Chapter 2

The first class the next morning was "Werewolf Bloodline Studies".

I walked into the lecture hall with dark circles under my eyes and scars from last night's beating. The noisy hall instantly fell silent, and everyone covered their noses in unison.

"Ugh!"

"It reeks! Did she just crawl out of a dump?"

"Did the Lumarians just skip the whole 'shower' chapter in their DNA?"

I kept my eyes forward and headed to my seat.

But then my steps halted—my desk was gone, and in the spot that was supposed to be mine sat a stainless steel bowl. It was printed with a bone pattern and filled with last night's cafeteria slop and cigarette butts.

Killian, chewing gum, sat in the back row with his feet propped up on the chair in front of him.

"So, what do you think, Seraphina? Everyone pitched in for your breakfast." He whistled before continuing, "A Lumarian doll only deserves to eat on her knees, right? Need me to teach you how to lick the bowl clean?"

The whole class roared with laughter.

I walked over and kicked the bowl hard. The slop splattered everywhere, and some of it landed on Killian's pant legs.

"Oh, crap!" Killian shot to his feet, his pupils instantly slitting into vertical golden lines.

A wave of Alpha dominance radiated from him, and the sheer biological terror of it made my legs go weak.

"What's going on here?" A sharp voice rang out from the doorway.

The professor, Blake Doyle, walked in with a stack of teaching materials tucked under his arm.

Genevieve immediately stood up and pointed at me. "Professor Doyle, Seraphina has gone crazy. She deliberately spilled slop all over the classroom and even ruined Killian's limited-edition combat boots."

Professor Doyle glanced at the mess on the floor, then at me. He pulled out a handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth.

Frowning, he chastised, "Seraphina, according to the genetic profile, the Lumarian species is indeed prone to emotional instability, irritability, and a lack of self-control. But this is Saint Laurence—an elite academy. So, keep that savage behavior you picked up in the slums to yourself."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Professor Doyle, they were the ones who put a dog bowl at my seat. They're the ones bullying me."

"Silence!" Professor Doyle slammed his teaching materials heavily on the lectern. "How dare you talk back? Is this how you were raised?"

He opened a PowerPoint presentation and pointed to the section on "inferior genes".

"Perfect timing—today's lesson is on genetic defects. Seraphina, come up here and stand next to the podium. Let everyone see what a product of evolutionary failure looks like and the inherent inferiority in your genes."

And so, I was forced to stand there for the entire lecture.

Under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, I listened as Professor Doyle demonstrated my so-called inferiority.

When the class bell rang, I began to stiffly shuffle toward the door.

Genevieve, holding a cup of hot coffee, pretended to pass by the lectern.

"Oops!" She feigned a stumble, and the entire cup of scalding coffee splashed onto my calf.

The coffee ran down my leg into my shoe, the burning pain making me gasp sharply.

"Sorry about that—didn't see you there," Genevieve said with a shrug. "But really, you shouldn't stand in the way like that. Good dogs know better."

I looked toward Professor Doyle, who was packing up his teaching materials.

He adjusted his glasses and said coldly, "You're clumsy and lack even the instinct to dodge an attack. Seraphina, a defective product like you is seriously damaging the academy's distinguished atmosphere. Come to my office after class. I need to consider whether to revoke your enrollment here."