The Order of the Bitter Hunt (Strode University #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

My name should be at the top of the list, or at least near the top. This little sheet of paper, stapled carelessly on the wall outside our school theater, displays my fate for all to see. It’s the future of my acting career, and from over my shoulder, my peers eye it with the same greed.

I scan the cast list rigorously, lower and lower, until…

No. This must be a mistake.

Not only did Professor Connolly give me a nameless part, but I’m the third nameless part on the list.

My blood boils—or it would if it wasn’t stuck at a temperature damn near freezing. I have my vampire parents to thank for that.

Most of the students behind me don’t suffer the same disappointed fate. Everyone is happier than I am. Even Princess number two has more to celebrate than I do.

“Look!” someone says, squealing to her friend. “I get to play Ella—can you believe it? It’s my first time getting the lead!”

“Wow.” I turn on my heel, facing her head-on. “Good for you. It is so wonderful to see my fellow thespians living out my dreams.” I clear my throat. “I mean, their dreams.”

Her name is Charlotte, I think. I’ve never paid her any mind, but now, I’m sure her pretty chestnut hair and sweet, innocent brown eyes will haunt my nightmares.

“Thank you,” she says, and it appears my sarcasm goes right over her pretty head.

They’re all so merry, and why wouldn’t they be? It’s my turn to suffer. I didn’t work this hard—as hard as everyone else, if not harder—to be tossed to the side.

I shouldn’t check for his name. I don’t need another reason to heat my borrowed blood, but it’s impossible to miss. His name is right at the top: JUN-SEONG PARK.

He’s the lead, the king of the castle, and I’m an unnamed princess he gets to reject at the very beginning of the play.

Whatever. I can’t waste time thinking about Jun-seong.

Normally, I would send the casting director a bouquet to thank her for the opportunity. But this? This conversation requires us to be face-to-face.

Professor Connolly is an older demoness with gray hair and wise eyes; she’s worked at Strode for decades.

I’ve known her for as long as I can remember, and for the first time in my college career, I find myself doubting her wisdom.

Not giving me a lead part is fine—it’s happened before, and I take it in great stride.

I’ve been the lead. I’ve been someone’s mother. I’ve been the villain. But a nameless character? It’s unthinkable. A low blow. She must be out to get me.

I may have been distracted lately, but I didn’t let my craft slip far enough for me to be at the bottom of the cast list.

Did I?

I stomp empty, stony hallways, with portraits of all sorts of supernatural beings—demons, vampires, werewolves—hung about. Our world may be kept a secret, but there are pockets like Strode University where we exist together. Peacefully.

For the most part.

I knock on the door and poke my head inside.

Her office is quiet, filled with green plants, red accents, and the warmth of a crackling fireplace. The room receives optimal sunlight in the warmer seasons, but on a day like today, the gray skies do little to brighten it. Through the window, orange and scarlet trees sway in the autumn breeze.

I approach quietly, with a polite smile already resting on my lips.“Professor Connolly?”

“Ms. Cruz.” She fixes me with a serious stare rather than matching my smile.

I pull out the chair across from hers. “May I?”

“But, of course.”

I slide into the chair and rest my hands on the desk, clasping them together. “Thank you for making time for me on such short notice.”

She lifts a brow. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We simply must talk about my part in the play.”

She smiles, her eyes crinkling. “Must we? I thought the casting list would have made your part quite clear.”

“Clear? I’m—well, shocked is an understatement.”

“Are you truly so surprised?”

My jaw drops. How can she doubt my performance? I thought she knew me better than this.

“You know how hard I work at my craft. I live and drink theater. It’s my greatest love, the only lifelong affair I’ve ever allowed myself to have—and the only one I will have.”

Before today, I would have assumed Professor Connolly understood this about me. We’ve done eight shows together, and one little sheet of paper has me questioning everything. Does she know me at all?

I love the theater so much that, even amid the death and destruction on campus, I poured my all into practicing for the audition. There were so many times I blew Tobey off to run lines and kiss ass. Both are important skills for an actor, or so my father taught me.

That was all for nothing.

Maybe I could have done more for my friends—for Poppy, for Tobey—if I hadn’t wasted my time trying to impress Professor Connolly.

“Your dedication to the theater has been apparent to me for years,” she says. “But this year is different, and I believe you knew that before you came barging in. You’ve plateaued.”

My jaw drops. “Is that what you think of me?”

“I think highly of you, but your audition this semester was… disappointing, to say the least. You memorized your lines, but it’s as if you were a million miles away, speaking rather than performing.”

Of course, I was. My best friend was running around, hunting my other best friend’s murderer—an issue that was only partially resolved.

I swallow thickly. “What can I do?”

“You’ve become too comfortable, and I don’t know if I’m to blame or if we can look to the chaos of Strode to see the reason.”

I inhale slowly, sucking in the maple-scented air—likely from a candle flickering in a corner of the office. “I haven’t—”

“It’s not a slight against you, merely a concern. This semester has been a strange and terrible time for every student, but it’s over now, Ms. Cruz.” She gives me a sharp look. “While the others are moving on, I feel you haven’t.”

“But I’ve been trying. Honest.”

“It’s all right,” she says, removing her wired spectacles and hanging them on the front of her button-up blouse. “There is no need to lie to me. Be honest. Are you ready to lead another play right now, after all you’ve been through?”

“I will be.” I hold her gaze. “Just you wait. You will rue the day you ripped the part of the leading lady from my cold, undead hands.”

“That’s the spirit.” She chuckles. “I am not trying to be the villain in your story, Margaux. You have a raw talent most will only ever dream of, but I need to see you using it again. All I ask is to see a small glimmer of the passion you had as an undergrad.”

I rise to my feet. “And you will get it.”

“Ms. Cruz?”

Her voice gives me pause.

“If your performance improves,” she says, “I will let you be Charlotte’s understudy.”

I slam my hands on her desk, my features brightening. “I’ll take it.”

Beggars can’t be choosers, after all…

And after years of being the choosiest of all, I’m stuck begging for scraps. Tobey and Caldwell—my friends, the ones who dragged me into this murder business. They are to blame.