Black Beast (16 page)

Under the pretense of pulling out her notebook, she sneaked a look at him through the screen of her hair. He was wearing a checked shirt, blue jeans. His slender frame belied his wiry strength and animal grace. He masked his abilities well, but Catherine caught little glimpses of his true nature sometimes in the way he walked. Other students noticed it as well, although they didn't know what exactly it was that they were seeing, so they simply chalked it up to confidence.

It wasn't fair. Catherine had the same walk, and the same people said that she was out “looking for trouble.” She didn't look for trouble. Trouble looked for her. Unfortunately, it also tended to find her. She didn't see why the humans were so loathe to ascribe the trait of confidence to a woman.

Maybe it frightened them, to admit that a woman could be master of her fate. There was no reason to suppose males were innately superior by default. It was foolish, really. In many species—spiders, angler fish, sharks, hyenas—females were the dominant sex, or formed matriarchal hierarchies. Such behavior was even visible in humans, to an extent.

But Catherine could see why people chose to envision David the way they did. He crossed all his T's. Dotted all his I's. Looking at him, one would never guess that he wasn't human, or capable of being anything less than what he portrayed himself to be: perfect. He looked just like any other attractive teenager: tall and well built, clear skin, onyx eyes framed by thick, short lashes with no limit to their depths. The boy had intense eyes.

And they were boring right into her own.

Catherine was so startled she forgot to listen for the footsteps of the instructor. Locking eyes with a shape-shifter was aggressive. Very aggressive. One generally didn't do that unless one wanted to fight.

Or fuck
.

Predator growled, and began pacing, while Prey cowered and whined.

David didn't look like he was interested in either, though. His gaze was level, curious, and a little sad. That was odd. Why would he look at her in that way? Especially after sneering at her?

Predator shoved those thoughts aside impatiently. She didn't care why, had never cared much for deciphering mixed signals. People who didn't make their intentions clear from the get-go weren't worth her time of day.

Catherine hiked up her chin a notch higher. She wouldn't be the first to look away. If he was going to continue issuing these pathetic challenges, she would win.

David's mouth opened, as if he was going to speak. Then Catherine heard the sound of footsteps, a metallic clicking, the squeak of hinges. Catherine managed to scramble out of the way before the door handle slammed into the wall she'd been leaning against.

“I apologize for the wait,” Mr. Hauberk said. “You may come in. Take your seats—quickly and carefully now.”

Catherine shot a sharp look at David. His eyes were downcast, back on his lab notes, but he seemed to be repressing a smile. She shoved through the crush of students, eliciting grumbles. She ignored the dirty looks that flew in her direction. She was used to them.

Stupid David.

She took her seat. Middle row, middle column. Lab stations were generally set up early in the morning. Today, though, the counter tops were empty, devoid of any equipment. Catherine tried to think of that as a good omen but most likely there was a test she hadn't studied for.

She scanned the front of the room. Last week they had studied the various stages of meiosis by examining prepared slides of white onion-root tip under a microscope. Something she should have been an expert in, considering it was a lesson plan copiously incorporated into every young adult novel since
Twilight
, but no, she was a hopeless case. They all looked exactly the same to her.

There was a mason jar on Mr. Hauberk's desk that hadn't been there on Thursday. The old-fashioned kind you could only really find at garage sales. What was in there? A piece of wood? But the ecology section wasn't until next week. She tried to remember what they'd studied before cell division. Mendelian squares and genetics. That was no help….

“Class, it is now two-ten. Please turn your attention towards the front.”

He went through roll with the rapid-fire precision of a drill sergeant.

“I have some very exciting news for you.”

Exciting was a word that did not belong in a classroom. Ever.

“You're a very privileged group of students.”

That meant he was going to make them do something hard.

“I would have killed for this experience in high school.”

Do it
, she thought.
Put yourself out of our misery.

“Ordinarily, high school students do not perform vivisections, but I have attained special permission from the school board.” Mr. Hauberk paused. There was a beat of heavy silence, which he milked for all it was worth, before lifting up the glass jar with a dramatic flourish.

There was a collective gasp of horror as something inside moved. Catherine twitched.

“What is that thing?” someone in the back cried out.

It was a cricket.

With her superior eyesight, that much was obvious, even from the middle row. As Catherine watched, it propelled itself against the glass with a sound like wind rifling through the pages of a book. It seemed panicked, as if wondering what insidious devices kept it from the outside world.

“Since this is an advanced placement course, many of you are probably considering biology as a major in college, or even a career in the medical field. This assignment will help prepare you for the expectations of the upper-division biology courses you will encounter on that track. As AP students, I expect the utmost maturity from you. From all of you.”

Was it her imagination, or did Mr. Hauberk seem to single her out in particular?

“Pass this around the room.” Mr. Hauberk handed the jar off to a girl named Ellen, who yanked her hands back so quickly that she nearly dropped the jar. With a pained expression, and in a voice that would have befitted any world-weary English headmaster, he said, “And please, do try to be careful.”

Catherine reached for the reassuring weight of her charm bracelet, and frowned when her fingers brushed against the bare skin of her wrist.

I don't remember taking it off
.

“Notice,” Mr. Hauberk said, as the cricket circled the room, “the three body segments—head, thorax, abdomen. The wings and legs are affixed to the thorax. Not the abdomen. You would be surprised how often this question is missed on exams, so take note: it may appear on one of yours.

“The female cricket is distinguishable from the male by a long, spear-like appendage called the ovipositor. This is used for releasing eggs into the soil. It is positioned between the cerci, which are sensory organs located on the abdominal regions of most insects and arachnids. Females also have differently-shaped wings. Does anyone know the name for this phenomenon?”

Blank stares.
Oh shit
, thought Catherine.

David, being David, raised his hand, and so did Karen Shields.

“David?”

“Sexual dimorphism.”

“Excellent, Mr. Tran.” Mr. Hauberk beamed, and then remembered his other volunteer. “Was that your answer, too, Karen?” he added graciously.

She nodded, lips tight. Her aura flared with her displeasure. Beaten by a shape-shifter. How humiliating that must be, Catherine thought, unsympathetically.

“You will be working in groups of two to complete this lab on Monday. I expect you to review the chapter on safety in your textbooks and lab manuals prior to the dissection.” He cleared his throat. “You will be assigned partners—” groans from the class “—which I will read to you now. They are nonnegotiable, so don't bother coming to me with complaints about why you can't work with so-and-so. The first pair is…Abrams and Hernandez.”

Nausea ripped through Catherine, as sudden as it was unexpected. She stiffened, looking around for silver, but the sickness wasn't the same. This sense of malaise came from within.

“Zimmerman and Renault.”

Catherine dug the heel of her hand into her forehead. Was it the formaldehyde? Some people were supposed to be sensitive to it. Such sensitivities were always worse for shape-shifters.

“Shields and Hill.”

At least she wouldn't have Chase as a partner. Better yet, Karen had gotten him.

Fuck you, witch.

“Ramsey and Pilchard.”

Damn. She'd wanted Johnathan.

“Tran and Pierce.”

Wait. David? David was her partner?

Her hand shot into the air of its own accord. Mr. Hauberk looked at her, eyebrows raised. “A rarity indeed,” he said. “Yes, Miss Pierce?”

“I don't think I heard you correctly. Who is my lab partner again?”

Scattered laughter followed her question, although she hadn't been trying to be funny.

Mr. Hauberk dispersed it with an impatient wave. “David Tran, I believe. Is there a problem, Miss Pierce? Short-term memory loss, perhaps? Or are you complaining about the lab partner I have assigned to you? I hope for your sake that is not the case. He would be an asset to your lamentable grades.”

More laughter followed.

“No,” she said. “There's no problem.”

“Good. Hayes and G—yes, Miss Pierce?”