According to my extensive research on the Heathens and, after the blood episode, on Mia Sokolov herself, I know she’s studying business.
So I make my way to that school and wait by the corner outside her classroom like a perfect gentleman. Thankfully, her clone studies law, so they don’t take the same classes.
I check my watch and count the seconds until she’s out. After this, Mia still has one more class, but she’s going to have to take a rain check on that.
The students buzz around me, their chatter clashing with the seconds on my watch.
I don’t mind the wait. In fact, a sensation of calm overtakes me at the prospect of catching prey.
I’m good at camouflaging myself when need be and waiting for the right moment.
Like the night, I’m silent, overpowering, and—under the right circumstances—deadly.
Students start flowing like ants in a disorganized colony, but I’m not concerned about missing Mia in the crowd.
That won’t be possible after the alien sensation I experienced during last night’s meeting.
Sure enough, I catch a glimpse of her blonde hair and blue ribbons flying in the wind as she checks her cat-themed backpack.
She’s wearing another black dress that’s fit for a luxurious funeral, and a certain detail stands out. The upper half has a few straps that stop at a choker around her delicate throat.
My, my.
She even dressed for the auspicious occasion.
Mia Sokolov is a beautiful goddess without putting in any effort. She barely wears any makeup or tries to doll up like most girls. She also adopts a troublemaking personality that’s designed to put a damper on her physical superiority.
I’ve barely seen her offer a genuine smile, and that includes all the footage I’ve gathered on her in my attempts to dig her a hole she’ll never get out of.
However, she excels at offering fake socially accepted smiles and pretending to be a naive cute girl to draw the right people’s attention.
And while she might argue that we’re different, she’s wearing the same version of the mask I do. Which means she might have a beast inside her, too.
And I will have to murder and cut it into pieces because I only need her as a statue.
Not flesh and bones. Thoughts and opinions. Words and existence.
Still rummaging through her bag, she walks in my direction as clueless as innocent prey.
There, little muse. I might give you a treat after I turn you into a statue.
“Mia!”
She’s only a few meters away from where I’m lurking when she comes to a halt and turns around.
I curse under my breath upon detecting the last two people I need in this situation.
The first is none other than Killian—the guy who stole my sister’s heart despite my explicit refusal of the damned relationship. The other is Nikolai, Mia’s older brother, who might be out to slice my throat the moment he sees me.
Both needless presences catch up to her and I have to change my position to get a better view of the situation.
Logically, I should leave before those two catch a glimpse of me and choose to give me a taste of my own torture medicine. And it’ll be much worse than I could imagine, considering I trespassed on their turf.
The risks I’m willing to take for the sake of my muse are irritatingly stunning.
She signs something to them that I believe means, “What are you doing here?”
I might have looked at some sign language videos—ASL, not BSL since there are significant differences. And by some, I mean dozens of them. It was enough to become proficient. What? It’s not my fault that I’m not only an effortless polyglot but also a fast learner.
“I’m taking Niko on a stroll,” Killian replies with an easy grin.
His cousin kicks his foot. “I’m not your dog, motherfucker.”
Killian doesn’t seem perturbed in the least. He’s probably the one who resembles me the most from that bunch of little fuckers. The only difference is that I’m culturally superior and have a more prominent penchant for anarchy.
As I’m contemplating the best way to dump his body in the ocean without permanently losing my sister, something happens that derails my whole thought process.
Mia’s eyes twinkle as her lips pull in a genuine, happy smile. It’s the wildest look I’ve ever seen on her face. And, coincidentally, they’ve all happened around her family members.
As if they’re the only ones who deserve this side of her.
“Wanted to check on you,” Nikolai says and pushes a cup in her hand. “Bought your favorite Frappuccino. Double espresso shot with caramel syrup and cream on top.”