Kill or Be Killed: A Reverse Harem Paranormal University Academy Romance (Cain University Book 2)

by Lucy Auburn

  "I have to go over and surveil that Mark Headmaster Shu gave us tomorrow," I complain to Eve as I flop down on her couch after classes. "I still have no idea how to take him on. Hey—can you help?"

  "Sorry hun, but killing is the one thing I can't help you with." I wave the folder of info we have on the guy in her face, but she shakes her head vehemently. "Assignments are strictly need-to-know. And right now, all I need to know is how your relationships with the Fuckfaces are developing. Think you'll be able to stand being in their company long enough to kill someone—or I should say, long enough to kill someone who isn't one of them?"

  I sigh, rolling my head around dramatically on the back of the sofa. "I don't know. Everything is going well enough—my telekinesis is getting way stronger, and I swear today with Wyatt I managed to have a near-conversation with a bird. The ghosts and foresight are... not exactly coming easy."

  "Which is to be expected, for two finicky, rare Affinities," she tells me, tossing her red hair over one shoulder. "These things take time."

  "Yeah, well, I don't have much of that. The whole world—or at least this campus—is ending in six months, remember? Headmaster Shu won't even tell me how investigating that is going. Apparently it's strictly Shadow Fold business, just like me killing this guy," I wave the thick folder in the air, "is apparently strictly me-and-the-Fuckfaces business. And I've gotten no closer to figuring out who killed my mom... so, to put it succinctly, I could use a drink."

  "That I can help you with." Heading over to the kitchenette, Eve pops a bottle of wine out of the wine fridge and pops the cork out in record time, using just a little knife she carries on her belt. "Let's have a girl night tonight, just you and me."

  There's a little mrrr-ow from the other room. "And Penny," she adds, eyeing the cat warily, "if she can keep her damn claws to herself."

  "She can! And a girls' night sounds lovely." Leaning over the arm of the sofa, I dangle my fingers in the air and make kissing noises. Penny trots over to my fingers and rubs her cheeks against them, leaving her scent all over me, ever the territorial predator. "It's not like she meant to lightly maim you. It's just that you shut her tail in the closet door."

  "Yeah, well, she was fine, and now I have four scratches on the back of my thigh, so I'd say she got the good end of that deal." Eve pours two large glasses of red wine, nearly emptying the bottle in one go. "How about we watch Chicago? I'm in the mood for some badass lady killers. Even if it is a musical."

  "What about Kill Bill? That one's good."

  "Mmmm. The Bride is a particular hero of mine. Which to choose, which to choose..." Handing me my glass, Eve taps her perfectly manicured fingernails against the side of her own. "How about both?"

  "Why choose?" I grin up at her and take a sip of the wine, which is rich and iron-flecked like blood. "Let's watch both movies. I have plenty of time tonight, and I need a distraction—unless you've got a reason why you need to go to bed early? Like a mission?"

  "No kills this weekend. In fact, I'll probably go home for a bit, enjoy my rich-ass house and perfect pool. I might even enjoy the pool boy." Eve curls up beside me on the sofa and thumbs the remote through until it hits her large selection of 4k remastered movies. "I'd kill for a good fuck with a pool boy right about now. Maybe he can even make me a daiquiri after."

  I take a sip of my wine to distract from my own current dry spell. Even though I went a long time without sex after killing Jack, somehow it's different now. Because now I hold hands with unfairly attractive men, all of whom have shown some form of carnal lust for me, with asses you could bounce a quarter off of and muscles in every variety: bulky, toned, lithe, and honed. What I wouldn't give for none of those bodies, and their respective dicks, to be attached to the Fuckfaces in question.

  Every night alone in bed is a little more frustrating when you spend all day wishing you didn't want to fuck four men you definitely shouldn't want to fuck.

  "What'cha thinking?" Eve raises a reddish eyebrow at me, while Penny leaps nimbly onto the arm of the sofa and brushes against my arm. "You look like you've got thoughts on your mind. Spill. Movie night is about the dishing, not the plot points."

  "Mmmm. Well..." I bite my lower lip as I tell her, "There may be some tension between me and the Fuckfaces."

  "Noooo." She pitches her voice low and dry, as sarcastic as can be. "I would never expect that four hot, attainable guys being physically close to you day-in-day-out has caused tension."

  Smacking her on the arm, I shake my head and grin. "They may technically be attainable, but that's like saying you can drink the water out of a cactus. I hooked up with one of them, and I swear the other three almost pissed on me, then tried convincing me to hook up with them instead, and..."

  "And? Which one did you hook up with? How did the others react?" Her eyes widen comically. "Tell me you didn't fuck Grayson Hughes. If you did, you have to tell me what his dick looks like. That's the rule—I didn't make it."

  I roll my eyes at her. "I hooked up with Mason. Just twice! And I ended it, since he's way too nice for me."

  "Oh," she deadpans, "not a nice guy. That would be terrible. Especially after how the last one turned out."

  Cringing, I point out, "Jack is exactly why I can't let myself get close to someone with potential."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm too fucked up." My voice roughens as I tell her, which is dumb, but somehow it's harder to admit this to my best friend than it is to tell the truth to myself in my head every time I want to pat Mason's cheek or share a secret grin with Wyatt. "I'll just figure out a way to mess it all up again, like last time."

  "Ellen. Look at me." Eve's voice is dead serious, so I have to meet her gaze. "You didn't fuck up your relationship with Jack. That had nothing to do with you. It was all him. Every bit of it, from fucking with your head, to manipulating you into staying with him. Even that knife you plunged in his chest over and over again—all him. He was the fucked up one."

  "We both know that's not the whole truth," I tell her, a lump in my throat. "I could've left. I didn't have to kill him. And even after killing him, I didn't have to..."

  "Shish-kabob him into a carry-on luggage? That was the work of an artist if you ask me." She raises her glass as if in toast to the frantic version of me that hacked through my boyfriend's limbs to separate bone and gristle. "There's nothing that says the next guy you shack up with will be that fucked in the head. And I know you're not gonna kill him."

  I snort. "You couldn't possibly know that."

  "Couldn't I?" She takes a sip of her dark red wine. "Because it took a lot to push you to kill, Ellen. We both know that it wasn't one incident or a single argument. For someone you're in love with to push you to kill again, well, it'd take a mountain of shit. And I can tell you right now, if anyone ever lays a hand on you like that again, or makes you feel small, or manipulates you into cutting everyone who loves you out of your life, I won't make the same mistake again. The next Jack to walk into your life is getting stabbed in the gut by me and no one else. So yeah," she winks at me, "I am one hundred percent certain you won't be killing your next boyfriend."

  Her words, as strong an I love you as you can get from any friend, make me choke up. I tilt my head back and drink my wine to hide my misty eyes, and blink a few times before responding. "Well." Licking my lips, I tell her honestly, "I'm touched."

  "You better be." She reaches out and pinches me in the ribs, making me yelp. Penny, who's slinking down into my lap and making a bed for herself, glares up at Eve, who stares back. "Ellen, your cat isn't normal. She looks like she wants to kill me."

  "You're just describing a cat," I remind her. "They're basically nine pound serial killers with weapons on the end of every limb."

  "Still." Eve's brows furrow. "This cat... is decidedly a little un-cat-like. I'm pretty sure if you get another shitty abusive boyfriend, she'll slash his throat before I get to him."

  Penny rumbles deep in her chest at this pronouncement, vibrating my thigh
s as she digs her claws into me and settles down territorially on my lap. Eve isn't the first person to declare that my cat is different, but I don't care. Whatever makes Penny tick, we're two of the same, and it works for me. I'm not exactly a chihuahua-in-the-purse kind of girl.

  "Throw on the movie," I tell Eve, fixing my attention on the screen. "I want to forget about men and their complications for a while. Except if those men are getting run through with a sword by a badass lady."

  "Gladly."

  Sinking into the couch, we lean into each other, sip our wine, and enjoy hours of films depicting women who kill—not just out of necessity—but because it's thrilling.

  Nothing has made my heart beat or my blood surge like watching the life drain out of some asshole's eyes as I killed them.

  With any luck, I'll get to repeat the experience soon.

  The thing about Lionel Copenhagen is, the man knows how to disappear.

  We have a file on him over an inch thick, yet still we can't seem to track him down. After the last Shadow Fold assassin targeted him three weeks ago and wound up dead in a ditch somewhere outside Berlin, Copenhagen has gone MIA. He's recently been sighted by two Shadow Fold scouts who claims to see him near Vancouver, but despite the doors dumping the five of us right near his supposed cabin in the woods, there's no sign of him.

  Even the coals in the fireplace are cold.

  And given the wind chill outside, no one could have survived here without a roaring fire. Which means...

  "Gone." Levi surveys the surroundings with a frown on his fae-like face, his light silver-gray eyes narrowed in irritation. "We should've done this sooner. Like last weekend."

  "Ellen was kidnapped last weekend." Mason paces the confines of the room, weapons strapped to his back, his thick black braid swinging along his spine. "We're supposed to do this together, or not at all."

  Grayson sets his cane into the floor, wearing his usual cold and distant facial expression. Whatever joking, relaxed version of him I met during our ill-fated makeout session, he's buried that Grayson deep in the earth. "We make a fine team: one brand new Brutus and four free agents about to be kicked out of grad school. How five of us are supposed to succeed where actual professionals failed, I have no idea. It seems like the headmaster wants us gone."

  "Which makes no sense, given that Ellen is the first Brutus in decades," Mason points out. "She must believe that together, the five of us can find this Lionel guy, even though he's apparently evaded other assassins. There is strength in numbers."

  As Levi prowls across the floorboards and makes enough noise to wake the dead, Wyatt grumbles. "Strength, but n-n-no... stealth." He swallows and licks his lips, looking briefly frustrated that his tied tongue keeps tripping him up. I want more than anything to grab his hand and free him from his weakness, but I force myself not to, worried he might look into it too much. "We should tr-track him. In the... woods."

  He has a good idea, in that it's the only thing we have left to try. "If we find him, that's at least something. I just wish we knew more about him. I mean—this file? It's useless."

  The file we have tells us lurid stories of Copenhagen traveling the globe, starting in his hometown of South Africa, and using his inherited wealth to kill mostly women. Call girls, prostitutes, strippers—he has a certain type. Apparently he doesn't like it when a woman makes a living off a man's desires for her body.

  He likes to leave his victims in hotel rooms for the maids to find, half their bodies chewed by what looks like an animal. International authorities have looked for him tirelessly but gotten nowhere, causing the Shadow Fold to step in, certain that he has an Affinity that makes him capable of shapeshifting into some kind of animal.

  Apparently he leaves bite marks that resemble the pattern of a Thylacine, an animal extinct since 1933. If that isn't magic, I don't know what is. The international authorities have all kinds of excuses explaining why the victims are found with strange teeth marks in their arms, including other possible animals or the killer using a makeshift weapon, but a Thylacine has been seen leaving the scene on camera multiple times, along with other animals he shifts into.

  According to his file, Lionel can turn into any animal he's recently touched. The endangered one seems to be a favorite of his for some reason though—probably some kind of ego thing, and the fact that it leaves his mark behind. More than one investigator has named his kills after the endangered animal, even though they haven't figured out how it happens. It's clear what's going on, though you'll never see people in the outside world admit it.

  I know I wouldn't have, before coming to Cain University. Now I think my cat has a human-like brain inside her tiny fluffy body. Things change.

  "Let's look for tracks," I tell the others, because the longer we spend fruitlessly searching inside this empty cabin, the more tension runs high. "I'm sure he can't have gotten very far."

  My mother's killer also had the ability to shift into something and leave the scene of a crime quickly.

  I wonder if it's possible that this man has such a vague Affinity that he's able to shift into both an endangered animal and a cloud of fog.

  Somehow I doubt it, though. All the Affinities I've seen in the past week have been strangely specific. And even if someone is capable of both, my mom was no prostitute, and nothing bit her. She doesn't fit the profile of Copenhagen's victims at all.

  It's too bad, because the more time I spend on the hunt for one man, the more I want to find—and kill—the only cold-blooded killer who really matters. This Mark will be a good warmup, but killing him will never make me feel the way I will when the man who took my mother from me breathes his last breath.

  We head out of the cabin and into the woods, just like the musical, but with more knives between us. Mason takes the front position, his eyes scanning the path at his feet like he sees things the rest of us don't. Levi wanders off and stares up into the trees, meandering away, no doubt aware that none of us will sneak up on our Mark if he's with us. Of course, Grayson takes up the last position, his cane ever present at his side, while Wyatt moves in step with me.

  Very precisely in step, in fact.

  At a certain point he's beside me, Mason is at least ten feet ahead, and Grayson has dropped back, laboring to get his left leg over tree roots that poke up from the ground. There's no sign of Levi, which makes it almost feel as if Wyatt and I are alone.

  "You ha-haven't... made a m-m-move on me." His voice is quiet, but laced through with frustration, and I can't tell if it's because of my lack of jumping his bones or because of his stutter. "Why?"

  Licking my lips, I admit to him, "I was afraid you'd catch feelings. And I don't have the time or energy for something like that. Especially not with one of the four of you. Not when it clearly causes... issues."

  Jealousy. Arguments. Competition. The four of them are dogs lifting a leg, and I'm the fire hydrant they want to piss on. I can't afford the time suck.

  "It w-wouldn't cause issues if... you'd j-j-just have me."

  Wyatt and no one else. I snort aloud at the thought. If I picked one of them, the other three would make it their life mission to mope, cajole, and throw fits until I changed my mind. Even easy-going Levi has a sharp silver tongue and a desire to beat the other three.

  It's not surprising; they're killers, after all. We're all in this world together because we've watched the life drain from someone's eyes because of our actions. Powers came to us, and here we are, learning how to kill more efficiently. Sharing isn't exactly part of the killer DNA. The guys are more likely to stab each other to death than calmly let me have one or two of their dicks without turning it into a whole thing.

  Too bad. The one of four dicks I've seen was nice. I'd like to figure out what this whole sleeping around thing is like, now that I'm single. Guess I'll have to just suffer instead.

  So I tell Wyatt, "I'm not going to pick one of you and cause issues. It's better if we just stay friends."

  He doesn't look thrilled at this
. I don't blame him—I'm not thrilled either. I wanted to climb him like a cat and find out what that legendary dick of his really looks like. But if it's going to make Mason brood twice as hard or Grayson turn into a complete ass, I can find a silicone dick instead without all the drama.

  "The tracks stop here." Mason comes to a halt in the middle of the woods, staring down at his feet and frowning. "It's like he just... vanished. Do we really think our Mark might have shapeshifting abilities?"

  From behind us, Grayson answers, "It seems likely, given all the evidence. Look for paw prints. Maybe he's made a den nearby." As Mason gets to work, the ill-tempered cane-bearer comes to a stop just beside me and murmurs, "For the record, I wouldn't cause any drama if you decided to ride Wyatt's ginormous elephant dick. As long as you're also riding mine, that is."

  I turn beet red and punch him in the shoulder, which doesn't seem to cause a reaction at all. "Shut up," I hiss at him, eyeing Wyatt, who has thankfully moved away to stare at tracks with Mason. "I told you, we're not happening."

  "Your tongue in my mouth and that blush on your neck seems to suggest otherwise," he murmurs, "but I understood as much based on the way you've acted all week."

  "What about you? I swear you've come up with a million excuses just to avoid being within one foot of me. This is the closest we've been all week."

  Grayson's mouth pulls down at the corners. "I have to keep my distance. I'm not going to let myself touch you unless I know it can go further. The pain isn't worth it." His pale blue eyes flick to mine, and I feel caught in his gaze. "Hurting myself over you would be unwise, Ellen. And out of character for me. But if there's a chance you might allow something more..." He raises a red-tinted brow with a smirk. "Well. Let's just say I'd endure all the pain in the world if it meant getting to see how far that blush extends below the collar of your shirt."