“A man can't be too careful in the choice of his enemies.” —Oscar Wilde

Lucas set his breakfast tray down at the corner table he favored, his back into the corner; a precaution regularly practiced. He yawned, still tired. The moon and the wild reaches of the night had called to him, making him too restless for decent sleep. He hoped the coffee would help, and the injection he'd given himself before coming down from his room.

I'm another day closer to my personal Armageddon. Maybe I should ask Mama Hollie if she knows of an Island cure.

He scratched his left arm above the injection site. He wanted to roll up the sleeve and check the severity of the reaction, but that would draw attention. He didn't want anyone to know he was self-medicating.

Then stop scratching, he told himself.

This was the first breakfast, the pre-dawn edition. Early risers shared the facilities with those calling it a night. There was a gaggle of giggling female students at a nearby table. They were a mixed lot of supernaturals and human magic-users. Even a couple fey were thrown in. They weren't here for him, despite his rugged good looks and herculean build.

Nope, they're vamp thralls, hoping Bryce and his posse will show up this morning before heading for their coffins. What is it about vampires that make women so crazy?

The giggling was replaced with excited whispers. Lucas looked up over the rim of his coffee cup. There were four vamps strolling through the room, each with a bag of blood and a straw. They smiled, shooting glances at their fans, making soft voiced comments that even Lucas' extra-sharp hearing failed to decipher. They looked like any boy band from the human world, but with Goth leanings evident in their red and black attire. They sported silver ear-studs, and smiled widely, uninhibited about flashing fangs. Two of them were black-haired, one was blond, and the fourth displayed a radical shade of red that could only have come from a box—that last was Bryce, an arrogant tool by all standards.

Thinks he's God's gift to the world just 'cause his dad's got money.

There was a subtle difference between Bryce's scent and the other vamps. Lucas' wolf-nose told him that Bryce was a "made" vamp who'd stopped aging. The others were children of vampires, with many vamp abilities, but not yet undead: living vampires. Lucas filed that information away while absently scratching his shoulder, feeling a burning sensation under his school uniform. The scratching only made the itching worse. He growled under his breath.

Damn, I need something to distract me from this.

Bryce and his posse drifted up to the girls. They scrambled out of their chairs, swarming the vamps. Leading the charge were Sherry and Emily, uber-bimbos. Lucas had yet to hear an intelligent comment from either of them in the years he'd been here, but they filled out their school uniforms rather well.

I suppose that serves a purpose.

He knew what really irritated him was the fact that the girls gushed all over the boy band as if the guys were real musicians.

They don't even sing that well.

Sherry nudged Emily, who asked a question. "When are you coming out with a CD?"

The blond vamp fielded the question, "Soon as we round out our backup band. Gotta be careful to find talent that can do us justice."

Lucas felt like gagging. Oh, please... Oh, crap! The itch was seriously driving him out of his mind. He clawed at his left biceps again.

Bryce noticed, looking over with a scowl. "Oh, look, the pound puppy needs a flea collar."

Lucas stood slowly, reminding them of just how big he was. He set his coffee down on the table, feeling the short hair at the nape of his neck bristling. He smiled without fangs, not having them yet, but the wolf smile was all threat. He didn't need a mirror to know his brown eyes were waking up, warming with amber-gold. His voice came out rough and deep. "I'm sorry, little man, I don't think I heard you correctly. Do you want to say that again?"

Squealing with every step, Sherry and Emily ducked behind the vamps.

"I think you heard me." Bryce stabbed his blood bag with a straw and sipped mightily, powering himself up with blood. One of the dark-haired vamps grabbed Bryce's coat sleeve.

"Leave the mutt alone. It's been a long night, and we don't need trouble."

Bryce shrugged off the hand, giving his friend a glare. "Did I ask you?"

Lucas used the distraction to bat his ceramic coffee cup, slinging it the way a kid would skim a stone on a pond.

Bryce heard it coming, swaying bonelessly out of the way. Sherry caught the cup in the face and fell over backwards. Before she had time to hit the floor, Bryce launched himself through the air. While he seemed to hover over the table, Lucas reached for the chair he'd been sitting in. Bryce planted a foot on the tabletop, launching a snap kick toward Lucas' face. The kick caught the wooden chair mid-swing, splintering it. The pieces rained to the table top and floor. Lucas caught one splintered fragment that looked a lot like a stake.

The rest of the vamps leaped in to help Bryce, their blood bags falling in their wake, a few of the bags leaking onto the floor.

Driven back into the corner of the wall, Lucas managed to kick the table Bryce was standing on. The blond guy had joined him there. Both went down in a tangle of curses.

A second wave, the dark-haired vamps closed with Lucas, each of them grabbing one of his arms. The living vamps didn't have the full strength of true vamps; Lucas was able to shake them off, but he lost the stake.

Grinning evilly, Bryce tried to scramble up in front of Lucas, only to catch a hiking boot to the face. The vamp's head snapped back, his neck vertebrae cracking with the power of the kick. Lucas wouldn't have used that much force with a living vamp, but knew restraint wasn't necessary for an undeader like Bryce.

Sherry and Emily were in full scream mode.

The zombies were edging in, trying to clean up the mess. One of them had a broom for the spilled coffee. Mama Hollie yelled at it, "No, you dim-witted doofus, get a mop for that. As for you young hooligans, settle yourselves down before I hex the lot of ya!"

Bryce shoved his face forward, his nose mashed flat, leaking blood. His eyes flamed red with rage, his fangs fully exposed. "You're going to pay for that, mutt."

Booted feet thundered into the room, one pair much heavier than the rest. Lucas and the vamps found themselves surrounded by security men in silver-spiked body armor. They brandished Taser wands in an attempt to quell the disruption. Several more guards were armed with super-soakers. Lucas sniffed the air. Loaded for vamp, holy water and garlic.

He wanted to fight, but remained perfectly still, giving no one reason to take him down violently. Messing with Bryce was one thing; tangling with the Clops and the guards was just stupid. Oblivious of Security, Bryce ignored everything but vengeance, grabbing Lucas by the face, pulling it forward, then smashing his head back into the wall.

Pain washed through him. His wolf wanted to cut loose, rip out the vamp's throat, and guzzle his blood. Lucas said, No, we'll heal—and deal with Bryce—without getting ourselves in trouble.

Lucas was pulled forward. A hand closed on his throat, cutting off his air supply. His vision grayed. His wolf raged. And still Lucas did nothing. He didn't have to. Security pulled the vamps off him. Artfully playing the victim, he sank to his knees, grasping his abused throat. He coughed harshly as his vision cleared.

The next thing he saw were boots, size thirteen, extra-extra wide. He looked up at a dark suit, past a massive chest, to the one-eyed face of the Clops which smiled in a not-nice way. "You know, Mr. Grey, we have the whole thing recorded on CD. We know you started the fight."

"He insulted my personal hygiene. He had it coming." Lucas looked past the Clops, watching as the boy band was dragged out of the cafeteria.

"And what about Mama Hollie? Does she deserve the mess you made of her operation?" The Clops looked down at the ruined table and chair spread in pieces under his massive feet. "You need to pay her for the damages."

Standing, Lucas thought of the nearby forest and the tools available in wood shop. "I'll make her another table and chair. I'm good with my hands."

"Yeah," the Clops said. "I saw. You were doing well until we got here and you threw the fight. I'm actually surprised you were able to control your wolf so well. That's why I'm making allowances, this time. Stay away from Bryce and The Rejects, or whatever it is they call themselves."

"The Fallen!" Sherry and Emily shrieked.

"That's also appropriate," the Clops muttered. "I'll tell them to stay away from you, too, Lucas. Another of these instances, someone's going to be expelled."

"What about my boo-boo?" Sherry yelled. "I got hit in the head."

Lucas shrugged. "It only hit her because Bryce moved out of the way. Really, it was his gift to her."

The Clops smiled. "You're right. A real man takes a hit to shield a lady."

"Don't blame Bryce," Emily said. "He didn't realize what would happen."

The Clops and Lucas shared a silent disbelieving stare. There are some things guys just can't make a woman believe.

Sherry asked, "What are you going to do with the vamps?"

The Clops turned to her. "We'll get them into their coffins for the day, and have a long talk with them tonight when they come out. Hopefully, we can all move past this."

Lucas touched the back of his head, checking the damage by feel. "Not likely, but I'll give it a shot." His hand came back bloody.

The Clops studied the bright red human blood. "See the school nurse before class."

Lucas shook his head no. "This will heal quickly. One of the few compensations of my curse."

"Not everyone looks at lycanthropy that way," the Clops said.

Lucas glared at the security chief. "So, you wouldn't mind if a werewolf bit you?"

The Clop's laugh sounded like a series of sonic booms. "I'd mind it if anyone bit me—outside the throes of passion, of course."

Mama Hollie came up beside them, eyeing the Clops with speculation. "And just where is it you'd like to get bitten?"

"There's a conversation for another day," he said. "Excuse me. I have duties to perform."

"Well," Mama Hollie called, "you know where to find me when the mood takes you."

"I'd better be off to class," Lucas said.

"Fine, Mr. Ruffian, but we are going to talk about your behavior later."

Lucas smiled, stomping off across the broken table. "Can't wait."

He reached the vending machines at the back of the cafeteria and found Ravyn there. She was actually the only vamp that didn't raise his hackles, probably because she hated vamps as much as he did. She had a bag of blood in one hand. Her other hand stabbed the bag with high energy, piercing it with a straw. She sipped delicately. "Caught the show."

Lucas shrugged. "What can I say? Posers annoy me."

"Then you're not likely to enjoy the next prom. Sadly, they got the inside track on performing there." She took another sip.

"I thought your band was going to play. Don't you have an audition scheduled?"

"Yeah," she finished off the bag, "but I don't have a father who's making a major donation to the school. Med-Corp is financing a new wing that comes with a full bio-medical lab."

"So, the audition might just be for show?"

"It's how the world usually works. Too bad you didn't give Bryce the business end of that stake, where the sun ought to shine."

"I'd definitely get kicked out of here."

Ravyn smiled. "Sure, but I'd throw you a hell of a going-away party."

"Shouldn't you be heading to your own coffin about now?"

She paused in thought, becoming motionless the way only the undead can; no sway, no eye movement, all the animation of a rock—until the spell collapsed with her next words. "There's still four minutes until dawn, but I ought to get going."

She handed him the used-up blood bag and sashayed away. Being merely male, he was forced—with great admiration—to watch her retreat.

Without looking back over her shoulder, she called out, "You know, I can feel your stare. Like what you see?"

He didn't answer, being in plenty of trouble already. All he needed was for someone to tell Amaranta that he was dogging the hot vamp bass player and hell would shake these walls. Sure, Ravyn was worth a second look—and maybe a few more besides—but looking wasn't touching. He'd taken an oath of celibacy. At least until he got cured. There was no way he'd risk passing lycanthropy on to someone as a sexually transmitted disease. Condoms were not designed to handle the sexual vitality of preternaturals like himself. In the heat of passion, with wolf enflamed thoughts weakening his control, a serious accident could happen, maybe a lethal one.

Best to not even go there.

His first class was Urban Survival, taught by a Japanese cat girl, a nekomimi. Her favorite saying was "Be good, or don't get caught." She didn't tolerate tardiness, but Lucas couldn't help it—watching Ravyn leave had given him a hard-on he didn't want to display to the whole class.

Damn, I need a cold shower.

He smelled Emily and Sherry standing just behind him, moist and cool, traces of lily and waterlogged branches in their scents: naiad, water spirits, more at home with fish than people. They silently watched him.

"How long have you been there?" he asked.

Sherry moved past him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Emily came around on the opposite side. "You're such an animal," her tone was sour.

"Tell me about it." He shrugged and left the cafeteria behind, sighing softly. The damn itch was back.