It seemed somehow apt that the first decision Roman made upon formally accepting his position as head of his family's lucrative estate was to un-enroll from public school and hire a part-time tutor to take care of the necessary evil that was acquiring a diploma. Despite everything he had been through, formal schooling still held an intimidating mystique that made it impossible for him to entirely shirk it. Still, the responsibilities that came with managing a business like the Godfrey Institute had to take precedence, and he hadn't the time or the patience to trap himself in a building for 8 hours a day.

Well, that, and the hallways and classrooms held too many uncomfortable memories. It took only one day back after his mother's death to realize that he would never be able to avoid glancing at the seat that Peter once occupied, or the stretch of lockers where he might have once met his sister before calculus, or...

It simply wasn't worth it. He might scowl inwardly at the realization that as his power grew his range diminished, the area of the world open to him dwindled until he felt like a tiger pacing in a too-small exhibit. The pretense of the forest surrounded him but he could never quite ignore that the river was man-made, the vegetation unfamiliar, alien, possibly fake. The nostalgic trees of the outside world smelled too much like the werewolf, an ever-increasing array of new and more traumatizing sensory input crowded his mind ever since that night. The upir struggled to force these primal thoughts away with obligation, privileging the ordinary world of human business and diplomatic relations in a way he never had before realizing that he was never truly a part of it.

Roman sat at the head of the long dining room table, polished so intensely that even the dim overhead light caused painful glares to reflect from its surface. His small-faced, ruddy-skinned tutor bent over a stack of papers, scrutinizing them carefully before turning his head up at the young heir and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Well, I would say this is adequate, yes,” he muttered, his thin lips smacking together. The sound almost made the upir shudder. Roman turned his attention from the large picture window displaying the heavy darkness outside to the man he had charged with the fate of his schooling. His expression was politely blank. The tutor hesitated a moment, blanched almost imperceptibly at the younger man's gaze, and then continued.

“All that's left at this point is passing your final trigonometry exam and returning your essay on Ovid's Metamorphoses and I will be able to submit your final evaluations to the state. You should receive your diploma before the end of spring.” The man tapped his stack of papers against the glossy mahogany and rose. He held his weight awkwardly, as if he was unsure of which leg to favor. To him, it seemed like an eternity before Roman responded by pushing back and standing from his own heavy chair.

The pair of them walked silently to the front of the house. The door creaked painfully as it opened, as though it couldn't bear to disturb the sad, empty building. The upir met his tutor's eyes.

“Should I email the essay?” His voice was quiet,  soft, even, unwilling to communicate even the barest hint of emotion or preference.

The man's eyes widened, his mouth opened slightly, he looked almost afraid. And then startled. “Yes! Yes,” he stuttered. “That'll be fine.” He nodded his head as though to end the exchange and stepped through the door. Roman watched him return to his car and it was as though a weight visibly lifted from the older man's shoulders. The stiffness in his back receded, it was nearly a slump.

The upir had to restrain himself heavily from closing the distance between them and tearing through the man's rough, blotchy throat. For some reason it was always as he left. Sitting across from the man for 10 hours a week was tolerable, but watching him leave... especially when he was able to see his influence leave his body so readily. It enraged him, stoked the fire that fueled his hunger and he was nearly ravenous with anger and need. He shut the door carefully, very carefully, without indication of his heightened emotional state or the desire he felt to challenge the muscles he felt tensing in his arms, all over his body.

Roman inhaled deeply, was about to exhale when he caught the sharp gust of air that followed him in from the door. He spun immediately and yanked it back open, green eyes darting madly across the yard, watching the taillights of his tutor's car disappear down the drive. That smell!

He nearly threw himself into a mad search of his property and the surrounding woods before a distant, grating bark informed him of the dog out for a late run with its master. He stiffened, scanned the yard around him as though searching for someone that might have witnessed his indiscretion. Nothing moved in the darkness.