by Katie May
My anger burns through me. Chills me. The contradictory feelings make me nauseous. Before I can rethink my actions, I slam Mikey against the wall. His head bounces, eyes tightening in pain.
“How many of them did you sell?” I rumble. When he doesn’t answer, I slam his head against the wall once more. “How many?”
“None!” he gasps at last. “Dude, I swear it. I only made the one.”
“And that’s the only one you’ll ever make.” My anger propelling my actions, I throw my arm back and punch Mikey square in the nose. How dare he?
How fucking dare he?
Shaking out my sore fingers, I turn towards Violet who is petting the clone’s head softly. The clone’s blank eyes stare absently at a spot on the wall, the lights reflecting off her pale, nearly translucent, skin.
“She is sooo cute,” Violet sings. “Can we keep her?”
Chapter 29
Violet
And that is how I find myself shoving my sex clone into the back of my wardrobe. It took an admittedly long time to find her off switch (the back of her neck), but I was thankful when her body hunched over, hands brushing against the floor and hair hanging.
I’d made the mistake of saying “shit” before I turned her off.
I’ll have nightmares for years.
Shoving a body in such a small space is not as easy as it looks. There’s a lot of twisting and maneuvering you’re forced to do. Her poor head ends up between both her legs, and her arms are haphazardly tossed above her head.
I am just about to shut the wardrobe door when Cynthia enters the room. She takes one look at me then one look at my clone before asking, “You have one too?”
I do not want to know.
Panting, I shove the door closed and rest my back against it.
“I’m fucking heavy,” I pant, attempting to get my ragged breathing under control.
“Do I even want to know why you have your dead body in the closet?” Cynthia asks with a quirk to her brow. I’m shaking my head vehemently before she even finishes.
“Nope. No you don’t. And I’ll appreciate it if you’ll keep this between us?” My demand turns into a question, my voice quivering. Cynthia blinks her abnormally large eyes at me.
“Noted.”
Without another word, she grabs a textbook from her desk, shoves it into her backpack, and backs slowly out of the room. She keeps her eyes trained on me the entire time.
As she opens the door to leave, Frankie is coming in, his hands raised as if to knock.
Cynthia flickers her eyes once more between me, Frankie, and the scantily-dressed doll in the closet.
“You do you,” she tells me seriously—taking those words to a whole new level—before practically racing down the hall. Frankie watches her go with a perplexed look.
“What was that all about?” he asks, moving into my room with a bag of my favorite candy. After the whole Mikey-and-clone incident, Frankie has been in a mood. It’s strange to see the normally calm and collected man past the breaking point. I sent him to grab me chocolates in order to calm him down. Frankie, I realize, needs a purpose. Needs a job. He’s not the type to sit idly by twiddling his thumbs.
“Cynthia saw my clone,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. Frankie’s face darkens significantly at my words, and I hurry towards him. “This is a good thing,” I insist.
“Cynthia seeing your sex clone?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I think it might be connected.” When he simply raises his eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate, I add, “The murders. The sex doll. I think they’re connected.”
“How the fuck is it connected?” He scrubs a hand through his hair, making the normally immaculate strands stand on end.
“You heard Mikey. People have been paying to use that doll.” His face grows redder, a vein in his neck bulging. I scramble to finish before he blows a gasket. “What if one of those people paying for the doll is the same one framing me for murder? It would make sense.”
“I think you’re grasping at straws, Violet,” Frankie says, voice surprisingly gentle.
“Or it’s a lead,” I point out. “If we can figure out who has been buying my—errr—her services, we can have a solid understanding of everyone in the school who is obsessed with me.”
“But there is a difference between lust and hate,” Frankie points out. “And the murders are definitely acts of hate.”
“Yes, but how big of a difference?” When he remains silent, I take another step closer, curling my hand around the wrist holding the candy bag. “Whoever is murdering those people is angry...whether it’s anger towards me or Dracula, I can’t tell. But it’s anger. What better way to take out their anger than on a life-size version of me? Who says that the doll was only used for sexual favors? Though that still fucking disgusts me to even think about. Frankie, it’s the only viable lead we have.”
Before Frankie can answer, there’s a knock on the door followed by Mason’s voice.
“Pinkie, open up!”
I whip my head towards the door and then back to Frankie, not above pleading with the stoic son of Frankenstein. “Please don’t tell them about what happened. They’ll freak and murder Mikey. I don’t like the asshole, but we need him. At least for now.”
I can see hesitation clearly on Frankie’s face. His thick lips purse, and his dark brows furrow. After a moment, he nods reluctantly.
“Fine. For now. But after we talk to Mikey, we’re going to tell them everything, okay? We don’t know how dangerous these clients are. We don’t know if they’ll escalate from a doll to the real thing.”
I haven’t thought about that, and the pain in my stomach intensifies. I nod solemnly.
There’s a lot of sick fucks in the world. Both monster and human. It makes me nauseous to know some of them are after me. The doll is just further proof of how far some people can go. Who used it? What did they do to it?
I don’t know if I can stomach the answers to those questions.
Bracing myself—like I would against a hurricane—I open my dorm room door and allow the men inside.
Mason immediately goes to sprawl out on my bed, and Vin cautiously perches himself on my desk chair. Hux strolls in the room with his hands in his pockets and hair pushed back, the epitome of strength and confidence. A cocky smirk pushes up the corner of his lips.
“And what is my precious treasure up to?” he asks in that mouth-watering accent I want to make babies with.
“Shoving a sex doll clone of me into my wardrobe,” I blurt out.
Smooth, Violet. Real smooth.
Frankie facepalms himself.
Silence.
And then all of the men break into raucous laughter. Mason stares at me fondly, eyes twinkling.
“You’re a strange one, Pinkie. Very strange.”
I attempt to laugh as well before realizing I sound like a dying hyena and toning it down a notch.
“Yup. Because I was totally joking,” I say. “I’m just a regular, old jokester. Just call me the queen of jokes. Queen Joker. Joker Queen. Joker—”
“Too much,” Frankie mutters under his breath to me.
I immediately stop talking.
The rest of the conversation flows easily—the guys talking about the upcoming Halloween party I’m forcing them to attend and the Roaring. Soon, I find myself cracking up as Mason shares a story about his mother and Zeus and a pickle dipped in poison. Thoughts of sex dolls, obsession, and murder disappear from my mind completely until I feel like a normal monster enjoying the company of her friends.
But I know that nothing can stay perfect forever. The monster world is full of darkness. It’s inevitable that it’ll find me.
This is why monsters are never seen in the light: because the darkness continuously tries to claim them.
I’m early to Ms. Stevens’ class the next morning hoping to apologize for my absence the day before.
She’s sitting at her desk, hair braided away from her face and a red pen
in her hand. She glances up when I enter.
“Violet.” She sounds almost relieved. “How are you?”
I move to sit on the top of the nearest student desk, dropping my backpack onto the ground.
“Super sorry,” I answer. Her lips lower into a frown. Before she can comment, I hurry to explain. “For missing class. I’m sorry. I plan to copy the notes from Jack.”
“Violet, it’s fine. You guys have lives.” She offers me a wiry smirk. “I was a student not that long ago too, you know. I was more worried than anything. With all the murders…” Her face twists with disgust. “And now with the new student council decree.”
“New student council decree?” I ask, mind flashing to Cheryl and her snakelike smile. No, sharklike smile. She belongs in the fucking ocean, thousands of miles away from me.
Ms. Stevens’ expression turns sympathetic. “Last night, they ruled that all vampires have to send a sample of their venom to the school for testing.”
That revelation causes me to jump to my feet, anger swamping me. Devouring me. Consuming me. I see nothing but red, as if someone had drawn the curtains of a stage closed.
“What? They can’t do that!”
“They can, and they will.” Ms. Stevens’ expression shows me exactly how she feels about that. I imagine it’s a mirror of my own.
“They’re bigots!” I hiss. “They’re not asking Mason to send over his snake venom. Their not asking for the cum from the incubi!”
“Violet, I know.” She stands as well, graceful and elegant in her pantsuit. “It’s not fair. I know that, and you know that. The murders…” She sighs, forking her fingers through her orange hair. “They’re scared. Anyone with eyes can see that the bites didn’t come from vampires, but unfortunately, we have a lot of anxious students. They see dead bodies and Dracula’s infamous daughter, and they jump to conclusions.”
I’m livid. Positively livid. This is just like the witch hunts in the sixteen hundreds. They see us as predators, as beasts. They’re willing to hunt us down under this deluded mentality they need to protect themselves.
The problem is, we’re all monsters.
A gnawing sensation pulls at my stomach.
When will this end? When will this hunt stop? How many rules will they implement before we’re not allowed to even step outside?
People fear things they don't understand, and we’re the epitome of unpredictable.
Soon, the vampires are going to be locked in the top floors of the academy with the other dangerous monsters.
“It’s—”
“Violet Dracula,” a cold, familiar voice says from the classroom doorway. “Deidre Stevens.”
We both turn, Ms. Stevens’ lips pursing into a warped scowl.
Dimitri Gray stands in the threshold, God-like in his perfection. His almost white hair is brushed into a low ponytail, and he wears a form-fitting button up and black pants. I hate that I find the man so attractive. He moves with a predatory grace and stillness fitting of his position as an assassin.
“What do you want?” Ms. Stevens—Deidre, apparently—hisses, the sound causing goosebumps to ripple up my arms. Dimitri’s smile turns almost taunting.
“I require Violet before class begins,” he says.
“But—”
“And permission from the headmaster,” he adds with a delightful grin, relishing in her annoyance. At the mention of the headmaster, my vampire teacher physical deflates, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a stony expression.
“What if I don’t want to go?” I ask harshly, cocking my hip out to the side. Dimitri stares at me with an unreadable expression, but I could’ve sworn I saw laughter dancing in his golden-flecked eyes.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” he boasts after a moment. Sighing—and realizing that arguing would be futile—I grab my backpack off the ground and take reluctant steps towards the deadly, attractive professor. “Have a good day, Ms. Stevens. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
She supplies a noncommittal grunt in reply.
Finally in the hallway, I allow my feet to drag. The last thing I want to be is stuck in a room with Dimitri Gray. The man’s dangerous; even his pinkie exudes more power than my entire body. I imagine he’ll be capable of killing me with the textbook in my backpack and make it look like an accident.
“I’m afraid you’ll be skipping Ms. Stevens’ class today,” Dimitri says conversationally. I don’t bother humoring him with a response.
I’ll see what he needs...then get the fuck out of there.
We arrive at his empty classroom, and he opens the door for me. If I didn’t know he was a scary motherfucker who visited girls’ rooms at one in the morning, I’d think he was a gentleman.
On the desk in front of his, a simple packet sits with a sharpened number two pencil and eraser.
“The quiz you missed.” His husky voice sounds in my ear, and I can’t stop the goosebumps erupting all over me. And they’re not from fear.
“Now? Seriously?” I drag myself into the indicated seat and glare down at the offending paper.
“You missed the last quiz. And as I told you before, naughty students get punished.” His voice takes on an almost raspy quality on that last word, and I whip my head up to stare at him. He’s sitting in his usual seat behind his desk, but his eyes can almost be described as heated. The intensity of his gaze unnerves me while at the same time evokes a primal need I never knew existed.
“Do you do this with all your students, sir?” I whisper, and I might’ve been mistaken, but I could’ve sworn his eyes flared brighter at the addressment.
A slow, sultry smirk pulls up his lips. “No,” he answers simply.
Electricity shoots through my nerves, lighting me up. There’s an insatiable need within me, one only he can feed. I don’t know if it’s because of the power he emits in palpable waves or if it’s because he’s just so damn beautiful that I’m helpless to look away. Either way, my heart somersaults in his intoxicating presence—in both fear and desire.
We’re playing a dangerous game, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
“How would you punish me, sir?” I ask, barely recognizing my own voice.
With my enhanced hearing, I hear his sharp intake of breath. His expression, however, remains blank.
“There’s a lot of ways to punish a misbehaving student, Ms. Dracula, but I can assure you, the message will be received.”
“And what about you?” I dare question, peeking up at him through my fringe of lashes. He stills at my question, back going ramrod straight.
“What about me?”
“How can I punish you if you misbehave?”
He’s not breathing, but, then again, neither am I. His eyes capture mine, holding me in their relentless snare. I’m once again struck by the beauty that is Dimitri Gray. The harsh, sharp planes of his face are juxtaposed by the surprisingly soft lips, plush and entirely kissable. His hair looks like silk, and I imagine it’ll feel like it as well.
It’s him who looks away first with a heavy sigh, and I’m grateful for the reprieve.
“The lust you’re feeling now is not real,” he admits on a breath. “It’s part of my allure as an incubi.” His unreadable eyes flash to mine. “I have a darkness in me. A darkness you’ve probably seen before. I’m not good. I’ll never be the good guy, the hero. But you have my vow, Violet, that I’ll protect you with all the darkness within me.”
I hold his gaze, speechless. I have the distinct feeling that something monumental has just transpired. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. The air around us crackles with electricity. His words enter me, consume me, empower me.
What did he mean?
Why did he say that?
Before I can respond, there’s a scream from just outside the window. Without a second thought, I race towards it, Dimitri on my heels.
My breath leaves me, and my lungs struggle to refill.
On the steps of the academy, a floor
just below us, is a dead body, an unfamiliar girl standing over it in horror.
His dark face is ashen, bloody incisors in his neck.
Mikey.
I turn, horrified, towards Dimitri who has moved back to his desk, leaning against it with a somewhat bored expression. When he notices me looking, he nods towards my unstarted quiz.
“He’s dead,” I whisper in horror and disbelief. How can he expect me to take a quiz at a time like this?
Dimitri flashes me a crooked grin. “At least you have an alibi.” His smile abruptly fades. “Now get to work. I don’t want to have to punish you.”
Chapter 30
Violet
Anti-vampire rhetoric gets worse after Mikey’s death.
We are regarded with barely veiled contempt and disgust. Some people, like Cheryl and her bitchy friends, are not afraid to say it to our faces. I’ve been spit on, laughed at, and ridiculed all in the ensuing days.
Ms. Stevens’ is the only teacher willing to send students to detention—though even that is a futile attempt.
Students don’t want to listen to “Fangs” as they dubbed us.
Dimitri will only get students in trouble if they’re seen bullying me. I lost track of how many classmates he sent to detention or the headmaster’s office, that frosty glare firmly in place.
It took a really, really long time for me to convince Barret and Cal not to murder anyone. But a good scare? I can get behind that. Nearly three dozen students left detention with shit in their pants or urine cascading down their legs.
I feel so proud.
It’s been a week since the murders—a week since the violence and bullying against vampires has escalated— when I find myself back inside Mikey’ lab/sex shop/cloning location.
“Why the fuck are we here?” Vin asks icily as he stares around the now empty room with distaste. This time around, there’s no blaring music. No flashing lights. Instead, the lab appears almost ominous, as if the shadows carry more secrets than ever before. I wonder if Vin can smell the pungent stench of cum and lust the way I can. Though there are no writhing bodies, the large room reeks of sex. Discarded clothes cover the cold cement floor, and I spot more than one used condom.