by Katie May
Maybe it’s because of the stereotype. You see someone like Jack, someone sweet, nerdy, and timid, and automatically assume he’ll submit to you.
He could be the opposite. I’ve read romance novels before, and the shy ones always end up being freaky in the sheets.
Not that I would mind.
My cheeks flame as I picture Jack controlling me, dominating me, the sculpted planes of his tanned chest on display.
He snaps his book closed suddenly, head lifting to meet my penetrating gaze. I know my cheeks are probably bright red, and my lips are unbearably dry. My tongue snakes out to lick them...before I immediately think about licking other things.
“How did you sleep?” Jack asks, stepping towards me. He meets my eyes, blushes, and then looks away. He combs his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, the movement revealing the jagged edge of his scar. When he notices me staring, he darkens further, ducking his head and kicking his feet.
“It was weird,” I begin, walking beside him down the curving, wooded path to the cafeteria.
“Weird how?” Before I can respond, he slips my backpack off my shoulder and shrugs it over his own. At my scathing glare—because I’m an independent wannabe badass woman—he smiles sheepishly. “You looked tense. I didn’t want you in pain before fighting class today.”
He is just too damn adorable at times.
I open my mouth to tell him about Dimitri’s impromptu visit before snapping it closed. The last thing I need is for Hux to make an appearance and go all “macho possessive” on me.
Hux doesn’t like a lot of people around me, particularly men. Hell, he freaked out the one time I mentioned I’ve seen Cynthia’s boobs and demanded I move in with him.
He is just too damn adorable at times.
Shrugging, I change the subject, hoping that Jack doesn’t notice my evasion of his question. “How’s Hux doing, by the way?” Then, speaking directly to Hux, I add, “How are you doing, Chocolate Bar.”
Yes, I have decided to nickname Hux “Chocolate Bar.” No, it hasn’t been sticking, if the looks I receive from the other men are any indication.
Jack’s brows furrow as he concentrates. After a moment, the skin smooths over, and he flashes me a shy smile.
“He said, and I quote, ‘Tell my precious treasure she looks radiant in the fall lighting. A vision of beauty.’”
My heart threatens to burst from my chest, and I lower my head, suddenly shy.
“Tell Hux he’s not too shabby himself,” I murmur like the dumbass I am. Sometimes I wish I was like Frankie or even Hux: a walking dictionary full of poise and grace.
Instead, I’m a human trainwreck who responded to a beautiful compliment with that.
Jack is silent for another long moment, conversing with his other half.
“He says thank you, and that he will strive to never be shabby until the end of time,” Jack responds at last, and I can’t help the girlish giggle that escapes me.
We arrive at the cafeteria, and I instantly head into the private feeding room. I expect Jack to continue on towards our table, as he usually does, but instead, he follows me inside and locks the door.
“Where’s Vin?” I ask, surveying the empty room. It sort of reminds me of an interrogation room from those cop movies. A simple metal table sits in the center with a chair on either side. There are no windows, and the only exit is the door we came through.
Such a fire hazard.
“He has to do something for King Tut’s class,” Jack says, shuffling from foot to foot. Yeah, apparently our combat instructor, Mummy, is actually King fucking Tut. And boy, does he like to be referred to as such. Even with the wrappings, I can tell he has a big head.
“Oh.” I try not to sound disappointed, but I’m starving. And, as pathetic as this sounds, I was beginning to think of our feeding time as a bonding experience. It’s one of the few times he lets his guard down around me, allows me to see the man underneath.
We’ve never gone any further than feeding. Even with his raging boner poking me in all the right places, Vin refuses to take that next step. Whenever I ask him about it, he mutters that it’s not the right time.
“Don’t worry,” Jack says quickly. “I can feed you. Despite having Hux inside of me and immortality, I’m still human. At least, my blood is.” When I don’t immediately respond, his face slackens with horror. “Only if you want to, of course. I don’t want to make an assumption. I can go find a donor, if you want.” His eyes steel at the offer of me feeding off someone else, jaw clenching, but he doesn’t take it back, despite being uncomfortable.
“Jack,” I begin, taking a step towards him. He gulps. “Thank you. But do you know what you’re offering? Do you know about the...um…?”
“Lust? Endorphins you release? Yes, I am well versed.” He nervously pushes up his glasses with his pointer finger. “I can swap with Hux, if that would make you more comfortable.”
“No, Jack, you’re enough. If you’re sure,” I whisper, my mouth dry as I stare at his vulnerable neck. The power flooding through his veins. While his blood may be human, it smells better than any source I have ever drunk from before, rivaled only by Vin’s. The smell alone causes my senses to sharpen with a primal need.
“Where do I…?” He looks around before eventually perching on the chair. While it does have a back for him to lean back against, both of the arms are gone. It makes feeding much easier.
“There’s perfect.” I stalk towards him slowly, giving him the chance to change his mind. When he doesn’t, I straddle his lap, my legs on either side of his knees.
Caging him in.
His breath picks up speed, and I can see his pulse pounding in his neck. His eyes are slightly glazed as he mechanically tilts his head to the side, offering himself to me.
“Is this okay?” My breath fans against his skin, eliciting goosebumps. I hear him swallow, and his voice is breathless when he finally responds.
“More than okay.”
My hunger consumes me as I plunge my now elongated fangs into his neck. His body jerks, convulses under mine, and a groan travels through him and into me.
His hands, lying hesitantly by his sides, become braver, gripping my waist and holding me against his growing erection. The heady scent of his arousal fills the room.
He begins to groan out my name and other compliments and praises, words nearly incoherent. His blood fills me, completes me—his power and life force pulses through my veins.
Like with Vin, the strength of our connection takes me by surprise. I continue to slurp at his neck desperately, hungrily, passionately. My hands tangle in his hair, both playing with the silky strands and holding his head in place.
I nearly jump out of my skin when his own hand moves to my breasts, kneading the orb through my shirt and bra. I moan against his neck.
It feels so fucking good.
A second hand sneaks underneath my shirt, underneath my bra, and tweaks my nipple. It’s such a contrast to the hesitant squeezes coming from the first that it almost feels like there are two different people playing with my breasts.
Two different hands.
I grind against his hardness as one hand lightly cups my still fully-clothed breast and the other destroys my nipple, pinching, plucking, and twisting it.
I don’t know how long we stay like that—locked in an embrace capable of burning the whole building down—before I reluctantly pull my face away from his neck, using my tongue to heal the marks.
Jack’s breathing is heavy, sawing in and out. Coming to his senses faster than me, he drops his hands from my tits and jumps to his feet.
The movement pushes me off his lap and onto the floor with an “oomf.”
Why do I always find myself on the ground after a feeding? And not even on my back with a cock between my legs.
Damn, I get jipped.
“I’m sorry,” Jack blurts out looking extremely distressed. “Crap. I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” He extends a hand
to help me to my feet. Only when I’m steady does he release me as if I’m toxic. I’m not going to lie: that hurts. A lot. More than I thought it could.
“Next time I’ll use a donor,” I say, voice stiffer than I mean it to be. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“Crap, no, that’s not what I meant. I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that!” His voice is nearly a scream, and I can see the anguish emitting from his eyes.
I gape at him.
“Huh?” I ask smartly.
“You were feeding, and I know that lowers your inhibitions.” Jack paces, pulling at his hair and occasionally clutching his head. “Frick, Hux is freaking out.” The last statement is muttered under his breath, not necessarily meant for my ears.
“Jack,” I begin.
“I shouldn’t have touched you like that without your permission. I’m a freaking idiot.” There’s so much self-loathing in his voice, so much pain, that I can’t stop myself from shouting.
“Jack! Hux! Listen to me for a damn minute!” Jack stops pacing and meets my stare worriedly. He braces himself, flinching away when I step closer.
“I was in complete control of my actions, understand? Everything that happened was because I wanted it to. If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you.”
“Me?” His voice is high with disbelief.
“My bite can make you...well...it’s meant to seduce and entice. So I’m sorry—”
In a span of a second, Jack is in front of me, gripping my shoulders.
Hux is in front of me, gripping my shoulders.
His glasses are still on, his hair still hanging in front of his face, but I know it’s him without question.
“Are you sure you’re okay, my precious treasure?” Hux asks—well, more like demands. His shrewd eyes assess my reaction.
When I nod my head vigorously, assuring him I am more than fine, he exhales in notable relief.
“I never want you to feel uncomfortable. If we go too far, tell us immediately. And if anyone else goes too far, tell me, and I’ll handle it.” His tone darkens on the latter statement causing goosebumps to ripple on my skin.
I’m fucking terrified and aroused by the prospect of Hux handling it.
“Of course, Chocolate Bar,” I say with a megawatt smile, and his answering one is glorious. Hands still on my shoulders, he leans forward and presses a tender kiss to my forehead.
The hands loosen slightly, and Jack peers down at me.
“You okay?” he asks anxiously.
“Better than okay,” I echo his words back to him, and he smiles softly.
Our moment is interrupted by a scream from the cafeteria.
Jack pushes me behind him, facing the still locked door of our windowless room. He stands with a stillness that belies the tension I know he’s feeling.
After a moment, a familiar voice screeches, “Oh my Hades! She’s dead!”
Well, fuck.
Chapter 25
Violet
It was Blowy found dead in the cafeteria bathrooms.
Unlike Ali, her throat was ripped out.
I hear the names they’re calling her murderer: savage, beast, monster.
Ironic, really, considering this entire school is full of them.
After an hour of trying to convince the headmaster that I had nothing to fucking do with Blowy’s death, our meeting is interrupted by Birdy hurrying into the office. After conversing briefly with the secretary, the headmaster releases me, claiming he has found a witness to collaborate my whereabouts the hour of the crime.
Not suspicious at all.
I retell the story to Cal and Barret, kicking my legs against the countertop in the abandoned teacher’s lounge on the top floor. Mason sits beside me, eating his ice cream straight from the carton, that heathen. Thanks to Jack’s retrieval of the door’s passcode, we’re able to visit them whenever we want. And yes, it’s we. The guys dictated that one of them has to be with me at all times for “protection.”
Silly, foolish boys. As if I’ll listen.
The only reason Mason is with me now is because he caught me sneaking around and offered to come with. He’s the chillest out of all of my guy friends—sort of like a river, following the predetermined current.
“And you think they’re going to find your venom on her neck?” Barret surmises, attempting to steal a bite of the chocolate ice cream I bought specifically for Cal. Apparently, Cupid has a sweet tooth. Who knew? Cal swats Barret’s offending hand away with a possessive growl of “mine.” When I stick my own spoon into the chocolatey goodness, Cal moves it even closer so I don’t have to reach as far.
I can’t help the smug smile I send in Barret’s direction. He flips me off in response.
“Someone's framing her,” Mason says darkly.
“But the question is who, Pretty Boy,” Cal jests, pointing with his spoon. As always, Mason’s face darkens with annoyance at the nickname, but he lets it slide. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to start something with the two most fearsome monsters in existence.
Not that I think they’re that scary. Total marshmallows. All bark and no bite.
Okay, total lie. They did kill a girl by cock. I’m pretty sure there was some biting involved with that death, if you know what I mean.
“Let’s make a list!” Barret suggests eagerly, reminding me distinctly of a besotted, energetic puppy. He opens one of the drawers and grabs a paper and pen.
“A list?” Mason parrots, voice dry. I lean back so I’m snuggled against his arm. Mason always emanates this heat—a product of his lineage. Combined with his earthy scent, I want to curl up against his body and...well...I didn’t think that far ahead.
Cal and Barret focus on the minuscule distance separating our two bodies. Cal almost appears curious, but Barret’s face is blank.
“That’s a good idea!” I say, and Barret’s blank face turns into a triumphant smile at my approval. He practically preens. “Thanks, Boo Bear.”
Note to everyone out there: I am the only person in the world allowed to call him that. Don’t try to unless you want your insides to fill with bugs, crawling through your intestines and erupting from your mouth and eyes. Seriously. Don’t.
“So first, who was the witness that came forward with your alibi?” Cal taps his spoon to his chin, unintentionally getting chocolate all over his face. For a sex demon, the man’s a hot mess.
“Your roommate, perhaps? A professor?” Barret lists.
“It could be.” Sheepishly, I duck my head. “Dimitri visited my room last night.”
Three male voices rise in protest; Mason tightens his arm around my shoulder, pulling me even deeper into his side.
“Did he touch you?” he asks into my hair. Something about my scent seems to calm him. If it was Vin or even Hux, I would say he is attempting to tame and reign in his beast. But, for all I know about Medusa’s son, he doesn’t have a monster lurking just beneath the surface. And he sure as fuck doesn’t have anger issues like Van Helsing. He’s the calmest guy I know...except for now, when he’s holding me in an iron vise, heart pounding erratically.
There’s still a lot I don’t know about my friend, apparently.
“No,” I say quickly, realizing how my words could be construed. “He was just delivering my book. But…” I bite my lower lip anxiously.
“But?” Barret hedges, and I risk a peek under Mason’s arm to see the Boogeyman flexing his biceps. The man looks lethal. It’s times like this I remember there’s a reason why he’s locked away from the other students.
“But,” I relent. “He had blood on his shirt.”
The men are silent, processing that declaration.
“So you think he murdered Tiffany, went to your room to return your textbook, and then admitted to the headmaster that he was with you the time of the murder?” Mason says, voice dubious. All I can focus on is the name of the victim. Huh. I’m a horrible person for not asking sooner. “For one, professors are
not allowed to engage in romantic relationships with their students—” I open my mouth to protest that nothing fucking happened when he continues, “I know nothing happened, Pinkie. But to the headmaster, it would seem weird for him to visit your room in the middle of the night.”
“Unless they both know something we don’t,” points out Cal. He ruffles his red feathered wings, accidentally hitting the back of Barret’s head. Barret’s swivels around to glare at him, scooping some of his ice cream into his spoon and throwing it at his face. “Or maybe the headmaster lied about receiving confirmation of your whereabouts.” Cal, unperturbed with the ice cream dripping down his face, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
In sloppy scrawl, Barret writes down Dimitri Gray and Headmaster Asshole.
I smirk at the nickname before realizing this is a serious conversation, and as such, I have to remain serious. I’m so fucking serious I should be wearing a pencil skirt and have my hair in a perm.
“What about the Van Helsings?” Cal continues, and I feel Mason stiffen beside me. I run a soothing hand up and down his thigh.
“Vin wouldn’t,” Mason says briskly, resolutely. His tone leaves no room for argument.
Barret grunts.
“He wouldn’t!” Mason defends. “He’s…” Abruptly, he trails off and glances down at his hands. “He just wouldn’t.”
“He wouldn’t,” I agree. Cal and Barret exchange another one of those eloquent looks before sighing, turning back towards me.
“His sister? Your designated best friend?” Cal queries.
I purse my lips.
“I don’t think—”
“Put her on the list.” Mason’s voice is quiet but firm, and I whip my head to stare at him in surprise. His hand rubs soothing circles into my shoulder blades, but he doesn’t meet my questioning gaze. “Add Cheryl as well.”
“Who’s Cheryl?” Barret demands, but he writes her name down.
“Gills,” I fill in, and both monsters nod in understanding.
During detention, we had a lot of time to gossip. I’m pretty sure they’re more enamored with my life than I am.