by Katie May
Cheryl fucking Ness.
Descendant of the original Loch Ness monster.
She looks normal enough, pretty even, with shimmering orange hair, bright red lips, and thick lashes. The only indication that she’s anything other is the gills sprouting from her neck and curling down her chest. I would know.
I’ve seen that naked chest more times than I care to admit.
Cheryl Ness.
The bane of my existence.
I stiffen briefly when her fingers brush my arm, and she pushes out her plump bottom lip. I imagine she thinks she’s being seductive, but the poor girl looks like she needs to take a massive dump.
“I miss you, Vinny Poo,” she whispers, that skeletal finger of hers trailing up and down my bicep. It takes considerable restraint not to rip it off and shove it up her ass. It’ll fit quite nicely with the stick currently there.
And that damn nickname…
If I have to hear Vinny Poo one more fucking time…
Ignoring her, I bend down to pick up one of my fallen daggers. I can feel her eyes on my ass, but I don’t bother to give her the satisfaction of responding. Bitch doesn’t deserve anything from me. Not after what she did.
“Did you hear?” the viper inquires, taking a step closer. This time, her finger travels up and down my back. Fucking cunt.
I know she wants a reaction, a response, but I refuse to give her one. Not this time. She can take my silence and shove it up her ass alongside the finger and stick.
Displeased with my lack of response, she releases a growl. The sound only serves to make my smile broaden.
“I just thought you, of all people, would know. Being the heir to the Van Helsing’s fortune and all.” She’s trying to bait me, putting the worm on the hook and watching it bob in a turbulent ocean.
But I’m not stupid enough to snap down on it and impale myself. Not again.
Still silent, I move to the target and pull the daggers methodically from where they’re deeply embedded in the plaster.
One dagger.
Two daggers.
Three daggers.
At dagger number ten, Cheryl finally explodes.
“Dracula’s daughter is here!” Her voice is a screech, grating on my nerves, but her words have the desired effect. My brain shuts off, going numb, and ice encases me in an impenetrable chokehold. I spin on my heel, searching her face for any signs of deception. Her red lips are curled into a cunning smirk at having finally gotten a reaction out of me.
“Are you sure?” I ask darkly.
She rolls her eyes.
“Of course I’m sure. Hayley saw her and—”
Before she has even finished speaking, I’m racing out of the room. My stomach is churning, tightening, and my thoughts are running rampant. I pray this is some sort of practical joke. Cheryl’s way of getting back at me.
Dracula’s fucking daughter.
My hand immediately goes to my favorite wooden stake, one I always keep in my belt. It was crafted from my grandfather himself, the only person besides Vanessa who has ever loved me, and given to me on my tenth birthday.
The same birthday Grandpa was murdered on.
Red coats my vision.
If Dracula’s daughter is here, that means the vampire is as well. The monster. And if he is, I will not hesitate to do what I wanted to do for years.
Stake the murderous bastard. Right in the heart.
I find Mason in the cemetery behind the school, sitting in his usual spot beneath the willow boughs. He’s languidly smoking some potent fairy shit, eyes glazed over. He doesn’t even bother to look up when I approach.
“Are you high right now?” I demand without preamble, towering over him. Mason’s not a small man by any means, but he has nothing on me. He’s wearing his signature beanie, a flannel shirt opened over a gray tank top, and fitted jeans unbuttoned, his cock sticking at attention.
“High as a fucking Valkyrie,” he murmurs, taking another drag. He breathes out, and a cloud of smoke engulfs us both.
I wheeze at the scent permeating the air.
Yup. Definitely the top-notch fairy shit. Probably sold to Mason by Frankie himself.
“Come on. Get your lazy ass up.”
“After she’s done,” he drawls. A moment later, a figure flickers to life, her mouth over his dick. She slurps once, before releasing his cock with a loud “pop” noise. As the Invisible Man’s daughter, Natasha has a reputation for being the “other woman.” Being invisible makes her the perfect cover. She can suck your cock right under your girlfriend’s nose.
Not that Mason has a girlfriend. He has fuck buddies—we all do. Him, more than most.
Can’t really have a girlfriend when you have a fated mate somewhere out there.
Not all monsters have mates. I don’t, for one, but that’s mainly because I’m more human than beast. I’m the creature that the monsters fear.
So yeah. No mate for me, thank fuck.
“Hurry the fuck up. And put your dick away!” I snap, trying to look anywhere else. Seeing my best friend’s dick billowing in the breeze is not how I want to start this investigation/assassination attempt.
“Hey, Love. That’s enough.” He pushes at Natasha’s shoulders, and she falls to the ground with a “humph”, turning invisible once more. A moment later, she rematerializes, her perky breasts on display for the world to see.
“Aren’t you going to get me off?” she pouts, lower lip trembling. Ignoring her, Mason ambles to his feet and sticks his now flaccid dick back in his pants.
“I’m afraid that’s not how I work,” he proclaims unashamedly with a shrug. “I’m a pretty damn selfish lover.”
She sputters, face growing red with indignation, before hurling a list of insults at our retreating backs.
Only when we exit the cemetery, does Mason’s shoulders slacken with relief.
“I thought she would never stop nagging,” he laments, offering me a hit. I decline, already focused on the job at hand. And getting high is not on my list of things to do.
“How much of a liability are you going to be?” I ask my high-as-fuck friend. He considers, the silence stretching to the point I’m afraid he’s fallen asleep.
Finally, he admits, “On a scale of one to ten, I’m a solid eighty. And not just in the good looks department. Honestly? I feel pretty good right now. Mellow. Chill. I kind of want to take my dick and wave it around like a flag.”
I close my eyes briefly. “Don’t take your dick—”
Too late.
With another sigh, I leave Mason to his Pledge of Allegiance and hurry to the dorm building. As an upperclassman, I’m fortunate enough to live in a house off campus. I remember how shitty these dorms were with their water-stains, cold showers, and uncomfortably hard mattresses. I’m pretty sure I got an STD from them once.
I press myself flush against the ivy climbing up the brick building, content to wait in the shadows until night fell.
Contrary to popular belief, vampires are able to travel in sunlight. It only irritates the skin in the same way it’ll irritate a freckled, red-headed person’s skin. Of course, that makes my job ten times harder. If only they’ll spontaneously combust in the sunlight and save me the hassle of killing them.
But alas, I’m not that lucky.
After only about an hour of creepily lurking, the front door of the dormitory opens and closes. I prepare myself for another bout of disappointment—after all, it could be one of the fifty-some other students currently living in the dorms.
Instead, two familiar figures step out. The first I’ll recognize anywhere as the headmaster, his curly hair untamed and disheveled. Just like his wolf.
The second figure is tall and intimidating, his chin raised imperiously. He’s the type of man who looks like he gives zero fucks about anyone and anything.
Anger, red hot, cascades through my veins. Vibrates within me. It’s like I’m seeing in tunnel-vision, my entire focus on him and him alone.
Dr
acula.
The monster I’ve been trying to kill my entire life.
The man who murdered my grandpa, my best friend.
My hand tightens around the stake.
I understand perfectly the punishment for killing. Not just in the academy, but in the monster community at large. And killing a man as powerful and connected as Dracula? I’ll be brought down faster than I can blink. In the monster world, I’ll be labeled as a traitor and an enemy. But in my world, as a Van Helsing, as a hunter, I’ll be declared a hero.
I’m sorry, Vanessa.
My muscles shift, preparing to spring at the unsuspecting man, when the wind changes direction, bringing with it a delectable scent. Goosebumps erupt on my arms, and my cock instantly hardens.
What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck?
I’m about to murder my nemesis, and I’m sporting a raging boner. Am I really that kinky?
The smell assaults me again, and my eyes practically roll up into my head.
It reminds me vaguely of the cookies Mom used to make. Melted chocolate. Smoke from the hearth in our living room. The floral scent from our collection of flowers on the dining room table.
It smells like...home.
I can’t stop my body’s visceral reaction. It’s something carnal, primal, within me. I can’t quite understand it, but I know I want to jump the distance between us and kiss the everloving fuck out of—
I sure as fuck hope it’s not Dracula.
A moment later, the door opens once more, and the object of my desires manifests itself. She’s everything I never knew I wanted, a vision of elegance and grace.
Right as I think that, she trips over a rock and faceplants on the ground. Wincing, she rubs at her forehead and scrambles back to her feet.
“I’m okay!” she calls to Dracula’s retreating back.
He doesn’t even slow down.
The need to run to her, to claim her, to kiss her, is nearly overwhelming. My hands grapple with a loose brick, using it as a handhold to hold me back. To stop me from doing anything rash and reckless.
I know what this is. I’ve read about it hundreds of times in my textbooks.
But it’s utterly impossible.
Mate bonds don’t exist between creatures of different species, and never in the history of monsters did a Van Helsing get a call.
Deep in my bones, however, I know exactly what it is. I can feel it settling in my gut like a ball of lead, mixing with the tangle of nerves already there.
This girl—this blonde-haired, dewy face girl—is my mate.
And if her close proximity to Dracula is any indication, she’s his daughter.
As a wise man once told me, “Fuck me sideways, backwards, and everywhere in between.”
Chapter 6
Violet
After an hour of awkwardly sitting and pretending I don’t exist, I’m finally dismissed back to the dorm.
I leave the main academic building—which also serves as the offices for administrative staff—and wander down the numerous pathways branching off from the main one.
I take the one that leads to the graveyard, a surprisingly popular hub with the students. I see a crowd dancing merrily around one of the crypts (picture Children of the Corn) and what appears to be a sports team doing push-ups where the graves end and the forest begins.
“They’re practicing for the Roaring,” a quiet voice mumbles from behind me. I turn, heart hammering, to see a young man sitting beneath a tree. Thick, black glasses accentuate the cerulean eyes gazing back at me framed by long lashes. He scratches absently at his nose, pushing a strand of unruly dark hair away in the process.
He’s beautiful. I know it’s a strange thing to say about a guy, but he has beautiful, delicate features. Almost feminine.
When he meets my gaze, his cheeks burn hotly, and he ducks his head. After a moment, he glances back up at me through his fringe of lashes, a tentative smile playing on his full lips.
“What’s the Roaring?” I inquire, moving a step closer. He scrubs again at his nose, hitting the edge of his glasses, before dropping his hand into his lap.
“It’s a game us monsters play.” He pauses, picking at the skin on his wrist. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it, the gesture reflexive. “Are you new?”
“You could say that.” Before I can stop myself—because, really, when have I ever cared about personal space?—I sit cross legged in front of him. He gulps, instinctively shifting away as if my female cooties are contagious.
Hell, for all I know, they might be.
There’s a reason us girls bleed out of our vaginas: to warn away monsters. Show them how badass and deadly we can be.
Oh, your cock shoots out cum. How quaint. My pussy? Yeah. We have blood, motherfuckers.
And...I’m getting off track.
“So the Roaring,” I repeat, smiling disarmingly at the man to show him I’m not going to kill him. It takes real skill to perfect such a smile. I had to practice for days in the mirror before the humans stopped running from me. Apparently, grimacing malevolently while holding the severed head of your enemy is not the way to make friends. Who knew?
I still have that head, if you want to know.
My first accidental kill.
In my defense? He totally deserved it. The man cornered me in an alleyway when I was fourteen and slapped me. When I began to scream, he slapped a hand over my mouth and pulled down my pants.
So I killed him.
Accidentally, of course.
Once again, I attempt to focus on the here and now. Namely, Glasses nodding towards the athletes. They’re all dressed in color-coordinated red shorts and shirts. It seems to be a mixture of girls and guys, all various ages and monsters.
There doesn’t seem to be anyone with abnormally big feet which is a shame...for...reasons.
“They hold it every year at the Academy,” the man says dryly. He sounds less than enthused by this. “It’s a chance for the top dogs to show off. Lick butt cracks. Whatever floats their boat.”
“I take it you don’t compete,” I say, glancing once more at the athletes.
“No, I totally do compete. I just hate every second of it.” He sighs heavily, a hand ruffling his already disheveled black curls. “I’m Jack by the way.”
“Violet.”
He doesn’t ask me who I’m related to, and for some reason, I’m immensely grateful. I surprisingly enjoy the anonymity of being just Violet. Not Dracula’s daughter. Not a pawn in this ever-changing game board.
Just Violet.
I must’ve said that out loud, for Jack’s lips twitch.
“Well, Just Violet, I need to get back to my studying.” His face slackens with horror suddenly, as if he has only just realized how his words could be construed. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company...because I do. It’s just...um...frick!”
He scrambles to his feet, dropping papers everywhere in his haste. To escape me? To escape himself?
Still sitting on the ground, I lean forward to help him pick up the fallen papers just as he does.
Now, in the human movies, this would be the part where our fingers touch and long, extended eye contact is made. The world would freeze around us, trapping us in an eternity of our own making.
In reality, my forehead smacks against his nose, and we both fall to our backs, groaning in pain.
“I think you broke my nose,” Jack declares, voice muffled. One glance confirms that, yes, there is an ungodly amount of blood dripping down his face.
“Oh shit,” I curse, crab-walking backwards until I’m a safe distance.
Jack seems nice and all, but I know how monsters work. An eye for an eye. Blood for blood.
And dammit, I like my blood in my body where it belongs (yes, I see the irony).
Jack chuckles good-naturedly.
“It’s fine. It was an accident. Don’t look so...oh crap.” His eyes widen in horror, and I whip my head from side to side, desperate to see what has ensnared his attent
ion. Noticing nothing that wasn’t there five minutes ago, I turn back towards Jack.
His glasses are gone, discarded onto the textbook beside him. His wild hair, once curling into his eyes, is now pushed behind both ears to showcase a sharp jawline, stubble, and a wicked scar on his left cheek.
He smiles down at me coldly, the radiant warmth previously emitting from his eyes all but gone. Vanquished.
“Well...well...well. What do we have here?”
Chapter 7
Hux
I roam the labyrinth of my host’s mind. There’s a small section I’m regulated to, a tiny portion bathed in darkness.
No lights.
No warmth.
I wouldn’t say that it’s cold, just empty. The monotony of darkness is only broken apart when he sets me free. A pocket that opens up whenever he experiences a strong emotion. Hate. Anger.
That pocket—that hole of pure, undiluted light—calls to my battered soul. It’s nearly impossible to resist. Not that I want to.
When it comes, cracking open the black floor, I jump.
It always takes me a moment to orient myself. The sudden light is almost blinding, and I squint my eyes to adjust them. Next, I have to get used to my limbs. An arm and a leg. A head that can turn from side to side. Eyelids that blink.
A cock that is currently rock hard, straining against the jeans I am—he is wearing.
Dark hair is obscuring my vision, and I hastily push it behind my ears. I don’t know why Jack is so against the scar marring his face. He sees it as a flaw, a constant reminder of who and what he is.
I see it as a trophy.
My hands snag on the hideous glasses, and I drop them onto one of Jack’s ridiculous books. I’m not a big enough dick to break them—though the prospect is tempting. He doesn’t actually need glasses. I think he believes it makes him look smarter.
Cracking my stiff neck, I raise my arms above my head to stretch the taut muscles.
And then I notice her.
She sits across from me, blonde curls flowing around her like a halo of golden silk. Porcelain skin. Red, pouty lips. A cute nose currently scrunched.