Monsters

by Katie May

  Ah. Now I understand the reason for Jack’s strong emotion.

  Lust.

  I can’t deny the appeal of the feminine creature sitting delicately across from me.

  “Well...well...well. What do we have here?” I ask. My voice sounds weird. Deeper, almost. Has it really been that long since Jack set me free?

  “Jack?” she asks tentatively, tilting her head to the side. Her hair reflects in the sunlight, highlighting the streaks of lighter blonde and tawny red.

  “Not Jack,” I say. It’s surprisingly difficult to speak, to form the words that want to leave my mouth. My tongue feels like cotton.

  Her eyes widen slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she doesn’t immediately run away.

  Strange, stupid monster.

  “Then what’s your name?” she inquires curiously.

  My name. No one has ever asked me that. They refer to me as the beast, the monster.

  “Hux,” I reply at last. “They call me Hux.”

  “They call me Violet.” She extends a small hand—a hand easily capable of being crushed. She should be more careful.

  And what exactly does she want me to do with the hand?

  Scouring my memories, some of them long buried, I lean forward and inhale her fingers deeply. Her breath catches, her heart beating unevenly.

  Hmmm.

  She smells like...like sunshine. Like the grass I’m sitting on, the tree behind me, the flowers surrounding the nearest stone...grave.

  But also…

  “You smell like death,” I muse, dropping her hand. “You should shower.”

  The dreamy, glazed expression in her eyes vanishes. Her brows raise, and her mouth opens in indignation.

  “It’s a good death smell,” I assure her, confused by her reaction. Why is she getting so defensive? Females have always been strange creatures. Even my limited knowledge of the world tells me that. “Is it the smell of your…” I search for the appropriate word. “Period?”

  I mentally pat my back, pleased I had gotten the terminology correct.

  Her face turns darker, angrier, a banked fire resting just beneath the surface.

  “Excuse me?” she says slowly.

  “I know there’s a certain time of month where the female population experiences the Great Period.” I sift through my memories. “They partake in sacrificial blood rituals designed to enhance their...their anger.” I shiver. “Are you experiencing your Great Period?”

  “What the fuck, man!” she snaps, jumping to her feet and placing her hands on her thin hips. They’re abnormally small—the girl must be malnourished.

  I have to feed her.

  As she continues to rage on—further proving my Period theory—I dig around in Jack’s backpack. Surely, my host has some sort of sustenance.

  Sadly, there’s no severed hands available for the lady.

  At the bottom of the bag, I find something that seems promising. Holding my treasure in my hand, I turn towards the blonde-haired beauty—Violet—who is still babbling about the feminist movement.

  Feed her.

  Quickly, I shove the food source into her plush mouth, and I watch her eyes widen as she bites down. I breathe out a sigh of relief at having been able to—

  She spits the food source out, gagging.

  “Why the fuck did you feed me an eraser?” she asks in disbelief. She scrubs at her tongue, eyes crossing.

  “An. Eraser?” I say each word separately, succinctly, tasting them on my tongue the same way she had just tasted the apparent eraser. “Is that not a food source?”

  “No!” she groans, her tongue sneaking out to lick her lips. “Erasers are not food.”

  When I continue to stare at her blankly, she sighs, reaching into her pocket to grab a small...thingy.

  “It’s a candy bar,” she explains as if that’s supposed to mean something. “Chocolate.”

  “Chocolate.” I have heard about this chocolate. Apparently, it’s a common cure for the Great Period.

  “Have a bite.” She extends the “chocolate” to me, and I feel my heart begin to beat erratically. I’ve never been offered a gift before.

  “Thank you,” I say, emotion clogging my airway. “I’ll treasure it always.” I hold the diminutive piece of “chocolate” to my chest, over my heart. I know I will die for this gift. No one will take what’s mine, not even Jack.

  Her brows furrow in confusion.

  “No, you’re supposed to eat—”

  I feel the change coming over me, pushing me back into my darkened corner. For the first time ever, I fight it. I kick and claw and scream, attempting to stay with the captivating girl with the golden hair and eyes that seem to hold me captive.

  “No!” I roar. I know that if I’m to go back into my hole, my abyss, I’ll forget.

  And I can’t forget.

  Not her.

  I’m plunged into an inky darkness that slithers across my skin like thousands of snakes.

  “No! No! No!” I scream, pounding at walls I don’t see. Don’t sense. Panic coils in my gut, but I push it down.

  I won’t forget. Not her. Not the pretty monster who gave me my first gift.

  My gift…

  Which is currently still in my hand.

  I fall to the ground, a sob breaking free, and cradle my treasure to my chest. It came with me.

  Violet.

  Her name reverberates through my head.

  Violet.

  Chapter 8

  Violet

  I toss and turn in the lumpy bed, the scratchy blankets the school provided rubbing at my sensitive skin.

  The weird exchange with Jack and Hux plays on a loop in my mind.

  After Hux had retreated to...well...to wherever the hell he goes, Jack had returned, flustered and red-faced.

  He also hadn’t seemed to realize that time had passed. He’d seemed shocked to find his glasses gone and his hair behind his ears.

  Does he not know about Hux?

  Dozens of questions are rattling together in my brain, and it’s increasingly difficult to separate and ask them.

  Welcome to Prodigium, my friends, where you learn to expect the crazy.

  Finally, my phone alarm rings, and I jerk upright in bed.

  “Motherfucker with hairy penis balls,” Cynthia curses from the bed beside me. She’s beneath a mound of blankets, a solid lump of female banshee. As if feeling my gaze on her, she rips off her blanket and…

  Oh God.

  “What are you looking at?” she asks suspiciously, and I quickly try to school my features.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. Too quickly.

  “No, you’re definitely looking at something. What is it? Do I have something on my face?” Her hand scrubs at her cheeks and then her hair, as if searching for whatever had captured my attention.

  “So breakfast...will I be able to eat my—errr—special food?” I ask, changing the subject. Cynthia scoffs at me but graciously allows the topic change.

  “They have a little bit of everything in the cafeteria,” she says, reaching onto her bedside table to grab her nose and eyeballs.

  Yup.

  Cynthia apparently doesn’t sleep with her facial features.

  Her face twists as she pops one eyeball into its socket and then the other. I can’t help but watch, enraptured.

  She twists and turns the eyeball, wiggling it deeper into the socket. It sort of reminds me of that children’s toy I used to play with—where you have to place the shaped block into the correct hole.

  “I’m craving pancakes with a side of human liver,” she says solemnly, popping her nose back into place. It’s initially twisted to the side, a bone protruding outwards, but she works to get it straightened.

  Satisfied, she rubs a hand down her dark hair, though it does nothing to tame the stringy locks.

  “Seriously. What are you staring at?” she asks, and her eyes—now back in her face—darken dangerously. Her mouth parts slightly, a whimsical noise escaping. />
  Shit.

  The last thing I need is to piss off a banshee, the historic Woman in White at that, and die. Again.

  “Nothing.”

  Throwing off my covers, I hurry to my dresser and pull out my favorite outfit. The neckline is low, revealing an indecent amount of cleavage, and the hem stops just above my belly button. The knee-length skirt is hot pink decorated with black bats—I have way more bat clothing than I care to admit.

  I turn just in time to see Cynthia slip on her trademark white dress, shrugging a backpack over one shoulder. White, of course. I’m fortunate the academy doesn’t require uniforms. The last thing I want to wear is a short skirt, knee-high socks, and a jacket that suffocates my boobs.

  No, thank you. We may be monsters, but we believe in individuality. If the human world taught me anything, it’s that it’s fun to stay at the YMCA. Oh, and that people should be free to express themselves however they see fit.

  “Where’s the cafeteria?” I ask, following Cynthia out of the dorm building. The sun hasn’t fully crested the tree boughs yet, so the entire school is engulfed in a grayish sheen. A slight wind stirs my unruly blonde curls.

  “Down this path.” Cynthia nods towards a fork in the surrounding forest. The trail is overgrown with weeds, long branches obscuring the exit from view. It looks like the type of trail she would lead me down seconds before she murdered me.

  “Okay!” I say happily, skipping along beside her.

  If I’m murdered, at least I’ll die knowing ahead of time that I’m a dumbass.

  The pathway seems to go on forever, the lack of sunlight causing the trees to appear malevolent and oppressive. Their skeletal branches dig into my arms and cheeks as I walk.

  Finally, we reach the end where a surprisingly modern building rests. Monsters of all kinds—I even spot a few vampires—wander in and out.

  “Huh. So you didn’t plan to murder me and hide my body,” I murmur, eyeing Cynthia in a new light. Is this the start of a beautiful friendship?

  Ignoring me, she hurries towards the entrance, and I reluctantly trail behind.

  The inside is exactly how I’d imagine a human cafeteria to look like. That is, if human cafeterias had various rooms labeled “live donors” and served severed body parts on trays for students.

  “You’ll probably need to find a blood source,” she says. “They have a few on site for the vampires.” I follow the direction of her gaze towards where a few humans sit in chairs facing the cafeteria. The majority of them have their necks obediently canted as vampires drink from them.

  Fuck, I’m starving. I can’t even remember the last time I drank directly from the source.

  Licking my lips, I bypass Cynthia who is standing in line to grab her liver and head towards the donors.

  The only available donor is a man a few years older than me. He’s handsome, I suppose, with honey-toned hair and mossy green eyes. His teeth are blindingly white when he smiles.

  Fuck, what do I say?

  Hey...so, not trying to be weird or anything, and I don’t want to make things awkward...but...can I sit on your lap and drink from your neck?

  “Vampire?” the donor queries, a wicked glint in his eyes.

  Eyes that are currently devouring me from head to toe.

  “Yeah...um…” I fiddle with a strand of my hair, unable to make and maintain eye contact.

  “Come here.” He pats his lap, tilting his head to the side. My eyes fixate on his pounding pulse. Instinctively, I lick my lips before scrambling towards him and straddling his waist.

  There’s numerous ways you can feed, but the easiest—and least messiest—is facing the donor. You can stand and bend down, but that leads to a kink in your neck. No, the most practical way to feed is by sitting on the donor’s lap and tilting his head to the side.

  A donor who is very, very happy to meet me if the mini donor poking my cunt is any indication.

  I lean forward, breath caressing his neck, and he tenses beneath me. His hands come to rest on my waist…

  Abruptly, I’m pushed off of him, just barely managing to stay upright.

  “What the fuck?” I yell, glaring at the asshole who interrupted my meal.

  He stands between me and the donor, body trembling with fury.

  Ignoring me, he directs his full attention on my scared shitless donor. Well, not my donor. Especially not now.

  “Leave,” Newcomer says darkly. I don’t even bother to see if the donor obeyed. When some creepy ass, scary man says “leave” you fucking run.

  Finally, the newcomer turns towards me, and I get my first look at him.

  He has dark brown hair cut short and tan skin. He’s big—intimidatingly so—and his muscles are clearly defined beneath his gray shirt. His body seems to be hewn out of stone. When he crosses his arms, I spot intricate tattoos clamoring up his biceps. The pattern undulates, ripples, as he flexes.

  “Um...hi,” I say awkwardly. Because, really, what else can I say? He totally just scared my breakfast away with his big, sexy muscles and his big, sexy smirk and his big, sexy cock—y smile.

  Head. Out. Of. Gutter.

  When he remains silent, staring at me as intently as I’m staring at him, I cross my arms over my chest. That only causes his gaze to dip to my breasts.

  “You scared away my donor,” I say stiffly, silence settling and stretching between us like a taut rubber band.

  His nostrils flare, eyes flashing to mine. “He’s not yours.”

  Okayyyy…someone drank too much cult kool aid.

  “Well, um, I’ll just head over to him instead.” I point towards a second donor who had just finished up. His eyes are closed in bliss, the wounds on his neck already closing over. Perks of vampire venom.

  “No,” the newcomer says sharply. Indecision flashes across his face for a brief moment, and his eyes anxiously travel around the cafeteria. Fortunately, no one is paying attention to us.

  There’s an incubus and werewolf fucking a few tables over. That’s a sure way to hold the cafeteria’s attention.

  “I’ll be your donor,” he says quickly. Panic momentarily flitters across his striking face, but he smothers it down, buries it beneath lock and key. He’s scared of me...and yet he’s offering to feed me?

  My bat senses are tingling.

  Without waiting for my response, he sits stiffly on the seat the previous donor had abandoned. His body is rigid, almost as if he has a stick the size of Kansas up his ass crack.

  “Are you sure?” I ask, shifting from foot to foot.

  Through gritted teeth, he hisses, “Do it quickly before someone sees.”

  Okay, so I don’t really understand a lot of what’s going on in my life. I’m sort of like a video game character being controlled by a child. I trip over air, accidentally kill the good guy, and genuinely look like a complete fucking idiot.

  But, dammit, I’m starving. And here’s a handsome man offering me his neck on a silver platter.

  How can I refuse?

  His heart is beating so loudly I can hear it from where I stand. His breaths saw in and out.

  “Hurry.” He clenches his jaw.

  “What’s your name?” Before I can second guess myself, I awkwardly straddle his lap. His hands move to my hips, kneading the flesh through the thin fabric of my skirt.

  He hesitates briefly before conceding with, “Vin.”

  “That’s a cool name,” I say, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tilting his head to the side. The smooth, dark skin of his neck is just begging to be licked and sucked. After a moment, I do just that. My saliva marks the sensitive skin there, and his breath hitches sharply.

  I can still sense his underlying fear in the way a predator can sense fear in their prey. A sixth sense.

  But beneath that, I can sense something else, something potent and heady and settling between the two of us like a live electrical wire.

  Lust.

  “The first bite might hurt,” I warn breathily, my lips inches from
his neck.

  “Just do it already,” he growls.

  Before common sense can win, I bite down.

  His blood enters my mouth, eliciting feelings and sensations I have never felt before. He tastes like chocolate and whisky, the two contrasting flavors causing a moan to reverberate through my body.

  “Fuck,” he breathes huskily, his hips jerking upwards. His own moan rumbles through his chest.

  I gyrate my hips against his. Each thrust causes his cock to hit my sweet spot even with the two layers of clothing separating us.

  More. I need more.

  Faster and faster I rock, and he meets me thrust to thrust. Sexy-as-sin noises escape his parted lips.

  I can feel myself on the precipice. So. Fucking. Close.

  He explodes first, biting down on my shoulder to contain his roar. I continue to ride him through our clothing, my hands caressing his broad shoulders. The orgasm shatters me, and I come with my mouth still connected to his throat.

  At some point, I must’ve stopped drinking. My lips simply rest against his sweat-soaked skin.

  “Fuck,” Vin whispers. He’s gripping the edge of the chair so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Fuck.”

  “Fuck,” I parrot stupidly.

  Abruptly, Vin grabs my chin and pulls my head away from his neck. Blood still drizzles down my face, my mouth, and his eyes heat as they assess me.

  “Does that happen every time you feed?” he asks, tone unreadable.

  An intense orgasm? Lust permeating the air like a smoke bomb? I fucking wish.

  “No,” I say with a quick head shake. “Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.”

  His eyes trace my features, and his hand comes up to cradle my cheek.

  “Don’t let anyone else feed you but me, understand?” he orders.

  That shakes me out of my lust-induced haze.

  I narrow my eyes at the little shit—very large shit—and use the back of my hand to wipe away the remaining blood.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I hiss.

  He opens his mouth to respond when he suddenly snaps it shut. As quickly as the lust appeared, it abates. Before I can react, before I can comment on his strange behavior, I find myself deposited on the floor, my ass bouncing on the cold linoleum tiles.