Mark was not talking to Henry.

He was absolutely not answering the door, the very one in which Henry had been knocking at for at least fifteen minutes, he was not responding to the flood of text messages from his cousin, and he was not so easily forgiving the humiliation he had felt. Henry had never treated him before in such a way, never embarrassed him before, and never made Mark question their friendship. Not for one second. Until now.

So to be so upset at Henry was nauseating.

But Mark could be stubborn, too.

And he was not answering the door.

Instead he passed the hours after the blotched basketball game, and the loss of his first potential friends, by packing away his things for the semester. Mostly he owned just clothing, and a few knickknacks from friends who’d been sorry to see him go, and who’d made him promise to call.

He lined his shoes up near the door, set aside his weekend clothes, and then looked over the uniform he’d be wearing in less than twenty-four hours. The white pants looked anything but flattering, as did the white jacket, but the soft blue undershirt that felt like silk was promising, and the stripped tie was the best of the lot. Clearly the clothing was meant to keep students from doing anything but studying while in class, and certainly not skipping out to do anything else that Might get the white material smudged with evidence.

The crest on the front pocket of the jacket was a shield embroidered with the Academy’s sigil, lined in gold and obviously something the administration wanted shown off properly.

Mark tried the uniform on slowly, taking care to not wrinkle anything or trip on the long pants. A quick look in the Mirror showed that he looked acceptable, maybe a little pale from the white color of the jacket and pants, but also a little handsome. His hair was dark again, the red coloring from before the fire already faded and washed out, and he was a brunet fully. All in all, he made an okay picture.

At least he’d fit in.

Afterwards he set up his computer on the far table, linked into the school’s system, and ended up writing endless e-mails, setting up his school account, and then ultimately surfing the web.

He didn’t come out of his room for dinner.

Eventually the knocking started at his door again, and Mark stumbled his way over to the bedroom attached to the living space. He pushed the door open and collapsed on the nearby bed, burying his face in the pillow.

A soft click reached his ears just a few seconds later and Mark popped up, shouting angrily, “I don’t know how you got in, but you can just take your--” He stopped short when he saw Amber in the doorway, a silver tray balanced between her hands.

“Are you only angry at Henry, or does that extend to me, too?”

Mark tried to give her an apologetic smile. “Not you.”

“Come on,” she said, nodding back to the main room. “It’s getting late, sunrise is only few hours away and I brought dinner. You have to be hungry. Teenage boys are always hungry.”

Mark followed her easily, questioning, “How’d you get into my room?” As far as Mark knew, he had the only keycard, aside from probably a master card that the administration had.

“I told the headmaster that you missed the last meal of the night and I wanted to bring you something to eat. I needed his key to get into the boy’s dorm in the first place. It also just happens to unlock all the doors in the building. Don’t worry, Mark, everyone here is very well aware that Henry and I are matched. I have to give the keycard back in less than half an hour.”

Mark was eternally thankful to her, and so was his stomach, when he saw that she’d brought him a substantial amount of food, and a new supply of iron table supplements.

“If you were talking to Henry,” Amber said, like she wasn’t offended in the least that he wasn’t, “he’d be the one telling you right now that you’re free to continue taking the tablets if you want, I know you’re used to them, but if you want a fresh supply, the school will accommodate you in that regard.”

Mark spooned up some mashed potatoes and asked skeptically, “The school has blood on tap for me?”

“Not just for you,” Amber said. “But purebloods are notoriously picky about their blood supply, and the Academy has an understanding with some very willing humans in town.”

Mark savored the taste of his food as he broke the tablet container open and dropped it in a nearby glass of water. It dissolved easily and Mark told her, “I’m fine with the tablets, of course.”

“If you change your Mind,” she said.

Amber didn’t stay with him for long, yawning frequently until she was vocal about wanting to return to her own room.

“Mark,” she said, pausing at the door to the hallway and leaning on it a little. “I understand why you’re angry at Henry. I’m not telling you not to be. But Henry was only acting in your best interest. He’s never done anything but that.”

Mark scoffed, “But trying to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with? By humiliating me?”

“By helping you choose,” Amber said. “You don’t understand anything Mark. Don’t take that as a slight. But you don’t. And the way you’ll learn about vampire politics is by learning how things work here. Henry was trying to save you from making a first alliance with someone who couldn’t possibly benefit you.”

“Alliance?” Mark hardly thought that was what had nearly happened. “I was making friends.”

Amber shrugged. “In this world, the world you’re currently now living in, that’s the same thing. Henry is here to guide you, Mark. He could be a little less heavy handed about it, but he’s not wrong.”

Mark told her as she pulled open the door, “I can choose my own friends, Amber.”

“Even if they’re half-bloods? Or worse?” There was an odd pull to her face, like she was personally invested in his answer. He couldn’t imagine why, considering her bloodline was as pure as Mark’s. She belonged to the seventh family, and there was no way Mark thought for one second that his uncle would let Henry marry someone who was anything less than vampire nobility.

“Even if,” Mark said firmly.

Amber threw him a dark smile. “Eat up and then get some rest, Mark. You’re going to need it tomorrow.” She pulled the door as she went, calling back, “Everyone will know you’re here by tomorrow, and it’ll be a madhouse, then.”

Mark slept that night fitfully, unused to the firmness of the new bed, and a little perturbed by the amount of people surrounding him. He could hear them, his senses tuned to their max, moving around in dozens of different rooms. It was distracting to be able to pick up on the shuffling of feet, and it was something he knew he’d have difficulty getting used to.

The morning brought an exceptionally apologetic looking Henry who pointedly did not apologize. Instead he held a thermos full of something that tasted sweet but was suspiciously caffeinated, and said, “You look good in the uniform. Are you talking to me now?”

Mark eyed Henry in his own, a little eager to see Amber in her skirt. He knew she absolutely preferred pants, and the skirts the girls wore were sure to be much shorter than anything he’d ever seen her in.

“I guess I have to,” Mark said.

“You’d better,” Henry said, waving a piece of paper in front of Mark. “Because I have your class schedule and you’re only getting it if you’re nice to me.”

Mark snatched it from him easily.

Everything that he’d expected to see was accounted for, including math, science, and all the other standard subjects that he’d taken at his old school. But there was also the appearance of a vocal class he hadn’t signed up for, and double physical education.

Mark frowned as he and Henry walked from the boy’s dorm, saying, “I requested the cinema elective.” It has sounded the easiest, honestly. Nothing but hours of sitting around watching movies, and then likely an end of term paper about how they made him feel. “Why do I have a vocal class?”

Henry laughed, “Everyone and their mom tries to get into the cinema elective. I mean, I’m sure if you went to the Headmaster right now and demanded a spot in the cinema elective, he’d make room for you. You are, after all, a prince now. But haven’t you been saying for a while now you don’t want that to change anything?”

Reluctantly, Mark made a grunt of agreement.

With a laugh, Henry advised, “Try again next semester, okay? You’ll get in for sure. And the vocal elective isn’t that bad. I promise.”

Mark considered, maybe he could just stand in the back and sway?

“Double phys ed?”

Henry said, sounding a mite smug, “I know you like basketball and other sports. If you want to switch the second elective back to the language elective you originally signed up for, I can get that taken care of, but I figured you’d rather have an extra class period to work up a sweat. Did I guess right? You can still take Mandarin if you prefer.”

Mark gave his cousin a side look. “You know which I prefer.”

Before class they had to swing by the main office for Mark to get the last of his paperwork signed and his official handbook containing the rules and conduct for Hawthorne Academy. As they headed to breakfast afterwards Henry promptly slipped the handbook into the trashcan, stating, “It’d be pointless for you to read it. You can do whatever you want.”

Mark hardly thought that was the point.

The second they entered the main dinning hall, Mark wanted to retreat. There were a couple hundred people already packed into the expansive room, and not a single one of them failed to pause and fall silent the second he arrived.

It was only Henry, urging him forward covertly and whispering, “Don’t give an inch,” that Mark was able to take a shaky step forward. Then one more, and then finally each step after came a little more easily.

Amber met them in the line for the first meal, and Mark couldn’t help giving her a long once over, almost amazed by the amount of leg she was showing, and the much more flattering way the girl’s uniform looked over the male counterpart.

“I will knock your teeth out,” Amber threatened, squirming a little. He could tell she wanted to pull at her knee length skirt, the white pleats complimenting the length of her legs.

Henry pressed a quick kiss to and told Mark, “Best not to mention the uniform ever. She’s not a fan.”

By the time Mark had a full plate of food in front of him conversation had picked up in the room again, but Mark was under no illusion that the others were not still watching him. They were probably talking about him, too, simply more covertly. They all knew he was the new prince of the fourth family, the last standing child from his mother’s line, and probably absolutely naïve to everything that counted. Some would be plotting against him already, others might be feeling out his nativity. But Mark trusted none of them, and they all made him uneasy.

“Don’t pay them any attention,” Henry said, snatching up a banana and placing it on his tray. “They don’t matter, okay? Their idle gossip means nothing.”

Mark let out a long breath and tried to believe Henry.

“We’re over here,” Amber said, leading Mark confidently to a table that was almost completely full of boys mixed in with girls, all of them wearing the school white with either blue ties or female equivalent of scarves.

It was not lost on Mark that some of the other people in the room were wearing red instead of blue. There were even a couple greens. The white seemed to be the only constant.

“Everyone,” Henry said, taking Mark’s tray for him and setting it down purposefully in front of a narrow spot. The space immediately opened up a bit more as Henry continued, “This is my cousin Mark. I don’t think I need to tell you anything more. You know who he is.”

Amber straddled her chair a bit obscenely, though Henry seemed to appreciate the sight from the way he was momentarily distracted by her legs, and said, “Henry and I will beat anyone up who is mean to him. And that’ll be the least of your problems.”

A haughty voice called out, “Some of us are well aware of propriety and decorum, Amber.”

Mark sat, leaving the chair next to Amber open for Henry, and let his gaze drift to the people seated around him. They all seemed a bit older, all wore the blue, and each seemed more uptight than the last.

“Nice to see you again, Siwon,” Henry said, nudging Mark a little. “Mark, this is Siwon. You’ll be looking at his ugly mug for at least the next hundred years when the both of you eventually represent your lines on the council. He’s from the third family.” A half second later Henry said at a whisper, “He lost his father when you lost your parents and Grace. He was an heir before, but he had his introduction some time ago, and he’s already claimed the title of head of his family in the eyes of the council.”

Amber snuck in just as quietly, “He doesn’t have to be here at Hawthorn. Maybe he even shouldn’t be. He might be feeling you out. You and a few other students. For political gain.”

Mark nodded politely to Siwon, wondering if something like a mutual loss would make them better allies or better enemies. And what did it say about them respectively that Mark was still struggling to deal with his loss on a day by day basis, and Siwon looked no worse for wear? Was Siwon simply better at hiding his emotions? Or did his rise to power mean more to him than the loss of his father?

Underneath the table Henry squeezed Mark’s hand as Siwon’s attention strayed away to the pretty girl on his right.

Mark looked to Henry’s face and was able to read the expression there without mistake.

Siwon was not to be trusted.

Slowly, and quietly, Henry used the meal and the chatter around them to point out everyone to Mark. He whispered that the girl at the far end was Tiffany, another heir, and her match Jessica sat across from her. Donghae, four seats away, was the only child of the largest vampire landholder in North America, and two seats from him Amber’s friend Victoria was poised to become the youngest vampire to hold a seat on the joint human/vampire Blood Committee when she graduated in a semester. Even further down Henry pointed out Sunggyu who was stiff and often cold but ultimately trustworthy, and Woohyun who was absolutely warm and inviting before he struck like a viper. There was also Eunji who never kept secrets well, but Taeyeon who’d never spilled a single one of Henry’s.

Mark struggled to keep up, trying to remember that Shindong’s mother was exceptionally wealthy, no matter how powerless it made her with the council, but that Chorong’s mother on the other hand made up for her lack of wealth with the superior power her bloodline lent her.

There were too many names, too many faces, and too much political maneuvering already happening. Mark was busy worrying about how he’d handle calculus, let alone the political landscape sprawling out in front of him.

“Mark,” Henry said, once the meal was starting to wind down and people were getting up to leave. “There’s one last person you have to meet.”

Mark didn’t think one extra face would make much of a difference. “Who?”

The who in actually was a tall, dark haired male who had kind eyes but imposing figure. Henry introduced him as Zhou Mi and said, “Zhou Mi is absolutely trustworthy, Mark. If you have any problems here, any questions, or don’t feel safe at any time, Zhou Mi will help you. He’s from the twelfth family, and he’s been a close ally of ours for a long while.”

“Zhou Mi,” Mark said, wondering who exactly he was supposed to be an ally of. Mark, or Mark’s uncle? Was that the same thing? It had to be.

Zhou Mi surprised him by dipping forward in a deep, traditional bow. “I’m absolutely pleased to meet you,” he said, startling Mark with a lighter than expected voice. “And I hope I’ll be of great service to you.”

“I’m …” Mark broke off when, from the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Jackson. Mark turned instinctively towards the crowd of people pouring out of the room and tried to look for him again. He needed to find Jackson and JB and the others and apologize profusely for Henry’s behavior. He had to let them know that he could choose his own friends, and that his cousin didn’t speak for him.

“Mark,” Henry said, a little forcefully, pulling his attention back to them. “Zhou Mi comes from an exceptionally pure bloodline, has an impeccable standing with the council, and though his elder cousin is set to inherit the spot on the council for their family, he’s very familiar with the workings of the council. He’ll be invaluable to you.”

Certain he’d lost Jackson, Mark smiled politely at Zhou Mi and said, “Then I’ll look to you, if I get confused over something.”

Zhou Mi gave him a daring look. “I hope you’ll simply look to me.”

What kind of response was he supposed to offer for that?

Henry s an arm around a nearby Amber and said, “Zhou Mi has offered to walk you to your first class. Amber and I have to head clear across campus for ours and it’s more convenient this way. Will you be okay on your own?” Without him, Mark supposed.

“Fine, fine,” Mark said, shooing at him a little with his hand. “I’ll see you later on in the day, won’t I?”

Amber reached out an pinched his cheek. “Of course you will. We all have the same elective.”

Mark shot a disbelieving look to Henry as the elder boy turned away. They all had a vocal class together? Henry sang? Why did Mark not know this? His cousin was proficient with the piano, gifted with the violin, and played half a dozen other instruments, but Mark had never know him to be a singer.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Mark confessed honestly.

Zhou Mi, aside from being exceptionally tall, which meant that people were apparently willing to give them a wide berth to walk, also was comfortable enough letting silence keep them company for most of the walk. Mark appreciated it.

His strides were long and even, a passive look was on his face, and he seemed to be in no hurry as he walked Mark to one of the side buildings across some distance. The moon was high in the sky and bathing them in natural light, and even Mark couldn’t deny that Zhou Mi was exceptionally handsome.

Before they were almost there, Zhou Mi said finally, “You must hate it.”

“Hate what?” Mark said, fingers gripping his student bag that contained several empty notebooks and his laptop. He kind of hated that he had to tip his head back so far to look up at Zhou Mi.

Gingerly, Zhou Mi said, “The way they stare at you. The way they talk about you. You must be bothered by it. It’s absolutely insulting, considering what you’ve been through recently.”

Mark asked a little snappishly, “You’re not going to offer your condolences?”

A smile found its way back to Zhou Mi’s face. “That would be equally as insulting. We all know loss as vampires. We’ve all endured it. But what you have endured is exceptionally trying. Neither did I know your siblings or parents personally. I had met your sister, Grace, on more that one occasion, but we weren’t close.”

Mark tried not to acknowledge the people surrounding them. “They’re just curious. I’d be curious. My mother still had years left on her seat, maybe decades. My sister was going to get married and start a family long before she was expected to take over. But all of that structure and expectation was destroyed. People want to know what’ll come in its place. Curiosity isn’t just a human thing.”

“You’re holding up well,” Zhou Mi observed.

Mark was quick to reply, “Henry is my best friend. He’s always been there for me, and now is no exception. I’d be lost without him. He’s really making a difference with how I’m able to handle this.”

“Henry is a good man.”

“He is,” Mark agreed. “And so is his father. My uncle is really all I have left now, after Henry.”

It was noticed by Mark that Zhou Mi didn’t comment on the type of man his uncle was.

“You’re up here,” Zhou Mi said after a moment more, raising a hand to point at the building ahead. “And most of your classes will be concentrated in this area. But if you have any questions--”

“I’ll look for you,” Mark said, feeling absolutely at ease with Zhou Mi. Henry might have introduced them, and was obviously pushing for a friendship of some closeness, but Mark had a feeling he could have picked to befriend Zhou Mi all on his own. Zhou Mi felt like a kindred soul, quiet and observant, careful with what he said, but not deceptively so.

“I’ll be around,” Zhou Mi replied, head nodding. “I look forward to seeing more of you, Prince Mark.”

“Mark,” he called back, just as Zhou Mi started towards a different direction. “If we’re going to be friends, you have to call me Mark. Save the prince stuff for official council business.”

“I’ll do my best to remember, Mark,” Zhou mi said, amusement written on his face.

Mark liked him more and more.

His first class of the day, calculus, was like getting back on a bike. Math was a universal language, and it was one he spoke fluently. No matter where he was, or how he’d changed, math remained the same, and it was comforting.

The people around him, still whispering about him, still giving him appraising looks, were not so comforting.

Chemistry, which came after, was equally as easy, and Mark was just beginning to settle in when his third class rolled around, a literature course, and seated three rows back was Jackson. Mark paused some distance away, feeling a sudden spike of anxiety, and waited for Jackson to notice him.

It didn’t go as smoothly as Mark would have hoped.

He’d sort of built up an expectation in his mind, that Jackson would give him a cool look, maybe ask if Mark thought he was too good for him and his friends, but eventually accept his apology. Then Mark would slide into the empty seat next to him and they’d talk about the state of the basketball team.

The reality of the situation happened quite differently, with panic flushing across Jackson’s face, so unnatural and unnerving to Mark, before Jackson’s eyes slammed down to the desk in front of him. The seat next to Jackson was taken quickly after by the small form of Jackson’s friend BamBam, and Mark felt his spirits drop.

He was impeded even further by the teaching choosing that very moment to appear, forcing Mark to take a seat near the very front, and focus completely on the lesson.

It took almost every inch of Mark’s will power not to look back at Jackson at any point in the class.

The end of class, signified by the teacher tossing out a warning to read the assigned material for a potential pop quiz the following class, came quickly enough, and Mark tried to gather up his things as quickly as possible. He wasn’t going to let Jackson slip through his fingers, not until Mark had gotten a chance to properly apologize.

By some of luck, Mark was able to make it to Jackson’s desk long before the other was finished and ready to leave the room. Other people were piling out in a desperate urge to get to their next class, and Mark stood forcefully in Jackson’s way.

Steadying himself, he said, “I want to talk to you about the other day.” He kept his eyes looked on Jackson, who was decidedly looking away from him, but flickered over to Bambam the second he shot out a quick apology and dashed for the door.

With only a few people lingering in the classroom, Jackson clambered to his feet and then bowed low. “I’m very sorry about yesterday. I didn’t know who you were. I humbly ask your leniency and forgiveness.”

“Woah!” Mark put his hands out in front of him, desperately trying to get Jackson to stop. “What are you doing?”

Jackson, shoulders stiff like the whole act was absolutely killing him, continued, “I was wrong to touch you and speak to you so informally. I was wrong to make assumptions about you. I was wrong to occupy your attention, Prince Mark.”

“No, wait,” Mark tried to interrupt. He reached a hand out for Jackson’s shoulder. This was happening all wrong.

Jackson jumped, physically jumped the second Mark touched him, and jerked backwards.

“It’s okay,” Mark said quickly, trying to defuse the situation. “I came to apologize to you, actually. Please don’t look at me like that.” Like he was scared of Mark. Like he was scared of what Mark could do. It was the same way he’d seen people look at his parents from time to time, and it wasn’t something to be desired.

“You came to apologize?” Jackson asked a bit shortly, breath coming out in staccato bursts as he calmed. “To me?”

Mark gave a nod. “My cousin was extremely rude to you yesterday. He embarrassed me. I know he thought he was doing something right, but it was an insult to you, and also to me. I’m here to apologize on his behalf and make it clear that I know how to choose my own friends, and the status of their bloodline has nothing to do with how I make my choices.”

Jackson stared at him.

Awkwardly, Mark added, “I had a great time hanging out with you and your friends yesterday, even if it only was for a short while. You were the first people I met, and the first people who were kind to me here. I don’t want my cousin to have ruined that.”

Jackson’s lips pressed into a thin line and it made him look severe, less handsome, and more like he wasn’t nearly as submissive as he’d been mere moments ago. “You’re actually apologizing to me?”

Mark nodded. “I am. I’m formally offering you my apology for my cousin’s egregious behavior.”

The sides of Jackson’s mouth pulled up into a sort of smile. “This could be the first time in Hawthorne history that a pureblood, and in fact a prince, has ever apologized to someone less than him. We might need to document this. For posterity’s sake, you understand.”

With that, the tension seemed alleviated, at least a little, and a bigger smile popped onto Jackson’s face.

Mark hitched his bag up a little higher on his shoulder and asked, “What do you mean less than him?”

Jackson slid his own bag’s strap over his head and said, “What class do you have next?”

When it was determined that they were both headed towards the physical education department, Mark insisted that they walk together, and wouldn’t be dissuaded when Jackson pointed out anyone could see them.

“So what’s your story?” Jackson asked as they walked along. They seemed to be getting more than a little attention, it was impossible not to notice. Mark was absolutely certain word would get back to Henry and this was something he wouldn’t approve of, but Mark was also done playing the part of his cousin’s wayward lamb. And he had to start making his own choices, even if they might be mistakes.

Jackson didn’t feel like a mistake, Mark contemplated.

“My story?” Mark asked, mouth going dry.

Almost gently, Jackson added, “Not about the … accident.” Was that what people were calling the attack? “I meant about why you act the way you do?”

Mark felt his eyebrows rise. “How do I act?”

Jackson sort of bounced all over the place. That was what Mark noticed the most about him. Jackson was never still, always moving, and genuinely seemed to have a happy demeanor. It was a nice change from the stoic people that Mark almost always found himself surrounded by. In a lot of ways, Jackson reminded Mark of his old friends who’d been energetic and even rambunctious.

Jackson threw out his hands widely. “Like none of this matters.”

“This?”

Jackson flicked the red stripes on his tie. “This.”

Oh. There was a red tie up close. Mark was surprised he was noticing it for the first time. There’d been a girl wearing a green scarf across the room in one of his early morning classes, and more than a handful of blue had surrounded him at each lesson, but this was the first time he was seeing a red tie up close. It looked just the same as his, simply with a different color.

“This is the part where you have to tell me what the colors mean. I think Henry took for granted that he threw out my academy handbook before I could read it.”

Jackson scoffed, “I doubt you’ll find an explanation for the different colors in there. This is the kind of discriminatory bull that’s just been casually popping up at this school for a couple of decades.” He cut a look back to Mark. “You really don’t know?”

“Based on the way you described it, I’m going to guess it’s some elitist distinction marker among the student body.” It hadn’t escaped Mark’s notice that earlier at the first meal everyone who’d been seated around him, and even the tables surrounding theirs, had been wearing blue. Red had been further out, and green had been on the fringes. There was no way the colors weren’t eluding to a caste system of some sort.

“Blue,” Jackson said daringly reaching out to run his fingers along the tie at Mark’s neck, making Mark fight the urge to reach up and catch the long digits, “for the bluebloods. That’s essentially what this means. The vampires here who are purebloods, who don’t have a drop of human in their bloodline since the first vampire, wear the blue. Sorry to say that the only way you guys keep that blood so pure is through prearranged matches that are all but uous at this point. You may have noticed there aren’t that many pureblood families left now. You’re one giant cesspool of .”

Jackson’s hand fell away and Mark could breathe again, trying to regain his composure. He didn’t know what it was about Jackson that wound him up so tightly, but sometimes he made it awfully difficult to function normally. And that was when he wasn’t smiling.

“What about red?”

“Red,” Jackson repeated with an impish look. “Your kind will look down on mine for the color, but some of us outside of snobbish society think that red is better. It means those who wear it are half-bloods. One vampire parent, one human parent. It’s proof that vampires and humans can do more than coexist--they can love each other and have children together and be a family. People like your cousin have a problem with what we represent.”

Mark didn’t think it was Henry who thought that way at all, though his father certainly did. Mark, who had friends from before the fire of all types, really had to agree with Jackson.

“Then … your dad?”

“Vampire,” Jackson said easily. “He fell in love with mom, who’s human, and they decided they didn’t need the council’s approval for anything. That’s not exactly kosher, Mark, considering my father comes from a pretty conservative family, and a pretty pure one at that. But my parents really didn’t care. They were in love. They’ve always been balls to the walls. I get it from them.”

Mark couldn’t help laughing a little. “You are very sure of your self.” And confident. Mark admired his confidence, and the way Jackson carried himself.

“Anyway,” Jackson continued as they cut across the soccer field for what had to be the locker room. “Green means, if you ask any of your stick up the friends, blood that’s been severely deluded. Like, both parents being of mixed heritage, or something even further back in the line. There aren’t a lot of greenies here because of the heavy prejudice against them. Hawthorne likes to imagine it’s creating the future leaders of vampire society, and the greens won’t go on to be a part of that. I’m pretty sure the only way you get to be a green here is if you’ve got a lot of money or a lot of pull somewhere else.”

“That,” Mark eased out, “.”

Jackson cut a frown at him. “I’ve really never met a blueblood like you before. Ever. You’re not the same as those other s.”

He wanted to point out to Jackson that his cousin wasn’t an , and neither was Amber, and Zhou Mi didn’t seem like an , but instead he said, “I always knew there was this sort of divide in vampire society. I’m not completely inept. My father and uncle used to get into horrible fights over things like this. But my parents never raised me to judge someone based on their bloodline.”

“Sounds like you had awesome parents.”

Mark tried not to wince, then mused, “Maybe things were different for Grace. All my life I knew her as my mother’s heir. Maybe mom and dad raised her different. But Jackson, before I came here no one ever tried to tell me who I could and couldn’t be friends with based on their bloodline. And I’m not about to start letting anyone do it now.”

Mark could feel Jackson watching him from the corner of his eye, his gaze sweeping over Mark‘s body, calculating in a way. It should have made Mark feel uncomfortable, and Henry would have said it was improper, but Jackson was thrilling in general. Mark wanted Jackson to look at him as much as possible, which probably didn’t bode well for either of them.

“I think,” Jackson said finally, “you’re really going to shake things up here, Mark. And that’s a good thing. We’ve been needing more vampires like you around here for a while. I guess we just lucked out that you’re cute to boot.”

Mark most certainly did not blush a crimson red that lasted all the way to the locker room.

His physical education class was the best part of the night. The teacher had them running laps for what felt like an endless amount of time, but afterwards they got to break up into teams and play baseball. Mark played shortstop, because he was fast and agile, and that meant for at least half the game, at least when his team wasn’t up to bat, he got to hang around Jackson who occupied third and looked darkly at any of the other team’s players who were threatening to steal a base.

Most of the game, therefore, consisted of Mark hiding his face behind his mitt, desperately trying not to encourage Jackson who had apparently made it his lifelong mission to make fun of every pureblood who stepped up to bat. From the way they stood to the way they acted, Jackson had a witty, sharp comment to share for each. And seeing as how none of the comments were exceptionally severe, or even remotely untrue, Mark let him continue on.

A double phys ed period for Mark meant that Jackson was headed off to the first lunch session while Mark had to wait for his turn for the second. It was a little heartbreaking to Mark, who was certain they’d repaired their friendship at least somewhat, and were getting to know each other in such a comfortable way. It also meant he was alone for the second meal of the day and surrounded by blue ties, calculating eyes, and likely more enemies than allies.

And three more class periods passed without Mark seeing Jackson, though he did share subjects with the other boys from the basketball court. With the way they were eager to sit net to him and chat, Jackson had clearly passed along the message that their issues had been resolved.

His last class of the night, the vocal elective, was packed full of nothing but purebloods, including nearly everyone from the meal table.

Henry threw an arm around Mark’s shoulders when he was close enough and demanded, “How’s your night been going?”

Mark gave him a playful push, and then waved a small but considerate hello to a watching Zhou Mi. “Fine. I swear. Everyone’s been really nice. And I made some friends.” He left out that what he really meant was he repaired the friendship Henry had attempted to prevent, but the last thing he wanted to do was start another argument with Henry. At least in public.

The vocal class, despite Mark not having any formal training, and his experience being any time he took a shower and sang a few lines from his favorite song, turned out to be a favorable experience. The older students were more than happy to lead the vocal charge, and they pulled him along easily, making him feel included and wanted.

Henry and Amber, and quite a few of their friends had additional classes afterwards, so Mark was left to head back to his room on his own. It was fine by him. He had a strong suspicion that there’d be a quiz the next day in his literature class, and there was plenty of other work to get started on. Mark was absolutely determined not to fall behind in any of his classes, and to, if at all possible, become a top student.

He had a feeling his uncle wouldn’t accept anything less.

Mark knew something was wrong the second he reached the boy’s dormitory. There were a number of people clustered around the entrance, not just boys, and all of them were talking at a frantic pace. Naturally the chatter died down the second he was spotted, but it felt different from the times before it had happened. Much different.

“Mark,” Zhou Mi said, coming up to him. He was emerging from the dormitory, making Mark wonder how he’d gotten there so fast. “Please come with me.” He curled an iron strong hand around Mark’s bicep and all but propelled him through the crowd, shielding Mark from a good deal of the watching faces.

“What’s wrong?” Mark whispered, terrified to know the truth.

Zhou Mi inquired, “Has anyone been giving you trouble today? Has anyone made any threats to you?”

“No,” Mark said right away with a forceful shake to his head. Everyone had been above courteous, and exceptionally nice. Though it was difficult to place whether their friendliness was genuine or not. “Why?”

They headed directly to his dorm door, to the room he shared across from the room that Henry slept in. There were more people loitering in the hallway, and a few of them shot him sympatric or worried looks.

“I’ve sent someone to get your cousin,” Zhou Mi said, his breath warm against Mark’s ear. “And the Headmaster will be here within moments. I don’t want you to panic.”

“Panic?” Mark breathed out. “Panic over what?”

Panic, it turned out, over the blood red writing scribbled across his door. He could smell immediately that it wasn’t blood, only something fashioned to look like it, but it was terrifying all the same.

“Mark?” Zhou Mi asked, solid hands on his shoulders. “Do you know anyone who could have written this?”

Bloodwhore.

The writing on the door said bloodwhore.

“No,” Mark said, feeling a bit light headed. He leaned back against Zhou Mi, using his steady, sturdy body to keep him upright. “I don’t know who would do this. Or why.” He didn’t even know what it meant.

He just knew it was one of the most frightening things he’d ever seen. And it was more than just a warning.