by Katie May
I hate when people try to tell me what to do. Who the fuck does Dimitri Gray think he is?
“No,” I say with a smug smirk.
His eyes narrow. “No?”
“You heard me. N. O. That spells no, if you’re wondering.” I cross my arms over my chest, mimicking his pose, and I swear his eyes hurl metaphorical daggers at me.
“Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?” He shakes his head ruefully, finally pulling his eyes away from mine. Thank fuck. I had to blink for a good minute now, but I was determined not to lose the unofficial staring contest.
“Why do you have to be a stone-cold asshole?” I retort back. “Speaking of… How did you become headmaster, anyway? Isn’t it kind of taboo to take the job of the man you killed?” When his gaze flickers back up to mine, holding me hostage, I bring my hands up placatingly. “No judgment. You do what you need to do to get that promotion.”
“The monster world considers me a hero,” he says, face devoid of expression. He could’ve been reciting passages from a cookbook with all the excitement he’s emanating. “I stopped the string of murders by killing the evil headmaster who was determined to frame the vampires…and Dracula’s daughter. But alas, I couldn’t get to him before he murdered poor Ms. Stevens.” At the latter statement, he levels me with a pointed look, and I pantomime zipping my lips shut and throwing away the key.
Because Ms. Stevens? Your homegirl stabbed that ho.
“Good for you,” I say, ambling to my feet. “Seriously, good. For. You. Maybe I’ll come visit and give you a congratulations card. Something like, ‘Congrats on your murder and new job.’” I grab my backpack from where I discarded it on the floor and turn towards the door. Before I can make it another step, Dimitri’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, applying just enough pressure to be painful.
“Violet, I can’t allow you to compete in the Roaring.”
Annoyance rots away my previous cheer like a corrosive acid.
“And I already told you,” I begin, spinning back towards the tall and intimidating man. He towers over me, but I don’t feel any fear. As I stare up at the elegant, aristocratic planes of his face, an inherent sense of safety and security ripples through me. “I’m not just competing in the Roaring. I’m winning the Roaring.”
He takes a step even closer, and my heart thunders at his proximity. He’s so fucking beautiful that he should just be euthanized to save all of us females from getting our hearts broken. Or our panties drenched.
“If you do this, I won’t be able to protect you,” he warns, his hands twitching by his sides.
I push up onto my tiptoes and pat his smooth-shaven cheek.
“Fortunately for you, I don’t need your protection.”
With that, I turn on my heel and exit the office.
Fucking Dimitri.
Excuse me, fucking Headmaster Dimitri.
Does the universe have a sick sense of humor?
I’m still fuming by the time I make it to Jack, who is currently pacing. He scrubs at his black hair anxiously before he catches sight of me. Immediately, his eyes light up behind his glasses, and he offers me a timid smile. The expression on his face makes me feel weightless, my worries and aches vanishing. The darkness always nipping at my heels, always percolating in my stomach, dissipates.
“What did he want?” Jack nods in Dimitri’s direction as we exit the front office.
“Sexual favors,” I deadpan, and I have the pleasure of seeing Jack wrestle for control against Hux. “I’m just kidding.” I curl my hand around his bicep, pulling him down the hall faster. “Nah, he just wanted to check in.”
Fortunately, Jack doesn’t prod me for details. It’s just one of the many things I love about him.
Well, not love. Like like.
We have just turned at a fork in the hall when I run face first into someone’s chin. With a curse, I stumble backwards, and Hux—no way that’s Jack—releases an enraged snarl as he catches me.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “That’s on me. I…”
I trail off when I spot who is in front of me, gaping wordlessly.
Frankie’s light brown hair has grown since I last saw him, hanging in disheveled waves across his forehead. His stylish, black-rimmed glasses are askew from our collision, but he doesn’t lift a hand to fix them. Unlike the rest of my men—errr, male friends—he isn’t a chiseled god or a mountain of muscle. But that only makes him seem more real.
More…Frankie.
My heart aches as I stare into his face, noting the yearning and pain emanating back at me. The last time I saw him was over a week ago, when he visited me in my room to tell me we were mates.
Mates.
Fated to be together until the end of time.
I can’t deny the attraction I have towards the usually stoic male. It goes beyond just lust—I can actually picture a future with him.
The problem? I can see that same future with a few other guys.
There’s also the fact that he put my life on the line in order to play hero. He could’ve told me ahead of time about Headmaster Lupine’s wicked scheme. Instead, he bottled it all up inside of him, hoping that the inevitable eruption would spare the two of us. I still remember the knife entering Frankie’s heart. The pain, the horror, the shock… They all battled for dominance as I watched him fall to the ground.
That image assaults me whenever I close my eyes.
“Violet,” Frankie whispers. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack casting furtive, albeit confused, glances at the two of us.
“Frankie.”
“Can we…?” He scrubs at his jaw, eyes anguished. “Can we talk?”
I mentally inventory myself, ensuring there are no cracks in my armor, before turning towards Jack.
“Can you give us a moment?” I question. He hesitates, no doubt arguing with a protective and possessive Hux, before nodding and walking farther down the hall.
Taking a fortifying breath, I focus my attention once more on Frankie. “Okay, let’s talk.”
CHAPTER 9
FRANKIE
I fix things. It’s what I do, who I am. If I see a problem, I work tirelessly until I’m able to uncover a solution. My father covets my analytical brain and dispassionate exterior. In his mind, caring makes you weak. Emotions make you weak.
It’s why he created a monster like me in the first place.
I’ve never dealt with emotions before. Not soul-crushing heartbreak. Not lust. Not love.
But science? I understand science. Molecules and atoms and corrosive solutions. It’s the rest of the world I don’t get.
I’m capable of creating a drug that can make you laugh nonstop, but apparently, I can’t find the words to speak to my mate.
Mate.
Pain ricochets through my body. Is it wrong that I assumed she would be overjoyed by the news? When I first understood the reasons for my feelings—that she was made specifically for me—I wanted to sing it from the rooftops. Confess my feelings to the sun and moon. Violet? She had run.
Taking my entire heart with her.
Focusing on her now, I study the minuscule changes that have occurred in the last week. Same pert nose and luscious lips. Same glimmering eyes, as if she is in the know of a secret. Same petite body with surprisingly generous curves. But…
“You have highlights in your hair,” I note abruptly. I have the irrational urge to grab one of the silky strands and inhale her fruity scent.
A pleased smile blossoms on Violet’s face as she grabs one of the white curls and inspects it in the hallway lighting.
“You’re the first to have noticed.”
I shove my hands into my back pockets and rock back and forth. Silence stretches between us, so fragile I don’t dare attempt to break it. The tension in the room is so thick, I’m practically gagging on it.
It’s Violet who speaks first. “Frankie…” She blows out a breath, hands bunching into white-knuckled fists. Like me, she appears to be at a loss for words
.
Which proves how royally I fucked up. Dracula’s crazy, eccentric daughter is never quiet.
“I screwed up,” I admit at last, forking my fingers through my too-long hair. It’s in desperate need of a trim, the errant strands brushing my eyes. “I should’ve never kept the truth from you about Headmaster Lupine. And I definitely shouldn’t have put your life on the line in order to prove myself to you.” My mistakes and transgressions are piling up on me, like dirt burying a steel coffin. The thing I regret the most? Hurting the woman standing before me. Heart palpitating, I drop to my knees before the golden-haired goddess. “I refused to get on my knees for my father. He wanted to use me—to mold me into his perfect monster. He taught me that love was a weakness that should be eradicated like a disease, and I think a part of me believed that. That’s no excuse for my behavior.” I scrub at my jawline, muscles clenching as I prepare myself for her inevitable rejection.
Why would she want to be with a monster like me? A creature built in a lab instead of a womb? A man who isn’t truly a man, but a beast?
“We can take things slow,” I plead, staring up into her hooded eyes. “Learn about each other. And I won’t begrudge you if you choose to pursue a relationship with the other guys.”
Please give me a chance. Let me prove myself to you. Prove that I can be a mate worthy of your love and affection.
When Violet doesn’t immediately answer, her face drawn tight, my heart plummets, bottoming through my stomach. I’ve prepared myself for her rejection—had even thought myself strong enough to endure it—but the full force of my emotions takes me by surprise. Disappointment, pain, and yearning.
Crippling anguish washes over me, and I climb to my feet, lowering my head like a kicked puppy. Fuck, why did I think she would forgive me? All I want to do is eat my bodyweight in chocolate and lick my wounds in private. I’ve just turned to retreat when Violet grabs my hand, halting my progress. I can’t stop the embers of hope flickering to life in my stomach.
“Where are you going?” she huffs, releasing my arm to put her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”
“Ask you?” I furrow my brows in confusion.
“On a date.” She rolls her eyes, as if that should’ve been obvious.
A date.
With Violet.
My metaphorical heart kickstarts as a slow smile curls up my lips. I quickly try to mask it—a product of my father’s cruel lessons—before stifling that impulse. This is Violet, not my father. I’m allowed to smile in front of her. I’m allowed to show emotion.
“Oh, what the hell,” Violet murmurs, more to herself than to me. “I am a fierce, independent woman. And this is the twenty-first century. I can ask a guy on a date if I want.”
Is she expecting a response?
Before I can formulate something moderately intelligent, she places a manicured hand on my chest. “Frankie?” She peers up at me through her fringe of fluttery lashes. My breath hitches in my throat at the sheer perfection of the woman before me… But that awe quickly turns into worry as her eyes continue to blink rapidly.
“Violet, are you having a seizure?” I ask anxiously, hovering my hands just above her shoulders but not daring to touch.
Her eyes narrow dangerously at my question, and her lips purse. “I’m attempting to be coy, dammit.”
“Oh, um, good job?” When she continues to glare up at me, I finally give in to my baser impulse and place my hands on her shoulders. “Carry on.”
“Frankie, will you go on a date with me?” she asks at last, and it feels as if I can finally breathe. Before, the room had been devoid of oxygen, as if a vacuum had sucked it all out. In her presence, my lungs are finally able to take in that precious air.
“Yes,” I whisper as something akin to giddiness courses through me.
When the fuck have I ever been giddy before?
Violet smiles, leaning forward to peck me on the cheek. My skin tingles from the connection, and I can’t stop the dopey grin from appearing on my face.
“I need to get to my next class, but I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” With another smile aimed at me, she skips down the hall towards where Hux is waiting for her. At least, I assume it’s him and not his kinder alter ego. Only Hux is capable of looking like he wants to write “H hearts V” on the wall with my blood.
He casts me a skeptical glance, but I don’t bother to acknowledge him.
Violet has asked me on a date.
Me.
Only when she’s out of sight do I hurry to my lab in the basement of the academic building. What type of perfume would a psychopathic vampire want as a gift?
Oh! Nothing’s more enticing to Violet than the sweat and blood of her enemies.
Ideas run rampant through my brain in tandem to my rapidly beating heart.
Violet has given me the opportunity to prove myself, and I’ll be damned if I mess it up again. I’ll never be a hunter or a fighter, but I’ll set the world on fire if that was what she needed.
She didn’t know what she agreed to when she said yes to my monster.
Hopefully, she’s okay with a little murder and mayhem.
CHAPTER 10
VIOLET
I’m walking to the cafeteria the next morning—mouth already watering at the prospect of sticking my fangs into Jack’s neck—when my phone releases an ear-piercing ring. I pull it out of my jacket pocket, nose scrunching, until I see who is calling me.
“Dad?” I say eagerly, placing the phone to my ear. I pause in the middle of the forested pathway. A few goblins cast me evil side-eyes as they brush past me, and I respond by baring my fangs. Probably not the smartest move when vampire hate acts are so high on campus, but what can I say? I’m a petty bitch.
I step a little ways off the trail, leaves and twigs snapping beneath my feet.
“Hey, homegirl,” Dad replies. “What’s baking in the oven?”
“Oh my god.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Are you going through a phase again?”
My dad and his fucking phases…
“Just keeping it kewl and on the downlow, homie. Now, waz shaking?”
This is Dracula, my friends. The most feared monster in the entire world.
“Why haven’t you been returning my calls?” I demand, leaning against a tree. The rough bark scrapes against my skin where my shirt has ridden up, but I relish the tiny licks of pain.
“Been busy taking names and fucking them.”
For the love of…
“I need to talk to you,” I blurt abruptly. “About Diedre Stevens.”
There’s a prolonged pause on the other end of the line. For a moment, I believe he has hung up on me. I glance at the screen bemusedly, just as his slightly shrill voice echoes from the phone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dad,” I begin, bringing the phone back up to my ear. “You’re acting suspicious as fuck right now. She said—”
“Not now,” he cuts in, tone scathing. “We’ll meet Friday night. I’ll text you the address.”
With that ominous statement, he hangs up on me. I stare at the now dark screen of my phone with growing confusion and horror.
One thing is for certain—Vladimir Dracula is hiding something from me.
MY CONFUSION DOESN’T ABATE by the time I enter the cafeteria. If anything, it grows like a seed finding soil and taking root in my stomach.
The inside is exactly how I would imagine a human cafeteria to look like. Of course, there are small variations—like the buffet of human body parts run by monsters with spiders for hair. A few human donors sit on uncomfortable plastic chairs against the far wall. Opposite them is a separate hallway that leads to the private feeding rooms.
It’s the latter location I head to, my mind consumed with Dracula’s curt tone. He almost sounded…afraid. What the fuck does he have to be afraid of? He is the apex predator; the monster that other monsters are wary of.
I’ve just reached the p
rivate feeding rooms when I notice Jennifer pacing just outside. She’s a vampire like me, with an hourglass figure and pitch-black hair. Her smoky eyes turn in my direction, and I’m struck by the pure, undiluted hatred there. Like, damn, girl, did I pee in your Cheerios or something?
“They’re not letting us fucking feed,” she hisses, baring her fangs.
“Huh?” I turn towards my usual room. Jack is scheduled to meet me in the next five minutes, after he finishes class.
“The fucking vampire haters,” Jennifer seethes. “They’re not letting us feed.”
My brows furrowing, I push open the first door.
Only to vomit in my throat when I catch a glimpse of Cheryl’s tits as she rides Fish Boy.
Have you ever seen tits made of gills before? Have you? Because let me just say, they’re a sight to behold. Every time they bounce, the blue gills sparkle in the artificial lighting. I’m pretty sure her nipples are a shade of blue as well.
And…
I really should stop staring at my nemesis’s nipples.
The boy she’s riding like a fucking pogo-stick is the same asshole who attacked me the first day of school. His girlfriend, Ali, was murdered only a few weeks earlier.
Just proves my point. No men are loyal.
His cock—lined with gills—thrusts in and out of a moaning Cheryl.
For the longest time, I sorta assumed they were related.
Cue—actual, honest-to-god vomit.
Cheryl meets my eyes as she continues to ride Fish Boy. Pure malice flashes in her gaze as she throws her head back, thrusting her blue tits further in my direction. She begins to knead the heavy globe as her other hand plucks at her clit.
“Oh, Vin!” she screams as Fish Boy’s hips begin to move erratically.
“You know, I can literally see that the man you’re fucking is not, in fact, Vin,” I point out.
“Harder, Vin! Harder!” She leans forward, tits swaying, and Fish Boy places a hand on the back of her head to hold her steady.
“Still not Vin,” I murmur.