by Katie May
“Don’t ever touch me again, vampire scum,” he says darkly, and his abrupt change in demeanor makes my head spin. All I can do is gape at him like a bloody—pun intended—imbecile. Turning away from me, he addresses the group that has just arrived. “The vampire bitch compelled me.”
What?
The?
Fuck?
The group is led by a striking girl with obsidian hair and a voluptuous body. The similarities between Vin and her are unmistakable. She must be his sister or cousin. Unlike Vin, she looks mildly concerned as she stares at me, lips tightening into a thin line. A combination of men and women stand behind her, all various ages and ethnicities.
But all hunters.
Vampire hunters.
I finally turn back towards Vin who is standing over me with a hideous sneer distorting his handsome face. Any warmth and lust I thought I saw in his eyes has all but vanished. The guy who has fed me is nowhere in sight. What remains is a stranger.
“What the fuck is going on?” I question stupidly.
“Vampire bitch,” one of the hunters snarls. He leans around the pretty black-haired girl and spits on me. Spits. On. Me.
Vin looks murderous for a second before his impassive mask once more returns.
“She doesn’t deserve our attention. Ignore her.” He steps over me, unintentionally—or perhaps very intentionally—blocking me from their view.
“She’s Dracula’s daughter,” another hunter, this one female, protests. Vin makes a scoffing sound.
“She’s nothing,” he says dismissively...as if he hadn’t just shot a load in his pants and made me orgasm as well. I hope he’s super uncomfortable right now walking around with cum pants. “Leave her.”
It’s only when he raises a hand do I see the signet on his finger. The golden band glistens in the artificial lighting, as damning as his words. I’d recognize that ring anywhere. Two crossing swords etched into the gold.
Van Helsing.
Vin is a Van Helsing.
And I…
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, refusing to cry.
And I’d just been played like the strings on an out-of-tune guitar.
Our exchange has now garnered the attention of the entire cafeteria—of fucking course. Apparently, the very happy couple had taken their sexual escapade into a private room. With nothing else to watch, we have become the prime-time drama.
Cynthia smiles at me sympathetically, but even my scary roommate doesn’t jump to defend me.
“Don’t ever fucking touch me again,” Vin hisses darkly. He can’t quite meet my eyes.
As he rejoins his friends, his fellow hunters, he doesn’t bother to glance back. Not once. For some inexplicable reason, that hurts. Fucking kills me. This feels like a one night stand where the guy says he wants a serious relationship seconds before stealing your money and never calling again.
Vin’s sister does glance back, and her expression is curious. Concerned.
But I stop looking at them. The second a beautiful woman with gills wraps her hands around Vin’s bicep, I have to look away. It stabs me like a knife to the gut.
Note to self: don’t ever, not ever, trust a man.
Instead, cut up their bodies and bathe in their blood.
Chapter 9
Mason
The Fairy Blossom rushes through me, dipping everything into a silvery sheen. Before, the world was in shades of black and white, the monotony of colors making my head whirl. Now, it’s a kaleidoscope of color—pink, red, yellow, blue, and sparkle.
Yes, sparkle.
They’re everywhere.
I reach a hand out to pluck one from the nearest tree, but my hand goes through it ineffectually.
“Fuck,” I murmur, determined as shit to get my damn sparkle. A surge of confusion courses through me, and I stumble.
This has been happening more and more recently.
This morning, as I was getting dressed, I experienced a horror that liquefied my veins. There was no rhyme or reason for it. The emotion came out of nowhere, assaulting me in its intensity.
Is it the Fairy Blossom? A bad batch? I’ll have to talk to Frankie about it.
The confusion I initially felt turns into lust. My cock is suddenly rock-hard, straining against my pants. I groan, staggering, and can’t stop myself from cupping my bulge through the material.
What the fuck is happening to me?
In the distance, I catch the familiar sight of Ruby’s iridescent pink hair. She’s an old fling I had...until she decided she wanted us to be more. I ditched her faster than you can say fairy sparkle. But before that, she was a good fuck. Great with her mouth and hands.
I begin to make a beeline over towards her, but stop.
Wrong. All wrong.
My cock is still uncomfortably hard, but the thought of her mouth around it fills me with revulsion. Disgust. Horror, even. I try to imagine myself buried in her wet cunt, but the image escapes me.
I immediately turn before she can catch sight of me and lean against the nearest tree. The scratchy bark digs into my skin, but I welcome the pain. It’s a nice and welcoming change to the confusion plaguing my thoughts.
Maybe I can find Serena and have her…
Fuck! My cock throbs painfully at the prospect. And not a good kind of throb either. A full-on, blistering pain type of throb that feels as if I had dipped my cock in acid.
So, Serena’s out…
“Say hello to my little friend,” I whisper, holding my hand in front of my face. Chancing a glance in both directions—and assuring myself that the forest is empty—I release my dick from the confines of my pants and begin to stroke.
My hand has barely touched the head when I suddenly explode. Fucking detonate, my cum whitening the forest floor.
What the hell?
I came quicker than a twelve year old boy. And by my fucking hand!
All I can do is stare at my cock in betrayal. It stares back at me all cocky—snort—and shit.
It must be the Fairy Blossom. I’ll fucking murder Frankie when I get my hands on him. Cut off his head and sell it for profit. Drain him of blood and dance—oh shiny!
I feebly grasp at the sparkling dot dancing just at the edges of my vision. No matter how hard I try, no matter what I do, I can’t catch it.
Motherfucking shiny asshole...pain. So much pain. Loneliness. Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
I grab at my head, fingers fisting in my beanie, as the thoughts come to me in rapid procession. I know innately that they’re not my thoughts. Well...motherfucking shiny asshole was mine, but everything else? Nada.
I stumble over a tree root, suddenly determined to get to the cafeteria. I can’t say why, only that I need to.
I fucking need to.
The sunlit building comes into view, surprisingly cheerful for a monster academy. With a flat roof and floor-to-ceiling windows, the cafeteria rests a respectable distance away from the dorm rooms, campus houses, and the main academic building. Some monsters get rather anal when they’re forced to smell decaying flesh on the daily.
It’s there I walk, picking up speed the second I’m inside.
The feeling of embarrassment and pain is stronger now. Louder. It echoes in my eardrums until it’s all I can focus on.
It’s mostly silent when I step inside scanning the dozens of rectangular tables scattered throughout. A few girls wave to me, flashing identical sultry smirks.
But it’s not them my eyes are drawn to like a magnet being propelled towards a refrigerator.
It’s her.
She sits on the floor, her skirt pulled up to her thighs and flashing a sliver of lacy, pink underwear. Her blonde hair is disheveled, and blood coats her mouth.
A vampire.
And my mate.
I know that as surely as I know my name is Mason, and I’m the son of Medusa. Everything about her calls to me in a way I didn’t think was possible. I can feel her, sense her, deep in the ab
yss of my tattered soul. Just seeing her mends something within me, something I can’t articulate into words.
My mate.
Who has just been humiliated.
Anger like no other thrums through me as I search for the culprit. The last traces of Fairy Blossom diminish from my system leaving me alert and coiled, ready to spring like the snakes hissing on my head.
But before I do all that, before I murder the asshole who hurt my mate, I need to make sure she’s okay.
Now, how to do that without scaring her off…
My stomach clenches when I spot a male crouching beside her.
Not just any male.
Frankie.
Strangely enough, it’s not jealousy I feel. Not exactly. Sure, I’m jealous he got to her first, but a part of me knows that he’ll take care of. He’ll protect her and comfort her when I can’t.
But how do I fucking know this?
It’s not like Frankie has a good track record when it comes to girls. Come to think of it, I don’t think he has ever actually been in a relationship with anyone, male or female. I don’t think he has ever even kissed another person.
So why is he whispering comforting words to my mate while patting her back? As I get closer, I see her hair isn’t just blonde, but a variety of colors. Strands of white woven with honey brown and russet red. The curls bounce when she swivels her head to stare at me.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” she asks scathingly, her gaze nervously flickering around the cafeteria. It suddenly occurs to me then that this girl, my mate, has enraptured the entire student body. Everyone is staring at her intently.
At her panty-clad pussy.
That bothers me immensely. It more than bothers me—I feel a murderous rage at the thought of others seeing what doesn’t belong to them. Before I can stop myself, I crouch in front of her—shielding her from view—and flash a smile.
“Hello, little miss. Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you having a shitty day?” When she stares at me blankly, mouth agape, I continue, “Then you need the new and improved Mason Medusa. Satisfaction guaranteed. If he breaks, or if he doesn’t perform to your standards, feel free to return him to get a full refund. And if you act fast, I’ll throw in a Frankie as well.”
There it is. That singularly beautiful smile I didn’t even know I needed to see crosses her face, revealing dimples on both cheeks.
Frankie, still kneeling beside her, purses his lips.
“Don’t throw me into this,” he says stiffly. “I was merely asking the lady if she would like a new ass. I have a two-for-one special on those without the crack in it.”
My little mate and I exchange an eloquent glance. Then, as one, we break into laughter. I laugh so hard tears fester in my eyes, one breaking free and cascading down my cheek. Her hands are wrapped around her stomach as she chortles, the laughter adorably turning into snorts. That only makes me laugh even harder.
Frankie glances between the two of us with barely concealed disgust. And...and is that fascination? His eyes are uncharacteristically tender as he turns towards my mate. He still has Resting Asshole Face, yes, but the first sign of life I’ve ever seen sparks in his gaze.
“She was just telling me what transpired,” Frankie says, pushing his thick glasses up his nose. She smiles softly at him, and I see his face scrunch up in confusion. When she takes his hand, squeezing it once, he doesn’t pull away.
“Thank you for coming to me,” she tells him sincerely.
Has the world gone to hell, or did Frankie just blush?
“So...recap. Not that I trust any of you, keep in mind. I already made a mental promise to myself that I’ll bathe in the blood of all men. But anyway, so I’m hungry and all that, and I find a nice little donor who’s happy to feed me the goods.”
“Is this donor male or female?” Frankie asks the question I’ve been thinking. Her brows furrow adorably.
“Male.”
My stomach muscles tighten, and my hands clench into fists.
“No males will be ‘feeding you the goods,’” I say curtly, and when she turns towards me, brow raised, I add, “You deserve more respect than that?”
Yup. When in doubt, talk about respecting a lady. Fucking nailed the whole “mate thing.”
She glances at me as if I’m an exotic specimen, and I meet her gaze with an impish grin. After a moment, she sighs and rolls her eyes.
“Back to the story. So, here I am, preparing to feast on him—” My cock hardens while I simultaneously plan ways to murder the donor. “—when some asshole shoves me to the ground.”
Frankie’s expression turns dark. Turning towards me, he says, “I have ways to dispose of a dead body.”
“And I have ways to kill a body,” I add. The easiest way will be turning him to stone, but that might make it obvious who the murderer is. I can’t very well be loving my mate when I’m dead, now can I?
“What?” my mate asks, alarmed. “No! No killing! What the fuck is wrong with everyone?” The last statement is said as a hushed murmur, unintended for our ears. “Anyway, so this asshole starts dictating who I can and can’t drink from. Namely, everyone. Especially people with dicks. And then he offers me his neck, we orgasm like synchronized swimmers, and then he calls me horrible names and tells his friends I compelled him! And get this, he’s a fucking Van Helsing. Vin fucking Van Helsing.” Her breathing is heavy, chest heaving. I know I shouldn’t, I really fucking shouldn’t, but my eyes are drawn to her impressive breasts straining against the small top she wears.
“So you don’t want us to kill him?” Frankie asks carefully.
“Ugh! You two are impossible! And I don’t even know your fucking names.”
The strap of her pink bra slides tantalizingly low on her shoulder, and I have the sudden urge to slip it back up. Or all the way off.
Fuck, she has a nice rack.
The girl stares at me, eyebrow raised, and I realize she must’ve asked me a question. Whoops.
“Are you staring at my boobs?” She doesn’t sound aghast, thank fuck. More curious than anything.
Deciding for honesty—important in any new relationship—I say, “Fuck yes. You have the best rack I’ve ever seen.”
Her neck and cheeks turn red, but a sly smirk tilts up her lips.
“Oh...well...thank you. I’m Violet, by the way.”
“Mason,” I introduce.
“Frankie,” the little asshole adds.
“It was nice meeting you both.” Violet scrambles her feet, smoothing down her skirt and straightening that precariously hanging bra strap. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I settle on relieved. I don’t want just any asshole staring at her boobs. “I need to get to class.”
She awkwardly waves at us, fingers snagging on her blonde locks. I watch, amused, as she moves through the cafeteria attempting to untangle her fingers. She doesn’t seem to notice the attention she is garnering from just about everyone. Females are staring at her with envy and unveiled contempt. Males are staring at her like she’s a tasty morsel and they’re starving.
Or, if she notices, she pretends not to.
“Fuck,” Frankie mumbles, his eyes trained intently on her ass. It does look rather nice in that short skirt.
I don’t know why I’m okay with him looking at her like that. I want to murder all of the other guys who do it.
“Fuck is right,” I reply.
“I have a thousand questions, and I don’t even know what to begin asking.” He uses his middle finger to push up his glasses.
“I do.” My gaze slides towards Vin who is sitting at the Van Helsing table next to Vanessa. His attention, however, isn’t on his sister nor the girl practically draped on his arm. It’s on us.
More specifically, on where Violet had once been.
“What the hell type of game is Van Helsing playing with Dracula’s daughter?” Because now that I’ve seen her up close, now that I sense the magic thrumming through her veins, I have no do
ubt that’s who she is.
It’s no secret that the Van Helsings live their lives slaying monsters, particularly vampires. They deem themselves protectors of humanity, and Dracula is public enemy number one. Numero uno.
But one thing is certain.
Van Helsing or not, best friend or not, I will not hesitate to kill him if he tries to harm my mate.
My loyalty has changed in the last five minutes. She doesn’t know it yet—she doesn’t know me yet—but I have just become hers unconditionally.
At the same time, Violet is mine, and I’ll always protect my own.
After all, how can we be monsters if we’re not selfish assholes?
Chapter 10
Violet
Boys are weird.
Monster boys? Even weirder.
I’m determined more than ever to follow my internal promise to sacrifice all men and wash in their delicious blood. Not that I’m a psychopath, mind you. Just moderately psycho.
The events from the cafeteria play like a movie reel in my mind. Vin’s heated gaze followed quickly by his hostile one. Frankie coming to perch beside me, awkwardly patting my back and whispering, “There, there.” Mason arriving with his impish smirk and glittering eyes.
As if compelled by my thoughts, I hear the crackle of twigs getting trampled on a second before Mason appears. He wears a purple flannel streaked with gray over a matching shirt. A dark brown beanie rests on his head, concealing his hair from view.
“Mind if I walk you to class?” he asks, reaching into his pocket to grab out a pipe. He places it in his mouth, inhaling once, before removing it. When he blows, the smoke is almost iridescent in color, swatches of red and pink and orange mixed throughout.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding towards the pipe. He smiles deviously, eyes glowing, before offering it to me. I eye it for a long moment with disdain before shaking my head. “No, I don’t do drugs. Especially not the monster kind.” When he quirks a brow, waiting for me to continue, I add reluctantly, “My mom died doing some fairy shit.”
“Oh fuck!” Mason looks horrified and quickly shoves the pipe back into his pocket. “Sorry, Pinkie. I didn’t know.”
