by Katie May
“‘The monsters stare at me, and I meet their stares with a defiant one of my own,’” he read, his smoky voice curling around me. “‘I refuse to let them drag me beneath the bed, I refuse to let them break me. You see, I might be the only one who knows the truth about the four of them, about how they hide their pain beneath hard masks. These monsters? They’re broken. They’re…’” Elias trailed off, his eyebrows scrunching together, as he read more of my story silently.
After a moment, he scoffed, purposefully dangling the notebook paper in front of my face before splitting it cleanly in two.
“You’re wrong,” Elias said, taking a step closer until he towered over me. Almost as if he couldn’t help himself, he brushed a strand of my pale white hair behind my ear. “Not all monsters have a reason for being the way they are. Some are just…irrevocably damaged. There’s no use trying to explain why they act the way they do.” My entire body tensed as he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “And this monster right here?” He pounded his chest. “He just doesn’t like looking at a freak like you.”
I tug myself out of the memory as I slide into the foyer, glancing in both directions cautiously. The last thing I want to walk in on is my nana have another fucking orgy. Gah.
“Peony!” As if my thoughts conjured her, Nana appears around the corner, her violet hair cascading around her in loose, natural curls. She wears a floral-printed gown that cinches around her waist before protruding outwards. Dangling earrings and numerous bracelets complete the hippy look. “Are you okay? What took you so long to get home? Why didn’t you respond to my texts?”
Brows furrowing, I remove my phone and scroll through the messages. Sure enough, intermixed with the missed calls from Mom are numerous texts and calls from Nana—and even some from Polo, Christian, and Gabriel as well.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, instantly on alert as I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Is it the coven?” Though I left my home on moderately bad terms, I still care a lot about the witches and warlocks who live there. But I feel like if something had transpired, I would’ve gotten a call from my ex. Or even his douchebag older brother, Ryan, who is half in love with me. Mom wants me to marry that fucker…but that’s a story for another time.
“There was an attack,” Nana confesses, just as Polo, Christian, and Gabriel enter from the opposite wing of the house. All of them look relieved to see me, even that asshole Gabriel.
“An attack?” My heart thunders as I once more remove my phone and stare at the calls from my mom. Is that what she called me about? Were we under attack? “Witch hunters?”
Nana shakes her head quickly before capturing my hands in both of hers and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not the coven, sweetheart. It was a town a few hours from here. A Blood attacked a witch this morning.”
“A Blood?” I gasp, widening my eyes in abject horror. Bloods? They’re dangerous motherfuckers who dabble in the dark arts. They get their power from human—and witch—sacrifices, as well as blood consumption. It’s where the mythology of vampires stems from. According to lore, once a witch or warlock partakes in the ritual, they’re never able to go back. They’ll constantly crave blood, both from unsuspecting humans and witches and warlocks. The power that flows through them is something dark, something other, like a malevolent entity that you can’t necessarily see but know exists.
Bloods also are immortal.
Sure, they can be killed just like anybody can, but they won’t die of natural causes. They don’t get sick, they don’t wither away with time, they don’t grow old. They just remain…stuck, forever trapped in a body consumed by bloodlust.
“I thought…” I swallow around the golf ball sized lump in my throat. “I thought the witch’s council had taken care of that problem.”
“There’s always going to be bad men and women who crave more,” Polo speaks for the first time, voice grim. “Some people can’t be happy with the hand they were dealt.”
Gabriel grunts in agreement, but Christian takes a step closer.
“But stay vigilant, Peony. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we’d be devastated if anything happened to you.” He glances at Nana, who grips my shoulder tightly. “The thing about Bloods…they look human, they act human, but they’re not. At least, not completely. They’re dangerous fuckers, and years, even centuries of control can’t eradicate their desire for blood.”
“Especially the blood of powerful magic users,” adds Gabriel. “Just…be careful.”
Bloods.
I shiver violently at the thought. These…creatures are talked about all the time in the coven, used as bedtime stories to deter kids from misbehaving. To know that there’s one nearby? Or even a coven of them? It terrifies me. They’re the apex predators in a world where we’re supposed to be. Somehow, they found a way to cheat death.
And I know that if even one Blood catches whiff of me, they will all descend until I’m drained dry.
Chapter 12
“Leave me alone.” My voice trembled, despite my best efforts to keep it steady. I wheeled around towards the four boys surrounding me, taunting smirks on their ridiculously handsome faces. “Please.” I hadn’t meant to plead—witches didn’t beg for anything—but the pathetic word tumbled out before I could reel it back in.
Panic burned a hole in my chest, incinerating my heart, as Cassian laughed giddily and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me forward. Before I could react—scream, cry, kick, cuss—a second set of hands grabbed my arms and wrenched them behind my back. I didn’t even have to look to know that the cinnamon scent belonged to Karsyn.
Elias merely grinned where he leaned against the far wall. He never really participated when they were all together, preferring to watch his best friends from the sidelines. But that just made him more culpable. Willfully ignorant, but infinitely more dangerous.
But maybe ignorant wasn’t the correct word to describe Elias Briggs. It wasn’t as if a sick, twisted part of him didn’t get off when I was tormented. I could see the excitement in his eyes, the slow curl of his lips, the hunger emanating from his pores. The psycho just preferred to torture me one-on-one instead of in a huge group.
“Don’t cry, little witch,” Lucas purred as he stepped closer. Lucas Scott. The devil in the flesh. I truly didn’t believe in evil until I looked into his sea-blue eyes and saw them devoid of any warmth or compassion. To be frank, I couldn’t remember a time I had ever seen him wear anything but an apathetic front. Even around his best friends, a cold glaze remained in his eyes, as if he was hewn from ice itself.
“Lucas.” I trembled desperately as he took another step closer, raising a hand that held a pair of scissors. Cassian took a step back and began to laugh gleefully, while Karsyn’s arms tightened. “Please, don’t.”
But my cries fell on deaf ears when he took the scissors to my white ponytail and cut all of the hair off. I watched it pool around my feet as his eyes glowed with satisfaction.
“Whoopsies,” he taunted. “My hand slipped.”
The rest of the guys broke into laughter as anger burned through me. I could feel it rippling in my veins, wave after wave of electricity, and before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed the scissors out of Lucas’s hand.
Before he could scream, I stabbed the scissors into the side of his neck, watching as blood bubbled in his mouth and his jaw slackened in shock. His gorgeous eyes flickered to my face in horror as he tumbled to the ground.
“Whoopsies,” I said darkly as Karsyn, Cassian, and Elias began to scream. “My hand slipped.”
I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, as the remnants of my dream crashed over me like a damning tidal wave. It started as a memory of the time in seventh grade when they cut all of my hair off, but quickly transitioned into…
Into something beyond awful.
Did I really just dream about murdering Lucas Scott? Surely I’m not that desperate for revenge.
It feels as if I’m co
vered in a dark, sticky slime, one that I can’t wipe off no matter how hard I scrub. It coats my hands, my arms, my legs, and my face, burning away my skin until I’m scratching at the fleshy meat underneath.
Tossing an arm over my head, I work to control my turbulent breathing as my heart thunders. Logically, I know that it was just a dream, that it doesn’t mean anything, that I don’t actually want to kill my childhood tormentors, but a tiny voice in my head screams at me, demanding to know how far I intend to go in the name of revenge.
And to be quite honest, it’s pretty damn far.
The things they did to me are unfathomable. For years, they tortured and ridiculed me, picking at the scabs, never allowing them to heal properly. Even when I escaped them five years ago, the memory of their torment lingered with me, haunting me. I couldn’t escape it.
Shaking my head rapidly to clear the fog residing there, I jump out of bed and grab a dark gray dress with a sweetheart neckline out of my closet. The sleeves run just to my wrists, and the skirt itself cinches around my waist in a tight belt. The outfit as a whole is gorgeous, especially when paired with my white-blonde hair, honey-colored eyes, and a light application of blush and mascara.
I don’t bother looking at the clock on the wall. Based on the trickle of light ribboning my room in sheets of golden white, I would guess it’s around seven. I’m running slightly behind schedule, but it’s no matter. I can easily skip breakfast.
Climbing down the ladder, I dance inside the bathroom and finish getting ready for my day. When I emerge less than ten minutes later, it’s to the smell of bacon wafting in the air. My mouth automatically waters as I glide forward, as if in a daze.
Polo is standing in the middle of the kitchen, just as he was the day before. He sings softly to himself as he scoops freshly scrambled eggs and two slices of bacon onto a plate. My to-go cup of coffee is ready as well, filled to the brim with cream, just the way I like it.
“Um…wow. T-Thanks,” I stammer as I shove a piece of bacon into my mouth.
On second thought…
Maybe I won’t skip breakfast this morning.
“You’re welcome,” Polo says with a friendly smile.
“Is Nana still sleeping?” I query, just to make conversation. Polo has his back towards me as he slaves over the stovetop, his bronze skin lathered in a light layer of sweat from the heat.
“I swear that woman could sleep through a nuclear explosion,” he says fondly, before tacking on, “Another piece of bacon?”
“No thanks.” I pick up the fork he placed beside the plate and stab the fluffy eggs. “This is delicious, by the way.” I practically moan at the myriad of flavors—a combination of various cheeses, pepper, salt, and something I can’t quite name. A secret ingredient, perhaps? “How did you learn to cook so well?”
“I have years of practice,” he admits with a teasing wink.
“Oh, come on.” I take a tentative sip of the coffee, my eyes rolling into the back of my head when I find the perfect proportion of creamer to coffee. “This is damn good coffee, too. But I’m serious. You can’t be older than twenty-five.” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I amend, “Twenty-six?”
Another dry look.
“Are you in your thirties?” I gape openly. None of the men look a day over twenty-five.
“A gentleman never reveals his age,” he jests as I shovel the last mouthful of eggs.
“That’s a lady.” I point my fork at him, which he stealthily steals from my fingers. He takes my plate too and puts both in the dishwasher. “Oh, come on. Tell me! Thirty-one?”
He presses his lips into a thin line, as if he’s trying to contain a smirk.
“Nope. Not telling. I’m going to let you sweat on it for a little while.” He glances over my shoulder, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Peony, are you expecting someone to drive you to school today?”
“No, why?” I follow his gaze out of the kitchen window towards where a strange Jeep lingers in the driveway. I squint, peering through the windshield, until I spot a familiar shock of brown hair with purple highlights. “Oh, come the fuck on.”
“You know him?” Polo asks suspiciously, eyes narrowed and hands twitching. A small part of me wants to deny and have Polo race outside and spell Elias’s ass to kingdom come. But then I remember my dream, and the urge abates as I scramble to my feet, picking my backpack off the ground.
“Unfortunately,” I mutter, too softly for him to hear. Louder, I add, “He’s a classmate.” I grab my to-go cup and hurry towards the door. “Tell Nana that I have cheer practice and that she shouldn’t worry if I get home late!”
“All right. Be safe!”
“You too.” Giving him a two-fingered salute, I grab my coat off the hook and hurry outside.
My irritation exacerbates when Elias rolls down the window of his Jeep—a Jeep and a motorcycle? Really? Fucking rich kids—and leans his head out.
“I thought I would give you a ride,” he calls, but I wave him away without actually speaking.
Honestly, I would rather eat shit than ever accept a ride from Elias fucking Briggs. Hell would freeze over first.
Ignoring him completely, I begin the long walk towards school, periodically checking my watch to make sure I’ll still get to class a few minutes early.
“Peony, please. It’s freezing.” Elias’s car has slowed to a crawl as it idles beside me. His gaze flickers from my face and then to the empty street. Damn Nana for living in the middle of nowhere. I would much prefer for there to be lots of traffic, forcing Elias to drive the speed limit.
I continue to ignore him as I grab my phone from my jacket pocket and thumb through the texts. Seven missed calls from Mom, of course, and a single text from Uriel.
Uriel: How’s the new town? Hating life yet?
Me: Always.
Uriel: The Devils there?
Uriel is one of the few people who knows the truth about what happened to me five years ago. He hates the Devils almost as much as I do.
Me: Yup. There’s one currently stalking me.
Uriel: WTF?!?
Me: Yup. Don’t worry. I’m being smart. Miss you, loser.
Uriel: Miss you too.
Me: Tell Yoselin I said hi!
Uriel: Will do. Be careful. I don’t trust them.
Some people might find it weird to be close friends with your ex’s new girlfriend, but that’s never been the case with us. I’ve known Yoselin since we were in diapers, and if anyone was a perfect match for Uriel, it’s her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elias’s jaw clench as he focuses his gaze completely out the front windshield. But despite no longer glaring at me, he still doesn’t drive away.
The next twenty minutes are fucking grueling as Elias continues a leisurely speed, easily keeping pace with me. I try my hardest to ignore him, but no matter what I do, where I look, I can sense him like a bug that sits on my skin.
Finally, after what feels like hours later, we arrive at the school, and I’m immensely grateful when Elias has to veer to the right in order to park his Jeep in the student lot. It allows me time to slip into school undeterred.
What game are you playing, Elias Briggs?
And how do I beat you at it?
Chapter 13
“Peony!” Mariabella’s voice reaches me before I even touch my locker. I turn around to see her barreling towards me, golden blonde hair cascading around her in perfect ringlets. Today, she wears a gorgeous white sweater and skin-tight jeans, and though I know the temperature will increase during the day, reaching the upper seventies, I have to admit she looks stunning.
“Hey.” I smile as I enter my combination, open my locker, and sort through my textbooks. I’ll need my biology one, but I’ll also need the sheet music Mr. Tucker gave us for Orchestra. Hopefully, I’ll be able to stop at my locker after second hour and switch out my books for AP U.S. History.
“So, I was talking to Helen,” she begins, leaning against the locker beside me
and tucking a shiny strand of hair behind her ear, “and she mentioned that we’re going to work solely on tumbling today.” Her voice raises to a deafening squeal, garnering the attention of a few classmates nearby. But instead of being an excited screech, as I initially thought, I realize it’s a terrified one when her face drains of all color.
“I take it you don’t like tumbling,” I muse as I slam my locker shut and lean against it.
“I’m horrible at it,” she admits, blushing. “Absolutely awful. I’ve been trying to do a back handspring since freshman year.” She leans closer to whisper conspiratorially. “I’m afraid Helen will cut me from the team if I don’t get my shit together.”
“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “No way in hell. Helen loves you.”
“As a person, yes. As a cheerleader, not so much.” Mariabella’s voice is laced with such self-loathing and pain, that my heart breaks for her. “The only reason she’s keeping me on the team is because—”
“Because you’re a damn good base,” I finish for her, placing a hand on her shoulder. I give it a tight squeeze as her eyes flicker to my face in shock. “But if you’re seriously worried about tumbling, I could spot you.”
It shouldn’t be too hard…right?
Mariabella’s eyes light up as if I told her she won the lottery. “Do you mean it?” she whispers, breathless.
“I mean, yeah—” Before I can even finish speaking, she lunges at me with a squeal, wrapping her thin arms around my waist and jumping up and down. She rests her head on my breasts as she rocks us.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you—”
“I’m not gonna lie.” Emmett’s voice comes from directly behind me, and a moment later, I feel his chin on my shoulder. Flicking my eyes in his direction, I see a lazy grin playing on his lips, making him look like an overgrown house cat. “I totally imagined this moment last night when I was jerking off. But the only difference was that in my dream, you two were naked.”
