Roaring

by Katie May

  Her voice is a gasp when she speaks next. “I’m just remembering the way he used to fuck me. Or wait…maybe I’m thinking about Mason.” She twists her head to smile up at me, tweaking her own nipples. “Actually, I’m most definitely thinking of Vin.”

  Of course, that immediately makes me think of what I’d witnessed in the hallway, and my vision becomes coated with a red sheen. Jealousy pulsates through me in tandem to my repeatedly beating heart. I clench and unclench my hands as I stare Cheryl down.

  Vin’s not with her. If he was with her, she would be rubbing that in my face. Don’t let her win, Violet. Don’t let the bitch fucking win.

  I take a deep, calming breath just as Cheryl begins screaming louder, her voice overshadowing Fish Boy’s own inarticulate phrases.

  This is so fucking weird.

  “I’m just going to…um…leave.” Slowly, I back out of the room, just as Fish Boy grabs his gilled-dick, pulls it out of Cheryl’s cunt, and spins her around to spill his seed onto her breasts. It’s…blue. And sparkly. Using his dick, he begins to rub it into her nipples, which I swear are turning into seashells. No fucking joke. You can’t make this shit up.

  The door closes silently behind me as I step back into the hall. Jennifer leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow raised.

  “See what I mean?”

  “Are all the rooms like that?” I gesticulate towards the room of horror. I’m pretty sure I need to bleach my eyes out after that scene.

  “Some people are fucking. Some are just sitting and refusing to leave.” With an irritated huff, Jennifer turns on her heel and stalks away, no doubt to feed on the public donors stationed in the cafeteria.

  I open doors at random, my agitation growing by the second. In one, there’s a full-blown orgy occurring. A male is fucking another male against a table as he sucks on a girl’s pussy. In front of them, two girls are rubbing their nipples together while two men fuck them from behind.

  And…

  Now I’m thinking of orgies.

  With my guys.

  Well, not my guys, but my guy friends who are guys.

  The third room proves to be the same—a big, giant clusterfuck. Literally. It’s the fourth room that gives me a pause.

  A single man is leaning against the table, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl firmly fixed on his face. He has hair so dark it’s almost the color of pitch, and he wears a form-fitting black t-shirt that clings to his pectorals. Tattoos run up his arms from the tips of his fingers, a myriad of colors and symbols. He looks extremely badass and extremely scary.

  “Hey,” I begin awkwardly, lifting my hand and wiggling my fingers. “Um…I was wondering if I could use this room to drink.”

  Kill ‘em with kindness is what my dad always tells me. Well, at least the first part. Kill ‘em.

  He doesn’t answer, eyes narrowed intently on me.

  “Is that a yes?” I tentatively ask, quirking a brow. I swear I see his scowl deepen, as if my voice alone irritates the shit out of him. “A maybe?”

  “Vampire scum don’t deserve to eat,” he bites out at last. I’m shocked by the aversion in his tone. It goes beyond petty squabble. It’s absolute hatred and loathing.

  My temper flares immediately as I stalk up to the cumquat.

  “Because I’m a vampire? Because you’re afraid I’m stronger than you? Faster than you?” His eyes narrow dangerously the closer I get, but it only fuels my hate fire. “Who the fuck are you? Do you even go here?” I shake my head vigorously.

  Focus, Violet.

  “Zombies need human brains to eat. Ghouls need live body flesh. Witches require human body parts for their spells. What makes us so fucking different? Is it because we’re more durable? Because we’re more powerful?”

  His nostrils flare as I take another step closer. Before I can continue my amazing rant—if I do say so myself—my back is pressed against the wall and his hand is around my throat.

  “You’re all disgusting vermin,” he hisses, spittle flying in my face. “None of you deserve to live. Watch out, little vampire. You’re soon going to find out that you have more enemies than friends at this Academy.” Abruptly, he releases me, nodding towards a fridge in the far corner of the room. “You can have one bag. That’s all we’re going to allow.”

  “We?” I want to fight back—push my luck—but there’s something dangerous lurking in his dark eyes. Something that makes me tremble with barely veiled fear.

  “The Anti-Vampire Resistance.” His lips curl into an evil smirk. “You’re lucky Dimitri Gray is headmaster, or else I’d stick a stake into your heart.”

  Yeah, let’s not and say we did.

  “Nice talking to you,” I murmur, quickly grabbing the blood bag and using my vampiric speed to exit the room.

  What the ever-loving fuck is happening?

  I nearly trip over my own two feet when I enter the cafeteria and see the public donors. Or, lack thereof.

  Every single human donor is dead, their lifeless, glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling. I can’t tell who—or what—killed them. I recognize a few of them—a man named Jerry, a woman named Sarah, a woman named Alixandra, and a man called Harry. A few vampires hover on the outskirts, faces etched in horror.

  Anxious murmuring erupts across the cafeteria. I watch as Vin removes himself from the Van Helsing table and inches a step closer to me. He doesn’t speak to me or even acknowledge me, but I know he’s as aware of my presence as I am of his.

  “Pinkie!” Mason hurries through the throng of whispering monsters until he’s able to pull me into his arms. His gaze narrows on the sea of dead donors. “What the fuck happened?”

  Did that guy do this? The Anti-Vampire Resistance guy?

  The doors to the cafeteria fly open as a group of professors hurry inside. At the front, leading the charge, is Dimitri himself. He looks like darkness personified, his all black clothes juxtaposed by his pure white hair. His eyes search the crowd before stopping on me. He surveys me from head to toe, inspecting for injuries, before he turns away to face the dead donors.

  “Somebody better start talking.” He doesn’t yell—doesn’t even raise his voice—but the entire cafeteria stills, knowing danger when they sense it.

  Hands shaking, I rip open my blood bag and suck it dry. I’ll ask one of the guys to come to my room tonight so I can feed, but for now, I’m going to rely on stale bagged blood. It tastes almost sour, as if it’s been sitting out for a while. It’s nothing compared to the raw power in Vin’s and Jack’s blood.

  “What happened?” Dimitri spins in a circle before leveling his gaze on a trembling werewolf. “You. My office. Now.”

  The wolf looks as if he’s seconds from peeing his pants, but he complies with a jerky bob of his head. Only when he scurries away does Dimitri focus once more on the assembled students.

  “Vampire hate acts will not be tolerated in my school. Anyone who participates will immediately be sent to detention…or worse.” He allows his threat to linger in the air, hovering precariously like the blade of a guillotine seconds before it drops. “Until I get to the bottom of this horrendous act, I will be calling students to my office every hour. Is that understood?”

  No one is moving. Hell, I’m pretty sure no one is even breathing.

  I want to tell Dimitri about Cheryl and Fish Boy. The scary man from the private feeding room.

  But if there’s one thing monsters hate, it’s snitches. In this world, they don’t just get fucking stitches. They get buried…ten feet under, and the majority of the time, still alive.

  My stomach gurgles suddenly, capturing the attention of the entire cafeteria.

  “Is there something you’d like to add, Ms. Dracula?” Dimitri asks coyly. I spot Cynthia—my old roommate—sitting at a table across the cafeteria, her eyes concerned. When she spots me looking, she blanks her expression and focuses on her human liver.

  “I’m…” I trail off as my stomach rumbles a second ti
me. “Oh shit!”

  Literally.

  Before I can even take a step, my stomach bottoms out, and I literally shit my pants.

  “Come on,” Mason says gently as the cafeteria breaks into laughter. Jack, who has just entered the building, immediately hurries towards me, face drawn in confusion. Vin follows from behind.

  “Having a shitty day?” Cheryl—now fully dressed—jests snidely, too low for Dimitri to hear. Mason snarls at her, removing his plaid shirt to wrap it around my waist.

  Ignoring the bitch, I whisper, “Mase, I don’t feel so—” My stomach twists once more, and I release a pained whimper.

  “Everyone, quiet down!” Dimitri says from behind us, his voice cutting through the laughter and amused whispers like the crack of a whip. When I glance over my shoulder, his face is utterly impassive, except for the slightest downwards tilt to his lips.

  My eyes are drawn to a figure standing directly behind Dimitri, a large smile on his face. No Name Asshole. His tattoos ripple as he crosses his muscular arms over his chest. When he meets my gaze, he nods once in acknowledgment.

  Motherfucker!

  Oh, it’s on.

  Let the games begin, asshole.

  CHAPTER 11

  VIOLET

  Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—my shitting incident is overshadowed by the deaths of the donors. Seven. Seven innocent men and women were slaughtered

  Anger rages to life in my stomach, swirling with the intensity of a whirlpool.

  It’s not as if I’m unfamiliar with death. Hell, I have killed a few people myself. I am, however, against killing people who don’t deserve it. And those donors? They did nothing except offer their blood to starving vampires.

  I toss and turn all night but am unable to comprehend the point of killing the donors. Just to fuck with the vampires? Or is it for something more sinister?

  The next morning, the first official Roaring practice takes place over by the cemetery. I wake up early and don a pair of gray sweatpants and the customary red t-shirt bearing the Academy’s crest. I brush my blonde curls back into a disheveled ponytail, a few disobedient strands tumbling down my cheeks.

  “You rang, Pinkie?” Mason uses his hip to push open my bedroom door. Like me, he’s wearing the Academy-issued red shirt with the hideous golden crest. A pair of low-slung basketball shorts complete the ensemble. As always, his beanie rests snugly on his head, concealing his snakes.

  I turn away from my reflection and stick my hands on my hips. “I need you,” I say without preamble, eyeing the throbbing vein in his neck. Jack hadn’t answered my call, and I’m still pissed at Vin. The only other options were either Frankie or Mason, and since I’m pretty sure Frankie doesn’t have blood…

  “Thank, fuck,” Mason murmurs. “I’ve been needing you so fucking long that my Little Mason is beginning to ache.” Before I can ask what the hell he’s talking about, he whips off his shirt, baring his chiseled stomach and chest to me.

  Dude has a six-pack. And good lordy, I have the irresistible urge to get on my hands and knees and lick down the trail of hair to his prominent V. Then, I’ll grab his cock and whisper, “Come to mommy,” before sucking him dry.

  Focus, you thirsty bitch, I chastise myself, wrenching my gaze away from his mouth-watering body.

  “I’ll even let you ride me,” Mason continues, untying his shorts and shrugging them down. Once they’re around his ankles, he sticks his thumbs into his boxer briefs, pushing them down just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his pubic hairs. I’d half expected them to be dozens of tiny snakes, but instead, they’re dark and curly. “Why the fuck are you still dressed? Get naked, dammit.”

  “Um…Mase?” I lift one brow at him, my gaze still fixed on the outline of his erection. “I meant I need to drink from you. And no, not drink your cum. I meant your blood.”

  The expression on his face? Priceless.

  He glances down at his scantily-clad body and then back up to me.

  “Well…” He crosses his arms over his chest, as if attempting to cover his nipples. “This is awkward.”

  “Get over here and let me drink,” I say, moving to perch on the edge of my bed. “Maybe I’ll give Little Mason a present afterwards as a reward.”

  He practically sprints over to me—well, waddling would be a more accurate description given his shorts are still around his ankles.

  “I can get dressed if you want me to,” he says, completely unashamed with his semi-naked body. Not that the man has anything to be ashamed over—he looks like a god personified. With heated eyes, he sits beside me on the bed.

  “Nah.” Grinning wickedly, I place my nails in the center of his stomach, just above his belly button, and slowly drag them upwards. They graze his peaked nipple, and he shudders delicately, his cocksure smile fading to be replaced by lust.

  “I’ve never done this before,” he breathes as my fingers trail lightly over his neck. “How do we…?”

  Without answering, I throw my leg over his thighs until I’m straddling him. His hands instinctively settle on my ass, holding me in place.

  “Be a good boy for me, and stay still,” I purr, licking his pulsing neck. I hear him audibly gulp seconds before my fangs descend.

  It’s a fucking explosion. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids like errant fireworks. Lust ricochets through my body. It feels as if someone has pumped gasoline into my veins and then dropped a flame.

  Mason’s hips begin to buck against me as I continue to feed, his blood warming my body and amping up my own desire.

  With a burst of speed, I push Mason on the bed and hover over top of him. With one hand, I grip his jaw, tilting his head to the side, and the other travels down his washboard abs and to his underwear, fingering the hem.

  “Oh, fuck,” he groans, as I stick one finger inside and caress his shaft. Pulling my fangs away from his neck, I grin at him, using my tongue to collect the remaining droplets of blood from my lips. His eyes follow the movement before fluttering closed, a pained groan escaping him.

  “Does Little Mason need some attention too?” I tease, kissing down his chest. I run my tongue over one nipple and then the other as his chest rumbles with laughter.

  “Fuck yes. He misses you.”

  “He’s never met me before,” I counter, finally reaching that happy trail I noticed earlier. I alternate between long, taunting licks and tantalizingly soft kisses.

  “We think about you a lot,” he protests, the noise nothing more than a breath of air. “Especially when he’s getting rubbed by Mr. Hand.”

  “You’re such a weirdo.” Using my fangs, I bite through his boxer briefs and toss them aside, baring his long, hard shaft.

  “Oh, fuck. That was hot,” he moans, his dick twitching. Ignoring Little Mason, I begin planting teasing kisses on his thighs—first one and then the other. “Don’t be mean to me like that, Vi,” he pleads.

  “Mean?” I gasp in mock horror. “I’d never!”

  Before he can protest, I sink my teeth into his thigh.

  “Fuck!” he bellows as I consume his blood. When I pull away seconds later, his thigh is still dripping that enticing red liquid. Instead of using my venom to heal it, I rub my hand through the rapidly growing puddle and then wrap it around his dick, using the blood as lube. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He drops his head back to the bed, eyes closing, as I lick the tip of his throbbing cock.

  The taste of his pre-cum combined with his blood nearly sends me spiraling over the edge. I can tell it does the same to him. He’s gripping the blankets in an effort not to come too soon.

  “Let’s play a game,” I taunt, running my tongue down the side of his thick shaft. When I reach his balls, I take one into my mouth and suck gently before releasing it to speak. “I bet I can make you come in less than thirty seconds.”

  “Oh, please,” he huffs, his breathing uneven. “What do I get when I win?”

  I smirk, leaning forward until I’m staring
into his hooded eyes glazed with lust. “I’ll let you eat me out.”

  “And if you win?” he breathes, gaze flickering from my bloody lips to my heaving chest and then back up to my eyes.

  Smiling deviously, I position myself back over his dick. “You’ll see. Start the timer.”

  His hand shaking, he reaches for my phone on the edge of my bed and switches it to the clock setting.

  “On your mark. Get set. Go.” He pushes the start button just as I swallow his cock. I work on relaxing my jaw in order to swallow him further. I’m a pro, for fuck’s sake. And proud of it. Still, Mason’s long—longer than any other man I ever blew before—and I’m forced to wrap my right hand around the girth I can’t quite swallow. My other hand fondles and plucks at his balls.

  I begin to hum low in my throat, my fangs grazing the skin of his dick. I know this combination will send him straight over the edge.

  He curses, gripping my hair as he begins fucking my mouth in earnest.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he screams as his cock twitches once before exploding in my mouth. I swallow up every last drop like a champ before releasing him with a satisfied smirk.

  He’s breathing heavy, sweat coating his bare chest and forehead. His eyes practically rolled into the back of his head when he orgasmed, and I’m slightly concerned they’ll remain there.

  “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” he pants before his face tightens. “Actually, don’t answer that, or else I’ll go on a murder spree.”

  When he continues to lie on my bed, utterly sated, I amble to my feet and straighten my clothes.

  “Wait, baby…” He grabs at my hand, attempting to tug me back to the bed. “You didn’t get off. Let me take care of you.”

  “The great Mason wants to give me an orgasm?” I say in mock surprise. “I thought that was beneath you.”

  At least, that’s the rumor that has been floating around the Academy. He uses girls for pleasure, but doesn’t care enough to get them off himself. Selfish prick, if you ask me.

  His eyes narrow as he gives my hand another tug.

  “Come here,” he demands.