pyotr’s feet were heavy on the stairs. My brother had nothing to fear from waking the dormitory. He was supposed to be the first one out of bed – setting a good example – or so our father said. He would never be an Alpha if he didn’t lead the others in everything he did, including being up before the sun. I recoiled and inched back as he approached. Pyotr slammed his hand down onto my shoulder with such force that my knees almost buckled out from under me.
’Nowhere smells a lot like graphite and paint thinner,’ he said. ‘Care to explain?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’m your Captain, remember?’
‘You’re a pain in my –’
Crash!
Clang!
It was the unmistakable clatter of metal on stone. The din made us both turn sharply to see Kaira – poor dhampir that she was – crouched in front of a pile of swords, crossbows, and bolts, desperately trying to gather them back into her arms. Her long black curls were bundled at the back of her head, but for a few stray strands which had worked their way free and framed her narrow face.
‘Sorry, sorry!’ she said quickly. Her eyes darted to Pyotr’s, and then to mine. Her lip twitched, and I caught the faintest hint of a mischievous smile. It was a practised method, a way for one of us to get the other out of trouble. During the summer we’d perfected it to an art.
I say we, but most of the time, it was Kaira who’d provide the distraction, while I ran for my life.
The accident had the desired result; being that Pyotr relinquished his grip and stalked over to lecture her on the proper care of weapons, and how she still had to show them respect even if she was just cleaning them. I shuffled quietly to the stairs, and the moment my boot was on the first step, I bolted up them without looking back over my shoulder.
Cowardly, perhaps, but if I didn’t run then Kaira’s sacrifice would have been in vain.
I passed by the upper dormitories where doors had begun to open and tired soldiers had traipsed out into the corridors, their eyes bleary, hair in disarray, and their clothes barely tugged on. They paid me little attention, their minds on breakfast and not on the girl scrabbling up towards the loft, or whatever it was Pyotr shouted up after her.
The Den was similar in some ways to army barracks, although I’d have dared to guess our residence was far more comfortable. Our dormitories were vast. They occupied the building’s upper floors; rooms cluttered with bunks, foot-lockers, and enormous adjoined shower rooms. Genders slept separately, but the species mingled, probably so they were forced into one another’s company outside of their patrols and training regiments. The only time they were separated was once a month when certain parties took to the basement vault and were kept in secure confinement; something I was sure their roommates were grateful of. We all lived very much on top of one another, and the level of privacy in the Den was nil.
Kaira and I were the exceptions to the rule.
And my father – Viktor Belak – but he was the Alpha, so he’d earned the right to private quarters.
Until the start of the summer, the small room adjoining the attic storage had been my own. I mean, I shared it with a boiler which constantly rattled – loudly in the winter, and softly in the summer – but other than that, it had been my personal sanctuary away from the rest of the Watchdogs. Then, Kaira had shown up on our doorstep. For some unfathomable reason, Viktor had decided she ought to be my roommate rather than finding space for her with the rest of the dhampir recruits. I supposed this was some way to test my ability to live with others so that I could transfer into the dormitories when I turned eighteen.
As if I intended to stay another year.
When I reached the uppermost room – out of breath and dishevelled – I slammed the door and drew across the security chain with a clink. The door was brittle, and the chain rusted; they were hardly going to stand up against anyone who really wanted to break through them, but I liked to imagine they might. If nothing else, they were a reassurance that the space was marginally safe. At least if someone did try to sneak into our room, we would hear the links clank together and strain to keep them out. It was more an alarm system than anything else.
Our room wasn’t like the rest, not least because we didn’t have to share it with snoring mercenaries, but also because it was ours alone, and that meant we could make it a home. Personal effects were permitted so long as they were kept to a minimum, nothing excessive or extravagant, but given I’d occupied the bedroom almost since I was born, I was given more leeway than the recruits who’d signed up as adults.
When I was twelve, I’d painted an abstract – or, childish – mural of the Paris skyline on the wall, because I wanted to sleep beneath something beautiful. Now Kaira’s bed was pressed to that side of the room, the sheets crisp and neatly tucked into place. She hadn’t brought much with her, so I wasn’t too upset that she got to look up at it as she fell asleep. I liked to think of it as a welcome gift to her – something that we could share. The few things Kaira had brought with her were stuffed into a backpack beneath her bed or hanging in the sad excuse of a wardrobe.
Six weeks into her stay, and she’d not bothered to fully unpack.
I didn’t blame her.
Most people who got stuck at the Den thought it would be a short stop rather than a life sentence.
On my side of the room, the space was beyond what could be politely referred to as cluttered. A total disaster area was more appropriate. The sketches I’d pinned to every piece of available wall had been rescued from Kaira’s space upon her arrival, and re-pinned on top of one another over my bed, covering half of the world map beneath them where I’d circled France in thick red ink. Glossy photographs of the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower I’d torn from travel magazines stolen from the recycling bins behind the teacher’s lounge surrounded the small single window, full sketchbooks were stacked on the desk beneath it, as were washed out food jars stuffed with pens and pencils. Beneath the bed was an unholy tangle of clothes I’d removed from the wardrobe to make space for Kaira and hadn’t bothered to fold neatly. They were an indulgence. I almost never got to wear them. Most were second hand items I’d dragged out of the lost property locker at the end of each school year, left behind by the students who could afford to buy replacements if they ever missed them.
Sometimes in the evenings when we were done with our chores, Kaira and I would try them on, like a pair of children playing make believe. But then morning would arrive, and we’d be back in our usual regimented outfits, dull but practical. We all but lived in our uniforms; a pair of black, durable trousers, a black long-sleeved shirt, and black boots. If we were ever out on patrol, we got to accessorise our stunning ensembles with tactical gear, but that was once a month at most.
We were basically maids, except the actual school maids were paid way better than we were.
The t-shirt and jeans came off and the uniform went on. The pencils were left on the desk and I closed the bedroom window just in case someone saw that it was open from outside and suspected I’d been sneaking out at night. It took all of ten minutes to make myself presentable – including brushing my teeth in the tiny sink in the corner and re-tying my hair to hide its desperate need for a shower – and I made sure to head downstairs in as nonchalant a fashion as possible, doing all I could to hide my fear that Viktor might have me punished for my misbehaviour if he caught wind of it.
The rest of the pack had already filled the dining hall for their breakfast. Plates and cutlery clattered, punctuated by hungry snarls which were animalistic in nature. Quite understandable, I supposed, given the men and women making the sounds were practically that. I peeked around the door, but couldn’t see Kaira, just a lot of people I didn’t want to cross until they’d sated their appetites. Assuming she’d still be sorting through the weapons, I swung by the kitchen to grab some bread, and made my way down into the dungeon.
Yes, there was a dungeon.
It was more basement, I supposed. Far cleaner than an old castle dungeon, no rats to be seen anywhere, seriously lacking in manacles, and not a crumbling skeleton to be found. The silver-plated iron door into the adjoining vault was open, and I shuddered involuntarily. I hated that room. When the cages were unoccupied it was super creepy. You know, as opposed to when they were occupied and the sounds of howls and shrieks filled the room instead.
Okay, it was always creepy.
The slightest creak of a door echoed with deafening resonance, and I avoided it like the plague. For some reason, Kaira didn’t mind taking responsibility for it, and for that I was profoundly grateful. Losing half my room was a small price to pay for the extra help in my chores.
‘Hey,’ I said, and held out one of the slices of bread. ‘Thanks for before.’
‘Well, it was the last time, right?’ she replied. Kaira relieved me of the bread and sank her much-too-sharp-to-be-normal teeth into it. ’That is so much better. Anyway, last time and all that. School’s starting again.’
‘Yep. Last time. Pyotr didn’t give you hell, did he?’ I asked. I knew he had, it was what he was famous for. Pyotr could be more of a hard-ass than Viktor when he wanted to be.
‘No more than usual. You’d think he was dating some of this stuff the way he talks about taking care of it.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ I muttered.
Kaira got to her feet to raise the battle-axe she’d sharpened off the block and placed it onto an empty hook on the wall. She was so slight and willowy it was astonishing that she could manage to lift the thing in the first place, but just like any dhampir, her appearance was misleading. She was built for agility and speed and had far more power than anyone would give her credit for just by looking at her. It surprised me that Viktor had relegated her to housework rather than having her join the ranks immediately. Sure, we both took part in the training exercises just like everyone else, but Kaira was more than ready to go out on real patrols, whereas I would prove to be more of a liability. It didn’t help that no one really liked me. I wasn’t sure why, I mean, I was so awesome.
Oh, right, it was because I was the runt.
‘So, I have a theory,’ she said.
‘About what?’ I asked. I’d dropped down into her empty seat and had begun to pick the crust off the bread, covering myself in a fine sprinkling of crumbs. ‘Which weapon Pyotr has the hots for?’
‘About the announcement.’
‘What announcement?’ Kaira smacked me around the back of the head, and I winced. ‘Hey! My skull’s softer than yours.’
‘Right, sorry.’ Kaira reached out as if to press her hand to the injury like that would magically make it better, but stopped, and instead occupied herself with tearing her remaining bread into smaller pieces. ‘The thing – you know – the new assignment. Viktor’s telling us today, right?’
‘I guess. What does it matter, anyway? We all know Pyotr will get it.’
‘You don’t know that,’ she countered. ‘How could you know that?’
’Because he always gets the new assignment. It’s like a family perk, if you can even call it a perk. What, you think someone else should get it? Bish’, maybe?’
‘Eugh, no,’ she said. ‘But I figured – I don’t know – maybe one of us…?’
I laughed, and then stopped abruptly. ’Sorry. No, there’s no way. I mean, you might get something – and you totally should! – but Viktor would rather be a blood donor than assign me anything that doesn’t involve dusting.’
‘Well, maybe that’s not a bad thing,’ she said.
‘How’d you figure?’
‘You’re less likely to die if you’re down here cleaning the floors, right?’
I tilted my head a touch. ‘True.’
‘And if you’re alive at eighteen, you can go to Paris.’
I felt my lips curl into a smile. ‘And drink bitter coffee.’
‘Eat baguettes.’
’Paint at the edge of la Seine.’ I sighed dreamily, the French rolling from my tongue so naturally I felt like it ought to have always been my first language.
‘Marry a mime,’ Kaira joked.
‘Well, at least he wouldn’t talk.’
‘Wear one of those striped shirts and a beret.’
‘Grow a curly moustache,’ I added. ‘Always wanted one of those. You know, the ones villains twirl when they tie women to the train tracks.’
‘Oh, I know,’ she said. ‘If you’re gonna have a moustache, it has to be twirlable. I was going to suggest getting a goatee as well, actually.’
A shrill bell rang outside of the room. The sound flooded through the building and was followed by the thunder of feet as the Watchdogs hurried out onto the lawn. It sounded like I wasn’t going to get to hear Kaira’s amazing theory about the assignment. I shoved the bread into my mouth, stood, dusted the crumbs onto the floor – I was going to have to clean them up later anyway, so I didn’t see that it really mattered – and grabbed Kaira’s hand.
