by Katie May
“Hux?” I ask as a sudden thought occurs to me. I peer up at his face. It’s not traditionally handsome, but then again, nothing about Hux is. There’s a feral beauty, a masculine elegance, to his swooping cheekbones and the sardonic twist to his lips. His beauty is raw and untamed, a direct contrast to someone like Vin who wields his good looks as a weapon.
“Yes, my precious treasure?”
I really, really need to stop swooning whenever he says those three words. Soon, my face will be permanently morphed into a wistful-smile-and-glazed-eyes combination.
The question I want to ask him gets stuck on my tongue, my courage waning. I want to know about him: his scar, his history with Jack, the discourse I can sense between the brothers. Instead of asking any of that, I whisper, “I’m glad you’re here.”
His words submerge me in a warm cocoon. “There’s nowhere else I'd rather be.”
See? Swoon.
I probably just got pregnant ten times from his words alone.
“Now, I don’t know what type of nonsense dancing this is,” Hux begins, gesturing towards the bodies thrusting on the dance floor. He pauses silently, lips parting with an exhale and eyes widening. “I’ve just been informed that this is twerking. Hmmm. It sounds like something a bird would do.” He shakes his head before extending a hand, palm up. “Violet, will you do me the honor of twerking with me.”
I place my hand in his much larger one.
“I’d want nothing more.”
Chapter 36
Violet
Note to future self: don’t ever, not ever, allow Hux to twerk. Seriously. Don’t.
I know what you’re thinking: it must be super sexy to see a man as rigid and untamed as Hux letting loose. Maybe in normal circumstances, it would be. Instead, Hux looks like he’s trying to take a mean shit while simultaneously singing opera. His brows are lowered in concentration as his ass bends, attempting to replicate the movements of the other dancers. Strange noises emit from his parted lips with each bob of his butt.
There are just some things you can’t unsee.
At some point, Hux turns to Jack, and I find myself awkwardly swaying side to side in his arms.
“This party is...a lot,” Jack decides at last, eyes timidly roaming over the bodies. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know that a couple is fucking right behind me. Another group is doing body shots, and a third is playing pin-the-nose on the monster. The prominent stench of piss and sweat fills the air, assaulting my senses.
“Not your scene?” I note, my hands clasped together behind his neck. His own rest on my waist, the touch tantalizingly soft through the material of my coat.
Jack snorts in derision. “Not at all.”
A sudden burst of heat settles in my core.
And not the sexy kind.
“I have to pee,” I tell Jack seriously.
His eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline. “Do you need me to come with you?”
“I can go to the bathroom by myself, Jack,” I say, a wiry grin playing on my lips. He’s so damn adorable when he stutters and blushes.
“It doesn’t matter to me.” He shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. “I just like being with you.”
Warmth travels from where his hands sit over my clothes, settling in my chest. I can’t stop the large smile from blossoming on my face. Jack, Hux, it doesn’t matter. Both men make me feel cared for and protected. Beautiful. A seed of happiness takes root in my heart while my more logical brain warns me I’m encroaching on dangerous territory. Now that this seed has found soil, water, and sunlight, it’s growing, growing, growing—growing impossibly large until I fear it will sprout noticeable branches.
These feelings are new to me. Foreign. They infest my body, my heart, my mind, my very soul. I don’t know how to react. Words fail me.
Instead, I stare at him like an imbecile.
Stammering out some random shit fact about animal mating habits, I excuse myself to use the bathroom upstairs.
The hallways here are quieter—most of the party has been left behind in the lower level of the house. I pause when I hear familiar, raised voices from one of the bedrooms. The door is open, allowing me to see into a surprisingly sparse room. The black dresser is a startling contrast to the otherwise bright arrangement: a white bedspread, white throw pillows, and a white floor and ceiling. The splash of pink lining the bed somehow demotes the room from masculine to feminine and soft. The stark white and almost inky black otherwise would’ve made the room seem harshly masculine.
Cheryl sits on the bed, eyes red-rimmed and lower lip trembling. Standing across from her, his back to me, is Vin.
The piercing jealousy momentarily shrivels my lungs until what little air they have been able to hold dies. I instantly stomp on the jealousy like it’s nothing more than a pesky, albeit disgusting, bug.
I...I trust Vin. And even if I didn’t, I don’t have any hold over the dangerously sexy hunter. He’s my friend and ally, but we’ve never talked about a relationship.
I know immediately I’m intruding. I can feel the tension vibrating in the air between them like a live wire.
“Vin, please,” Cheryl sobs. “I love you.”
And that’s my cue.
I slowly, stealthily, begin to back down the hall, my eyes trained on Vin’s broad, hunched back.
“You don’t love anyone but yourself,” Vin deadpans.
“But Vin—”
“You cheated on me with Mason.” Vin’s voice is quiet, but it has the effect of lightning striking. Is that what happened between them? Is that why Vin hates her? But why doesn’t he hate Mason?
Cheryl’s face twists and contorts at his words. Straightening her thin shoulders, she levels him with a glare capable of cutting skin.
“And you don’t think your little vampire slut hasn’t been banging him behind your back?” she seethes, and I bristle, momentarily pausing in the hallway.
I haven’t banged any of them, thank you very much. No fields have been plowed on this farm. Poor Old McDonald will be rolling over in his grave.
“It’s different,” Vin snaps. From this angle, I can only see a quarter of his profile, but I know his jaw is clenched tightly and his hands are fisted. I recognize his tone of voice; once upon a time, it used to scare the shit out of me. I call it the voice of death.
“How? Because she’s a slut? Because she spreads her legs for anyone with a cock?”
“Nah. Not everyone,” I say before I can stop myself. “Just the really big cocks. I’m a little bit of a cock snob.” Both Vin and Cheryl swivel their heads in my direction. Vin’s expression is blank, but Cheryl’s is livid. Disdain drips from her eyes like acid corroding rock.
“How long have you been lurking there?” Cheryl snaps, piercing me with a look that resembles a frosted-over sword. Her mouth is set in a grim, straight line that tightens the longer she stares at me.
“Just arrived.” I glance from Cheryl to Vin and then back to Cheryl. “And now, I’m just going to...um...leave.”
Violet out.
Keeping my eyes trained on the two unpredictable monsters, I back down the hallway until my back is pressed against the wall. A part of me—a shriveling ball of weeds and decaying flowers—wants Vin to follow me out. To choose me over her.
But he remains in the room with the viper.
He doesn’t close the door, and he doesn’t take a step closer to her, but it feels as if he did. Pain takes root in my chest and grows until I can feel it in my lungs, my stomach, the soles of my feet. Trying to ignore the sting of his—rejection?—annoyance?—I walk all the way down the hallway, only relaxing when I’m safely locked in the bathroom.
What the hell was that?
It’s not as if I walked in on Vin and Cheryl in a compromising position. So why does it feel as if my heart is breaking? Why does it hurt so damn much, like a sword that hasn’t quite broken skin?
Ignoring my feelings—something I’m quite good at—I place all of my hurt and
pain and anger in a steel box. It doesn’t quite alleviate the ache in my chest, but it helps.
Quickly, I pee and wash my hands before leaving the bathroom. A glance down the hall confirms that Cheryl’s bedroom door is now shut.
I don’t…
I don’t understand what that means.
I ignore the voice urging me to break inside and see if Vin is still with her, instead hurrying down the steep staircase and into the throng of partygoers.
I don’t see Barret or Mason. No Cal. No Frankie or Jack. No Cheryl. Hell, I don’t even see Vanessa. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel lonely. It shoots up my spine until I’m practically choking on it. My lungs rapidly try to refill on air. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to inhale quick enough.
Loud, boisterous laughter echoes from the center of the dance floor, and my eyes are automatically drawn there. At first, all I see is a group of guys. One I recognize to be Ali’s boyfriend, but the rest I can’t place.
With a whooping battle cry, they begin to pull a string connected to a dummy. The rope around the dummy’s neck tightens as her feet lift up from the ground.
I recognize the shirt and skirt ensemble. Pink bats are sewed into the black fabric, and the shirt itself has a heart neckline. The dummy they used has blonde, flowing hair and a petite, elfin face.
It’s me.
My sex doll.
Tears burn my eyes as I watch my body hang from a makeshift noose. Her sightless eyes stare down at the bodies around her, utterly expressionless.
Where are the guys?
Why haven’t they put a stop to this?
And how did they even find the doll?
One glance at my old roommate’s laughing face is the only answer I need.
“Piñata time!” someone screams, and the answering roar causes goosebumps to stand at attention like an army of marching soldiers.
I can’t watch this.
I know the body isn’t actually mine, that the robot has no emotions, but soul crushing fear wreaks havoc on my insides as they begin to hand out bats and crowbars.
Tears burning my retinas, I brush past the assembled students, ignoring their taunts. Their laughs.
I’m Dracula’s daughter, for fuck’s sake. I’m a monster that you’ll read about in stories. Why am I allowing some senseless bullying to bother me?
I race outside, the moonlight illuminating the single flagpole and the two unconscious students, alcohol and what appears to be shimmering fairy drugs surrounding their bodies. My breath is embarrassingly uneven, and my heart races in tandem.
And fuck, I have to pee again.
I stand in the driveway, debating whether or not I dare step back inside. On one hand, the guys will worry if they search for me and can’t find me. And I have to piss like it’s nobody’s business. On the other, where the hell were they?
Anger cresting, sweeping over my vision like a red cloud, I storm in the direction of my dorm. I need to sleep—forget any of this ever happened.
But my monster? She wants to enact vengeance. Murder. Maim. Cut off cocks and give these men anal. Shove the severed dicks so far into their assholes that they’re vomiting them out.
I haven’t had fun like that in ages.
Ignoring my monster, I walk farther and farther away from the party. From the students who hate me. From the sex doll hanging from the ceiling as students beat her with a bat. From the men who left me, abandoned me.
I’m going to piss, then sleep, then—
Something hard hits the back of my head, and pinprick white orbs dance in my vision. I stagger, reaching a hand up to rub at my mane of curls. My fingers come away sticky with blood.
“What?” I murmur.
I better not fall unconscious. No fucking way. Nope. Not today, Satan. Not. To—
Darkness cloaks my vision like the bitch I know it to be.
Chapter 37
Jack
I’ve always hated parties. The irritating, incessant chatter, the boisterous laughter, and the sacrificial rituals.
Having a psychopath in my head doesn’t help matters either.
“I’ll make it painless,” Hux assures me, staring through my eyes at the soon-to-be-dead werewolf whose gaze is fixed on Violet’s butt. The werewolf indolently lifts his eyes, whispers something to the idiot beside him, before pantomiming slapping her ass. “On second thought, I’ll cut his still beating heart straight from his chest with a pair of rusty scissors before slipping it up his anus until he see stars. And then, I’ll take his eyeballs and shove them in both his ears. And his cock? Don’t even get me started. I’ll eat that fucker for dinner, so help me.”
At least with Hux I never get bored.
“No killing,” I tell my alter ego firmly. He huffs, muttering something inarticulate about me being a killjoy. Literally.
I’m not going to lie; the prospect of killing this wicked-eyed werewolf appeals to me immensely. I too fantasize about beheading him and severing his cock, but alas, Violet will be upset.
I cross my arms over my chest and stare out at the partygoers. There’s an infectious joy radiating in the air combining itself with the prominent scent of lust. More than one couple has found themselves tangled together in the middle of the dance floor, uncaring that numerous eyes are on them.
Memories of my feeding time with Violet bombard me. Her breathy moans. Her heaving chest. The feel of her gyrating her hips against my cock.
For the first time in centuries, I had lost control. My monster had lost control. I couldn’t differentiate where I ended and Hux began. We were one in that moment, each seeking to pleasure our mate. Hux’s hand on her breast had been tentative, unsure, his fear of scaring her outweighing his need of her. Mine, on the other hand, had been harsh, tugging and twisting. The feel of her peaked nipple beneath my fingers…
Hux moans in my head.
“She’s ours,” he says firmly, possessively. I can’t help but agree with him.
“Yes.”
My cock strains against my pants. I’m overcome by the irresistible urge to bury myself in her sweet cunt. Pound into her until she’s screaming my name.
“Like what you see, handsome?” a woman purrs, and I pull myself out of the memory, out of my own head, to take stock of the scene before.
Two naked women sit directly in front of me, breasts bouncing as they rub their pussies together. Quickly, I avert my eyes, heat rising to my cheeks. Not lust, but embarrassment. Did they think my boner was from them?
“Tell them they’re nothing compared to my precious treasure,” Hux instructs, scoffing at the notion we would find them more attractive than Violet. “Tell them they’re hags.”
“Yeah, I’m not telling them that,” I reply back, hurrying away from the moaning women.
“Tell them they're nothing compared to my Violet, and they should just kill themselves now to save me the trouble of doing it later,” Hux continues.
See? Psychopath?
I push up my glasses, annoyed.
“We’re not murdering anyone.”
Hux literally groans in my head like a petulant child. If he had control of my feet, I imagine he would be stomping them right about now.
“Pinkie! Have you seen Pinkie?” Mason calls, neatly sidestepping a couple lying down in the middle of the floor. His eyes are glazed, mouth opened in wonderment. As I watch, he reaches a hand out to catch the...light? After three ineffectual attempts, Mason shoves his hands in his pockets with a pout.
“Are you high?” I ask, not unkindly. Mason blinks rapidly, as if attempting to orient himself to his surroundings.
“When did you and Hux develop two bodies?” he slurs, stumbling over his own two feet. “Wait. Make that three. I didn’t know there was a third one in you.”
“He’s speaking nonsense. I fear he has no more use for my precious treasure,” Hux exclaims in my head. “Should I kill him?”
For frick’s sake…
“He’s broken,” Hux c
ontinues adamantly. Meanwhile, as if to prove my darker half’s point, Mason gets on his knees to serenade Violet who isn’t even present. I’m pretty sure he compares her butt to the “fleshiest moon that ever had babies.”
His words, not mine.
“I kill,” Hux declares resolutely.
“No! Mason is my friend and Violet’s. She’ll hate you.”
That finally gets through that big head of his—errr—that big head of ours.
Violet is his entire world. If there’s even a possibility that she’ll despise him or be angry with him, he’ll work endlessly to rectify it. Thank goodness. The last thing we need is Hux murdering all of Violet’s male friends because they are of no use to her.
Movement in my peripheral captures my attention, and I turn just as Violet descends the staircase. Her expression is blank, impassive, as her hand trails over the bannister. She almost appears to be lost in thought, the sullen straightening of her lips a direct contrast to the jovial spark present just a few minutes ago.
“Pinkie!” Mason calls, lips stretching into a wide smile. She either doesn’t hear him or chooses not to respond, hurrying out the door.
“We must go to my precious treasure,” Hux says...well, more like demands. I have a feeling that if I refuse, he’ll take over my body by force.
Dragging a dazed Mason behind me, I hurry outside. The still air belies how cold October has become. The temperature has dropped significantly in the last few weeks despite the absence of wind.
There are two students unconscious in the lawn, but I see no sign of Violet.
What happened when she went upstairs? What did she see? What did she hear?
“If someone hurt her…”
“You’ll kill them, I know,” I finish for Hux drolly. I can’t say I’ll blame him; I’ll probably even help.
Mason cups his mouth with his hands and screams, “Pinkie! Where o’where is thou Pinkie? My heart beats for thee Pinkie.”
“Please let me kill him,” Hux deadpans. I shush him.