Grimalkin Academy

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the events today. Why would that Emma girl want to be friends with me? Either she knows who I am and is using it to get to me, or she wants to have me as a snack.

I sigh loudly, and sit up. Despite only being here a few days, I have a mountain of work to do in order to keep up with the workload. I'm not sure what I thought I'd have to do when I asked to come here, but this isn't it. Perhaps I thought there'd be more parties and more fun. I didn't think about the fact I wouldn't be invited to those kinds of things.

I take a deep breath and get up, grabbing my bag from the floor and swinging it over my shoulder. Perhaps I should talk to Bryce about putting a desk in the room as well as the bed and wardrobe. That way, I don't have to sit in the same room as him while I do my work.

Huh. Why isn't that the case anyway? Are they worried I'll make up some dastardly plot while I'm trying to do my academy work? Clearly, they didn't do their research on me. I've never been the one who made the plans. I'm the follow orders to keep myself alive kind of person. Now as well as then. Now, keeping myself in line with the vampires is the key to the blood continuing to run through my veins. If they think I'm going to mess it up by trying to kill one of them.

The moment I open the door and am immediately hit by the scent of sizzling onions.

Wait...is Bryce cooking? I didn't know he did that.

"Ah, you're here," he grumbles, having seen me coming out of the room.

"Sorry, I didn't realise you were out here." That's the truth at least. "I wanted to do some work."

"Sure. Table's all yours." He gestures to the cosy looking dining room table.

"Thanks." I bite my lip, trying to make sense of what's happening. Why isn't he more annoyed? I'm in his space, filling it with my human-ness.

Oh, wait. That's not his problem with me. He doesn't like my ex-vocation.

I ignore the direction of my thoughts and set my stuff down on the table. I keep one eye on Bryce as I pull out my books and tablet. He's got to be up to something, hasn't he? There's no way he can go from hatred to seeming domestic bliss in a moment.

"Do you want some tea?" he asks.

I jump, not expecting him to talk to me.

"Erm, yes please," I splutter, the question has taken me off guard.

"How do you take it?"

"Just a bit of milk."

"Coming up," he half-sings.

Has he forgotten who I am? Or that he hates me?

"Have you drunk some spiked blood?" I blurt.

"What makes you say that?" he asks, tossing something into the pan with a soft sizzle.

"You seem almost happy. The only thing I can come up with is that you've gotten laid, or drunk some dodgy blood. The former seems less likely," I reason.

He chuckles. "That's where you'd be wrong." He turns back to making tea.

"Then I can only presume you've had some kind of personality transplant." I click on my tablet, pulling up the app that has all my assignments on it.

"I'm afraid to break it to you, but that's not the case." He sets down a mug in front of me.

I eye it suspiciously. "Thank you," I say slowly, trying to figure out what's going on.

"Poison isn't the best way I have to get rid of you," he points out.

"Why doesn't that fill me with confidence," I mutter.

He sighs loudly and drops himself down into the seat opposite. "Let's just say I've had a think about what you said the other day."

"You mean where I told you not to act like you hate me in public?" I lean back in my chair and raise an eyebrow, wondering where he's going with this.

"Exactly. And you're right. I need to try harder."

"Okay..." What's gotten into him?

"Don't get me wrong. I still don't like you."

"I don't expect you to." I cross my arms. "But that doesn't explain why you're being nice to me here." I pick up the mug of tea and blow across the top. I took a sip and burned my tongue in the process.

Bryce chuckles. "It looks like it won't be me that kills you, but your own stupidity."

I chuff. "That's what you think."

"Well, you haven't tried to kill me since we got here."

"Has it crossed your mind that I don't want to kill people?" I ask.

"You threatened me the moment we met."

"Because you were trying to insinuate, I wasn't capable of it," I say.

"And that's a problem because..."

I laugh darkly. "Have you seen me? Small, slim, blonde. My entire life has been people not taking me seriously unless I have a knife at their throat."

"Or a stake in their chest," he suggests.

"Stakes aren't as useful as you think they are," I point out. "There are dozens of weapons I prefer."

Bryce shakes his head. "Not reassuring in the slightest."

"Please," I dismiss. "It's not like you aren't checking my room while I shower to check I'm not stashing weapons there. And like I said, I'm not trying to kill anyone. I don't want to kill anyone. And I'm not going to."

"If you say so." He scrapes his chair back and returns to his position by the stove. I want to ask what he's making, but there are more important things on my mind.

"You still haven't answered my question," I point out.

"Which one?" He empties a can of tomatoes into the pan. "Do you want some of this?"

"Dinner?" I double-check.

"Yes, dinner."

"Yes, please," I say cautiously, still unsure about what's going on here. "But I meant the question about why you're being nice to me here. There's no one else around."

He chuckles. "I figured here was the best place to practice."

"You're doing pretty decent," I admit. "Which is what's confusing me."

He sighs. "You're a hunter."

"Correction, I was a hunter." I turn the page of one of my books a little too vigorously. The paper slice my finger and I yelp.

I pull my finger back and spot the blood welling up on it. Oops. I stick my finger in my mouth and suck on the wound. It stings at first, but then subsides a little.

I look up to find Bryce staring at me, his eyes wide and focused on me. He licks his lips.

Oh. Right. Blood.

I take my finger out of my mouth and hold it out to him. "Do you need some?" I ask, completely earnest. The last thing I need is a hungry vampire around and craving my blood.

"Are you serious?" he asks.

"Of course." I c**k my head to the side.

"But, shouldn't you want to avoid offering me blood?"

I shrug. "You're hardly going to kill me."

"If I did, I'd lose my own."

"So, there's no problem with me offering you a bit of blood. Even if we hate each other."

His face changes in front of me, relaxing and taking on his normal expression. It's a relief, even if I don't want to admit it.

"I'll pass on. But I appreciate the offer." He turns back to the pan and stirs it. He really is making me dinner.

He reaches out to the shelf to the left of the cooker, and pulls down a first aid kit. He comes over to me and pulls out a plaster. He reaches out for my finger and wraps it around, almost tender.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"You're welcome," he responds, his voice gruff and rumbly in a way that makes it seem like he may not hate me as much as he says he does. Now I have to work out how to deal with that.

This night is going from weird to stranger, and I'm not sure how to deal with it.