Roaring

by Katie May

  “Shit. Sorry. I thought you were my dad.”

  “And I take it you’re not pleased with him right now?” Mason guesses. I sigh, picking up my pace as I cross the nearly empty parking lot. Only my car and a rusty pickup truck remain.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumble, fumbling for my keys. Well, Jack’s keys. I totally stole his car.

  “When are you going to be back?” Mason questions, and I can imagine him lying indolently on the bed, maybe tossing a ball up and down like they do in the movies.

  “In fifteen minutes.” I don’t invite him to my room. While I’m not as mad at Mason as I am at the others—he was quite literally hung up when I needed him—I still don’t want him around. He makes me feel too much, too quickly. It’s not healthy. “I’m going to be driving soon, so I’ll call you back, okay?”

  He sighs in resignation. “Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow, Pinkie.”

  “See you.”

  I press the red button to hang up my phone and shove it in my pocket. The car beeps when I unlock it, the sound ominous in the quiet lot.

  I’ve just touched the door handle when something hits me in the back of the head, my vision blurring and ears ringing.

  What. The. Fuck?

  CHAPTER 2

  VIOLET

  I spin, fangs bared, to see nothing but an empty parking lot. The lone streetlight casts everything in a white glow.

  “What the hell?” I snap, nursing my injured scalp. My fingers come away painted with blood. It hurts like a bitch, but it’ll heal in a couple of minutes.

  I twist, body braced for a fight, but the lot is silent. Empty.

  With another quick look in both directions, I duck into the car, locking it immediately.

  “Fuck,” I breathe, anxiously glancing from side to side. A figure catches my attention in the rearview mirror, and I look over my shoulder, startled, only to see the backseat empty.

  What the hell? I could’ve sworn I saw…

  Well, does it sound ridiculous if I say I could’ve sworn I saw a man sitting there with bloody tears?

  Yes. Yes, it does.

  It’s official—I’m losing my mind.

  I tentatively lift my head to stare up at the rearview mirror again…and once more, I see a man sitting in the back of the car with blood cascading down his cheeks.

  This time, I don’t hesitate to release the dagger I’d hidden up my sleeve before I arrived. It slices cleanly through the air, embedding itself in the upholstered seat.

  “What the fuck?” I murmur, glancing around the empty car. I can practically feel the eyes on my back. It’s a prickling sensation, the one you get when you’re in a crowded room but know someone is watching you. Unease slithers up my spine, and cold ice encases me.

  My head is yanked back, pain exploding across my scalp, and I feel hands around my neck. The strength of this monster surpasses even mine—I’m helpless to escape its iron grip. Very few things can kill me, but decapitation? I don’t think anyone can survive that.

  Fingernails scratch my skin, pulling, pulling, pulling…

  Twisting…

  Blood forms in my mouth where my teeth bite down on my lip, and the pain intensifies, exploding like errant fireworks, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.

  Unbidden, my eyes flicker to the rearview mirror again. A figure is visible in the reflection, his hands wrapped around my throat. I can see that he wears all white, stained with blood, and has dark skin and even darker hair.

  Morgan.

  When he smiles, meeting my gaze in the mirror, I notice razor-sharp teeth coated in blood.

  “Vampire scum,” he hisses, voice guttural and nearly unrecognizable. “Death to all vampires.”

  I gurgle, struggling to reply. To tell him he’s an asshole who’s going to get his balls removed and served to him on a dinner plate. To tell him I don’t deal with betrayal well.

  But my consciousness is steadily leaving. Retreating. Draining away like water trickling down a sink.

  I see Morgan’s eyes widen slightly in the mirror a second before it shatters, glass scattering everywhere. The pressure around my neck alleviates immediately, and I gasp, panting. My hands scramble to protect my sensitive throat, fear pulsating through me.

  A moment later, I hear a scream, the sound of more glass breaking, and then the car door being wrenched open.

  Dimitri Gray materializes like an avenging angel before me. Dressed in black with his light hair slicked back in a low ponytail, he displays a savage type of beauty. Beastly and untamed. Feral almost, as if he doesn’t quite know who’s friend and who’s foe. There’s a predatory glint in his eyes, and blood coats his lean, muscular frame. Behind him, Morgan’s lying in a pool of his own blood, sightless eyes gazing up at the star-lit sky.

  “Bloody Mary’s son,” Dimitri explains casually, wiping blood from his blade on his shirt. “He uses mirrors for his kills. Break all the mirrors in a ten-foot radius, and he’s forced to appear in the material realm. Easy to kill then.”

  “What… How?”

  “Are you okay?” His eyes darken. “Did he hurt you?”

  “What…?” I whisper, unable to articulate any other words.

  With a gentleness belying the anger on his elegant face, Dimitri helps me out of the car. His critical eyes survey me from head to toe, and I have the irresistible urge to shiver. There’s something in his gaze that elicits lightning through my veins. He’s so beautiful it physically pains me to look at him—a sort of unattainable beauty you usually only see on magazine covers and billboards. Ethereal.

  “Did. He. Hurt. You?” Each word seems to be physically wrenched from his mouth through heavily clenched teeth.

  “No,” I say, though my voice sounds unsure. I have light scratches on my throat, and my head aches like a bitch, but I’ll survive. Already, my vampire healing is kicking in, relieving me of my aches and pains. I clear my throat and repeat in a firmer tone, “No.”

  His lips press into a grim, unrelenting line, but he doesn’t contradict me. I feel like he’s undressing me with his intense gaze, leaving me naked and vulnerable. When his eyes lower to my neck, the steel in them hardens to unbearable levels. I know that there will still be bruises darkening my naturally pasty skin. At least for now, until my vampire healing can fully kick in.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, finding my courage and straightening to my full height. His eyes sweep over me once more, but this time, they don’t linger on my bruised throat. It’s almost as if it pains him to stare at.

  Which is weird because he hates me.

  Sure, we partake in a good eye fuck from time to time like normal people, but we’re not exactly best friends forever. We’re partners in murder crime, though, so I suppose that counts for something.

  “I followed you,” Dimitri replies unrepentantly. He shrugs his muscular shoulders, the fabric of his black shirt pulling tight over his pectorals. Is it wrong that I have a vivid image of me licking his stomach? I blame it on the hormones. They’ll make anyone a thirsty bitch.

  “Followed me,” I repeat slowly, unsure if I should feel flattered or terrified. But if my asshole dad has taught me anything, it’s to be polite to murderers. They’re less likely to kill you then. With my chin raised and arms crossed over my chest, I add, “Thank you.”

  Because I’m super polite and all that.

  His lips twitch, as if he’s fighting off a smile. His glacial blue eyes narrow slightly. “For what?”

  “For saving my life.” I wave a hand in the direction of Morgan—Bloody Mary’s son. And here I thought he was a nice guy. Shows how well I know a person.

  The diminutive tilt of his lips straightens out, and he levels me with an unreadable look. Standing in the lone streetlight, light blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, he looks ravishing and beautiful. There’s a seriousness in his eyes that inherently commands—demands—my attention.

  “I told you. I’ll protect you with every ounce of darkness within
me.” His dismissive gaze flickers to the dead body, and he taps it with the toe of his boot.

  “Why?” I blurt. He doesn’t look up from Morgan’s prone, bloody form.

  “Why what?” This time, I’m positive I’m not mistaking it. There’s definitely amusement in his eyes and voice; his lips curve into a half-assed smile.

  “Why protect me?”

  He laughs coldly, the sound sending goosebumps racing up my arms. It’s almost as if he’s physically brushing a finger across my skin. Instead of answering, he nods towards my car. “You should get home.”

  “But I…” Huffing, I stomp my foot. I know there’s no getting answers out of Dimitri fucking Gray. He’ll tell me what he wants me to know—as little or as much as he desires. I would do better taking tweezers to his pubic hair than asking questions and getting answers. “Fine.”

  I want to ask him why he was following me, how he knew I was in danger, but the words get clogged in my throat. Instead, I gift him with a penetrating glare before sliding back into the car.

  Almost instinctively, my hand rubs at the bruised skin of my throat. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it serves as a reminder of how close to death I got. It was a hair's breadth away. All I had to do was reach a little further out to grab it.

  And it terrifies me.

  As I pull out of the parking lot and onto the street, I can feel Dimitri’s eyes on me. I don’t dare glance back at the bloody corpse or the scary assassin standing vigilant beside it. My hands are shaking so badly, it’s a wonder I can steer straight. Tears blur my vision.

  I know tonight, in the safety of my bed, I’ll fall apart. Somebody tried to kill me…all because I am a vampire. That’s a kick to the nuts for any sane person.

  And…

  I really need to stop thinking about balls and nuts and penises. People might think I’m the one with a problem.

  CHAPTER 3

  VIOLET

  When I arrive back at my dorm building, I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. My body feels as if it’s made of lead, and my brain is clogged with cotton balls. A cold trail of slime skates down my back as I fight off the impending shivers.

  Someone tried to kill me. Again.

  I’m not a stranger to death—more than once, death has knocked on my door. There’s something almost…seductive about its pull. It’s a trap hidden beneath leaves and weeds on a forest floor, just waiting for unsuspecting prey. I’m the helpless rabbit captured and killed.

  I trudge up the staircase and stop in front of my room on the second floor. The halls are silent, almost eerily so, and a single fluorescent light sways overhead. Only the underclassmen are forced to sleep in the dormitories; the upperclassmen have houses a few miles away from the main academic building.

  With a heavy exhale, I run the pad of my thumb over the nameplate stitched to the wall.

  Violet Dracula.

  The second one—the one that had previously read Cynthia Clit—is now gone. My old roommate, also known as the Woman in White, left after we got into a fight. Long story short—I accused her of buying my sex doll and, in a roundabout way, of murdering our fellow classmates.

  Not my finest moment.

  She retaliated by hanging my sex doll at the school’s Halloween party like a piñata and allowing students to whack it with baseball bats.

  Not her finest moment.

  Honestly, despite our tenuous relationship, I hadn’t actually expected her to leave.

  It…stings, rotting away what little cheer remains like a caustic acid. I can feel it like a physical ache, like a wound that is only just beginning to fester.

  I don’t like this feeling. At all. I don’t like the pressure on my chest that restricts my blood flow. I don’t like the loneliness that presses in on all sides of me, like a steadily shrinking vise. It feels as if I’m being displayed in a glass case. I can see the world, see the people, but I’m unable to interact with any of it. Instead, I’m gawked and laughed at like some sort of fucked up novelty show.

  See Dracula’s infamous daughter. A vampire who isn’t a vampire.

  A monster who isn’t a monster.

  My hands clench into and out of fists as I work to control my ragged breathing. I don’t like the turbulent directions my thoughts have headed down. At all.

  I’m a monster, dammit! I need to start acting like one.

  With shaky hands, I push open the already unlocked door—Dracula failed to procure me a key on my first day of school. All I want to do is collapse on my uncomfortable bed and sleep the day away. Forget the last few weeks.

  Diedre’s words.

  Dracula’s no-show.

  Frankie’s confession.

  Lock all of it in a cement box and bury it thousands of miles below the earth. No amount of digging could uncover all of its secrets.

  I’ve just tossed my bag onto my nightstand when I spot the silhouette on my bed.

  “Mother shitter!” I scream, immediately throwing a right hook at the intruder’s face. I miss—of course—and accidentally trip over the edge of the faded, red rug in the center of the room. Before I can face-plant, a muscular arm wraps around my waist and pulls me upright.

  “Careful, my precious treasure,” a rough voice cautions. I detect a hint of an orgasm-inducing British accent, sending fireworks shooting through my bloodstream.

  “Hux,” I breathe as I spin towards my savior with a soft smile curling up the corners of my lips. For a brief moment, I forget my promise to swear off cock.

  Hux is…

  Well, he’s Hux.

  His elegant, masculine face is framed by thick black hair pushed behind his ears. With his strong nose, chiseled jawline, and tan skin, he embodies an effortless, primal type of beauty. The type of beauty that could ask you out for dinner one day and gut you the next. A wicked scar curves down his cheek, somehow accentuating his harsh features even more.

  “You’ve been ignoring me, my precious treasure,” he continues, his voice and words curling around me like a bittersweet perfume. Fuck, I’ve missed him. Both of hims. Or…them. Hux takes an intimidating step closer until I’m forced to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “I don’t like being ignored.”

  “And I don’t like people attempting to kill me twice in one day.” I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, ignoring the way his face tightens dangerously. “But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

  With a vigorous head shake—as if I could somehow clear my cluttered thoughts—I push away from Hux and turn towards my wardrobe. At one point, I had hidden a body in here. My body. Well, my sex doll’s body.

  Long story.

  “I got you a gift,” Hux states, shoving his hand in his back pocket. With an elaborate flourish, he holds out a crushed, melted chocolate bar.

  Um…?

  “You don’t have to fight this battle alone,” he vows seriously, lowering his head and extending his hand like some sort of offering.

  “This battle?”

  What the ever loving fuck is he going on about?

  “The Great Period,” he continues solemnly. “Chocolate is the elixir, yes?” When I gape at him wordlessly, his brows scrunch together. “I can give you a body, if you’d like. I heard that bloodshed is also necessary to appease the monster that emerges on your Great Period.” He bows his head once more subserviently.

  “You’ll get a body for me?” I ask breathlessly. Emotions assault me from all directions, smothering me under their intense weight.

  “Anything for you, my precious treasure,” he vows.

  “A live one?”

  “Of course.”

  I have to take bug spray to the surge of butterflies that flutter around in my stomach. Fucking feelings.

  And fucking perfect men who offer to collect me still-breathing bodies.

  “My brother would like to speak to you,” Hux continues, and I detect a hint of annoyance in his tone. I, on the other hand, smile eagerly and bounce from foot to foot.

  Fuckin
g hell, it’s been less than a week, and I’m already rethinking the whole “cocks-be-gone” promise I made myself.

  Hux’s face twists and distorts, a grimace of pain tightening his features, before his brows smooth over and a blush darkens his skin. Quickly, he pushes his hair forward until it’s obscuring both his cheeks. And his scar.

  Fumbling in his pocket, he procures a pair of glasses and slides them up his nose with the pad of his middle finger.

  “Violet,” Jack says, a smile illuminating his handsome face.

  I will remain mad.

  I will remain mad.

  I will remain—

  “I missed you so fucking much!” I squeal, practically throwing myself at him. I wrap my arms around his neck, reveling in the feel of his silky black hair beneath my fingers. He stiffens instinctually underneath me before gradually allowing his taut body to relax.

  Jack? He’s a damn good hugger. My body molds against his, his hard angles contrasting with my soft curves. The feel of him momentarily soothes my ravaged emotions.

  “I thought you were mad at us,” Jack whispers, pulling me away so he can stare intently into my eyes. Those butterflies I previously mentioned? They return with a vengeance. I can feel their wings flapping erratically each second I remain in this timid man’s presence.

  It’s not logical that two entirely different men could make me feel so much, so quickly. I’ve known them for less than two months, and already, I can’t remember my life before them. They have embedded themselves so deeply in my soul that I’m beginning to think they’re a part of my genetic makeup.

  As a descendant of Jekyll and Hyde, Jack and Hux have the same quirk as their father—fathers? Both brothers inhabit the same body, but only one is allowed to emerge at a time. I have no idea what happens to the other. Does he simply disappear, reverted to a splotch of darkness in the deepest abyss of their mind? Or is he a passenger in a car he can’t get out of? Do they have one mind, or two? One heart, or two?