Chapter 2 | The Maddening Dance
969 Words
Seraphine’s POV
Was he a student here?
The thought coiled around my mind as I shamelessly drank him in. That scent—his blood—was intoxicating, thick with something rich and sweet. Older or younger than me? Visiting, perhaps? Or did he own this place? My thoughts spiraled, each one vying for attention.
A throat cleared, slicing through my haze.
I shifted my gaze, slow and deliberate, to the older man standing before us. The headmaster. Or so I presumed. Yet something about him made me question—was he the true authority here, or just another piece on someone else’s board?
“You must be the new students,” the old man said, voice tempered with quiet command. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
I smiled, tilting my head just enough to be disarming. “Yes.”
He leaned in slightly. “What is it?”
His gaze flickered—once to me, then to the young man beside him. A silent thread of intrigue passed between them, something unspoken yet charged. I filed it away for later.
“Are you the principal?” I asked, keeping my tone light, almost playful.
A small smile formed as he adjusted his tie. “Yes, I am.”
Satisfaction curled inside me. That ruled out the alternative. If this man was the principal, then the enigmatic stranger wasn’t. He was a student. The thought amused me. Intrigued me. Complicated me.
“Perfect,” I murmured, letting the word settle between us.
I reached for the schedule the secretary had been clutching as if it were some sacred artifact. My fingers brushed the paper, cool and crisp, yet the sensation barely registered—his gaze was still on me. I felt it like a whisper against my skin, a presence that lingered, waiting. Testing.
I added a deliberate sway to my stride, just to see if he was still watching.
But just as I stepped through the threshold, something snapped inside me.
A flash of him—his hands, his mouth, someone else pressed against him. A mate.
The thought sent a jolt through my body, so sharp it caught my footing. I stumbled. Heat surged beneath my skin—not from embarrassment, but from something darker, something raw. The anger of possession.
Unlike werewolves, who had the luxury of fated mates, vampires had no such mercy. We wandered, untethered, cursed with want and no guarantee of fulfillment. A cruel joke.
I exhaled, smoothing my uniform with steady hands. The moment had passed. I pushed forward.
English Class
World Literature.
The young teacher—a human, fresh-faced and still clinging to the optimism of academia—scrawled the words across the board. Names branched from them like veins: Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Chinua Achebe, Franz Kafka, Jane Austen. He droned on, weaving connections between authors and eras, his enthusiasm evident, if not contagious.
I let my pen twirl between my fingers, only half-listening. Centuries of language evolution had dulled any novelty the lesson might have offered. Instead, my mind strayed.
To him.
Math Class
The moment I stepped into the room, his scent struck me like a physical force.
Rich. Deep. Unforgettable.
I scanned the space, anticipation thrumming through me. But he wasn’t there. Only the faintest trace of him lingered, teasing me as I caught a glimpse of movement at the back door. Gone.
A flicker of disappointment twisted inside me, but I moved to my seat, crossing my legs with practiced ease. My bag slid beside the desk.
Then—
The scent intensified.
Footsteps.
I didn’t need to turn. I felt him enter the room. His presence shifted the air itself, a ripple of something unspoken.
He strode to the front, depositing a stack of papers onto the desk. Then he turned, scanning the room. His gaze swept over the students—until it landed on me.
A spark. A pull.
Unmistakable.
Then his voice cut through the air, smooth as silk, edged with something sharper.
“I’m the teacher of this class. Mr. Lucian Moonshadow.”
The words slid over me like ice and fire. Teacher?
My eyebrow arched instinctively. The disbelief must have shown, because a flicker of amusement ghosted across his lips.
An Alpha. A teacher.
Why?
Intrigue coiled around me, tightening its grip as I studied him. He moved with effortless confidence, his presence filling the space with quiet authority. His voice carried as he began the lesson, explaining equations and geometric theorems as if they were second nature. Every student hung on his words.
Including me.
But for entirely different reasons.
I could hear it. The steady thrum beneath his skin. The hypnotic rhythm of his heartbeat. The pulse of his blood.
It called to me.
The scent curled around my senses, wrapping me in a cruel embrace. It wasn’t just any blood. It was the kind that could drive a vampire to madness.
I pressed my lips together, tasting the remnants of gum on my tongue, a fleeting distraction from the hunger.
My eyes followed him. Every movement. Every syllable. Obsessed.
My fingers curled into my palm beneath the desk, a silent war waging within me. I could feel my fangs ache, my body tense with restraint.
The aroma of his blood thickened the air, a slow torment, a whisper against my control.
I inhaled deeply, letting it fill my lungs. Letting it remind me of what I could never have.
The class ended, but my battle didn’t.
The other students filed out, their chatter a distant hum, yet I remained still, locked in a war of willpower. His scent lingered, a ghost that refused to release me.
I rose, slow and deliberate, meeting his gaze one last time.
A silent understanding passed between us.
A challenge. A promise.
- Writer
