by Katie May
“Your hormones,” Mason confirms slowly.
I nod.
“You make my hormones your bitch.”
Before he can respond, the gym doors open and a scary looking man enters. He’s covered entirely in white wrappings, only his eyes visible through the bandages. A mummy. An honest-to-God mummy.
I only say it’s a man because of the bulge down below. Unless the mummy’s using his pelvis as sausage storage, I’m looking at a male.
“Line up, class!” he calls in a rasping voice, slightly muted from the bandages. Everyone runs towards the white line painted across the center of the gym. Even my guys run like their lives depend on it. I try to run—I honestly do—but there’s a reason why my father hates me.
Running I cannot.
Seconds before I would’ve reached a spot in line between Frankie and Mason, I trip over nothing. My arms sort of windmill in the air, desperate to find purchase and keep me upright, and for a moment, I think my agility actually worked. But then Gills (still don’t know her name) smiles at me maliciously and whispers to her similarly gorgeous friend. Her friend smirks and blows, propelling me the remaining distance to the ground.
Now, keep in mind, I’m still wearing my skirt, so my dick-taker clad only in pink panties is on display for the entire world to see. Well, entire school to see. I’m not too dramatic.
When someone whistles, there’s suddenly a flurry of activity. Namely, said whistler getting knocked on his ass by the wind and three other guys surrounding me in a protective circle.
You’d think no one has ever seen a girl’s vagina before. Geez. Is it really such a novelty?
I straighten my skirt and then check the boobage, confirming they haven’t fallen out.
Note to self: don’t ever wear skirts and crop tops to the gym again. Seriously. Don’t.
They’re practically spilling out of my shirt and bra, resembling two plump muffins fresh from the oven.
After I’m sure everything’s back where they’re supposed to go, I wobble to my feet and say cheerfully, “I’m okay.”
I can count on my ass cheeks how many people actually care that I’m still alive. I’ll give you a hint: I only have two.
Well, maybe more than two. I’m pretty sure Mason has an interest in me, and Jack, of course, is my new best friend. Frankie seems to tolerate me (which apparently is a pretty big deal), and the wind defended my honor by punching the whistler. And I can’t forget Hux who treasured my chocolate.
“You okay?” Jack asks worriedly.
“Peachy,” I say with a smug smile—trying to give the vibe that I looked death in the face and conquered it.
Because falling in gym class is totally the equivalent of death. Duh.
I skip into line, aware that I have now received the grand entrance I’d expected to have when I first arrived. Everyone is staring at me and whispering. Snippets of conversations float to my ears.
“That’s Dracula’s daughter.”
“She’s hot.”
“Did she just fucking fall?”
“What a whore.” That last one is of course said by Gills. That’s rich coming from the girl who dated the wind. He probably just blows in her vagina to get all that dust out.
Jack's hands curl into fists beside me as he listens to the onslaught of accusations and remarks thrown our way. My way.
I see the exact moment the change takes over. The exact moment he becomes someone else, someone other.
I think my classmates recognize it as well. Or, at the very least, they realize something is wrong. The hushed whispers intensify, and the monsters begin to flash anxious glances in our direction. Even Mr. Mummy looks concerned, stumbling back a step.
Maybe it’s a change in the air, an electrical charge coursing through each and every one of us. Maybe it’s the twisting and contorting of Jack’s face as he first removes his glasses and then brushes his hair behind his ears, revealing the jagged scar. Maybe it’s the way prey always know when a predator is approaching, that sixth sense demanding survival.
Hux peers down at me, a salacious, seductive smile on his thick lips.
“Hello, my precious treasure.”
Chapter 14
Violet
Hux’s different from Jack in the fact that he’s more confident, more sure of himself. He doesn’t slouch, and he seems to wear this metaphorical cloak of imperiousness. Sort of like: fear me, peasants, or I will smite you.
Sexy as fuck, I’ll admit.
There’s something endearing about both the timid, soft nature of Jack and the holier-than-holy side of Hux. In some people, like the wind, their confidence comes across as being cocky. With Hux, I see merely a damaged, albeit powerful, young man. Not only does his shit not stink, but he takes said shit and lathers it on the walls.
And yes, even to me, that’s a gross analogy. Sue me. It’s not like I’m working with the top brass here.
“Hello,” I say, licking my lips. His eyes fixate on that minuscule movement with fascination.
“Hello, precious treasure,” he purrs, and I detect a hint of a British accent.
My vagina fans herself, and I have to physically press my thighs together to quell my intense reaction. There’s something about a man and an accent that causes me to want to give birth.
“Are you done disrupting my class?” Mummy hisses, the words guttural from his face wrappings.
Hux turns his attention towards our fight class teacher, all the warmth he had given me diminishing. In its place is an ice so sharp it can cut glass.
“You dare threaten my precious treasure?” Hux asks, taking a threatening step forward.
As much as I find his despotic, kick-ass attitude attractive, I don’t want him fighting my battles. And I especially don’t want him getting in trouble because of me.
“Tone it down there, Tarzan,” I say, placing my hand on his chest to push him back. “He’s my teacher. He’s not actually going to harm me.”
“Wow. The freak, too?” Gills says to her blowy friend—any relation to the literal wind? “I suppose she’ll open her legs to just about any cock.”
Hux lunges towards her, only to be stopped by Mason and Frankie—of all people—pulling his back.
“Nah, only the big ones,” I say to the pretty redhead, and she sputters.
“Knock it off, Cheryl,” the wind snaps.
Cheryl.
Now I know the name of the female with the incandescent gills.
“Yeah, Cheryl,” I remark with a curl of my lips. Because I’m just that classy.
“Come at me, bitch.” Her hands ball into fists, and I know we’re seconds away from coming to blows.
“ENOUGH!” The mummy is practically roaring. His eyes, slitted through the intricate wrappings, glow brightly. It has the desired effect—Cheryl winces and steps back in line with her fucking blowjob best friend, and I turn to face our professor. “This is my class, not a schoolground. Is that understood?” When no one immediately responds, he screams, “Is that understood?!”
“Yes, sir,” we repeat dumbly, like five years olds being reprimanded by a parent. Cheryl flashes me a scathing glare before facing the front. I place my hand on Hux’s bicep, holding him back. The last thing I need is for him to get all murderous on a bunch of dumb bitches because they insulted me. Honestly? They’re not worth it. They live their lives putting other people down because they themselves don’t believe they’ll amount to anything. It’s pathetic, really, and only serves to make me feel sorry for them. How miserable must your life be if you go around intimidating others?
Hux crosses his arms over his chest, and I glance at his bulging biceps. He almost appears to be larger than Jack...which is impossible, right? They have the same body.
I realize that there’s still so much of this world I don’t know about it. This horrifying, mysterious world. There’s so much about them I don’t know about. All of them.
“Now that these petty, schoolgirl fights are over—” Wow, sexist mu
ch? “—we can begin discussing the Roaring,” Mummy says with a glare fixed firmly on me.
There are enthusiastic murmurs from the crowd. Even the viper—my bad, Cheryl—is smiling eagerly.
“What’s the Roaring?” I ask the person closest to me...which just so happens to be the wind. Fucking dammit.
He smirks cockily, as if he knew I wouldn’t be able to resist his sexual prowess as long as I have. He opens his mouth to speak, but I turn towards the male on the other side of me.
“What’s the Roaring?” I ask Hux, and I hear the wind make a sound of indignation followed by a huff of annoyance.
Hux looks just as confused as I do, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know, my precious treasure, but I can find out for you.” He goes as far as to bow his head in submission.
And my God, that does wonders to a poor girl’s self-esteem.
“It’s a competition. A game, so to speak,” Frankie says, moving to stand between me and Hux. I worry for a brief moment that Hux will retaliate for the unintentional diss, but instead, the scary man looks thoughtful. He regards Frankie like one would study a science experiment at a fair: with wonder and bewilderment. Almost as if you can’t quite figure out how it works but want to play with it anyway.
“It’s what we train for here. The reason for the games and fight training,” adds Mason from farther down the line.
Frankie clears his throat, once more reclaiming my attention. “All monsters are allowed to participate. Students from other schools, students from here, parents, relatives. Everyone can play.”
“It tests you as a monster,” the wind says.
Silence. I kind of wish crickets would start chirping to add to the badassness of this moment.
Note to self: buy crickets.
“Um...it tests you as a monster,” Frankie repeats, forking his fingers through his hair uncomfortably. The wind lets out a string of curses behind me, all of which I ignore.
“What does that mean?”
“Everything you learn at the academy is put to the test,” Mason adds helpfully. “Fights against other monsters. Scenarios you may find yourself in. Tests that...well...test your intelligence.” He shrugs.
“Are you guys competing?”
“Hell yeah!” Mason says with a fist pump and whoop. The sound is loud enough to capture Mummy’s attention who turns a piercing glare on us. Mason really needs to work on his whispering.
Only when Mummy Man turns away to discuss today’s games do I ask, “Anyone else?”
“Of course not,” Frankie snorts. “I’ll never resort to playing such childish games.”
“That’s because you know you’ll never win,” the wind retorts, and if I wasn’t ignoring him, I would’ve flipped him off, especially when Frankie’s face turns crimson. Then again, Frankie sounded pretty condescending. “But I’m playing. And winning.”
Now, that sounded pretty condescending.
What a cocky asshole.
“We’re playing too,” Hux says, the skin between his brows scrunched together.
“You are?” I ask, confused. Just a second ago he hadn’t even known what it was. His face goes slack once more, eyes glazing over, and then he nods his head decisively.
“Yes, we are.”
Is he…?
Is he talking to Jack?
I guess I never really considered the logistics of two people sharing one body. I suppose it’ll make sense for them to be able to communicate mentally.
“It’s why we came to the school,” Hux explains. “To train. Our father...he’s very strict with us. Wants us to win.”
I don’t know how to respond to that declaration, mainly because I have a thousand and one thoughts fighting for attention in the deepest recesses of my mind. I feel...upset. Heartbroken.
I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a prisoner in your own body.
The wind nudges me, directing my attention back to the mummy. I never did catch his name.
Damn, I’m horrible at this whole “monster/people” thing.
“To prepare us for the Roaring, I have designed today’s class to be a scavenger hunt. I have hidden red flags around campus. Your job is to find them and bring them here within the hour. The team with the most flags will get an A for the day.”
“And?” Cheryl asks snarkily, obviously not impressed with the prize. Mummy stares at her coldly, a silent battle of wills. Finally, he relents with a heavy sigh.
“And...the winning team will be able to skip this class for the rest of the week.”
That captures the class’ attention. Everybody begins chatting excitedly. If there’s one thing that can compel students to try their hardest, it’s a promise that they’ll be able to skip class with no repercussions.
“I call being on a team with Vin,” Cheryl says smugly, waving her hand in the air. The person in question—He Who Shall Not Be Named—mutters something unintelligible.
“I’ll be picking your teams,” Mummy tells her, and she pouts. Actually pouts. What is she...five? “Now, as I was saying, you’ll be separated into teams of four—”
Hux makes a rumbling sound deep in his throat, and Mummy whips his head to face the dark-haired monster.
“Umm...three?” Mummy tries, and Hux’s growl intensifies. He’s scaring me. And also turning me on.
But then again, I’m a kinky bitch.
“Five?” Mummy questions, and Hux nods his head. Clearing his throat, Mummy attempts to gain control of the situation he already lost. “Okay, I’ll pick the teams—”
Another growl echoes from my scary friend.
“You’ll pick the teams,” Mummy concedes with a sigh. Clearly, he realized he has no say in the workings of his class. Poor guy. He probably didn’t expect to go to class today and get verbally manhandled by a guy with a split personality.
The divisions I saw when I first entered the gymnasium are the teams for this assignment. Monsters almost seem to gravitate towards others with similar traits as them.
Cheryl—the bitch—tries to get the wind on her team, but he rebuffs her with a firm glare. With a huff, she stalks towards her friends and Blowy.
The guys stay around me. Apparently, we’re a team.
Who would’ve thought?
They better not fucking slow me down. Those flags? They’re mine. I’m going to win this competition, and not only for the prize and good grade. I’m going to prove myself to these monsters, to Blowy and Gills, to Mummy, to these men surrounding me, to myself—I’m going to prove that I have what it takes to be a monster.
Chapter 15
Violet
“So we have an hour?” I clarify as we emerge outside. The sun is high in the sky, illuminating the tree boughs in sprinkles of gold. While the sun doesn’t burn me alive like the stories will have you believe, it does irritate my skin. I scrub at my arms with my fingernails, trying—and failing—to be inconspicuous.
As the guys move farther ahead, discussing their game plan or whatever the hell men discuss—dick sizes? ways to make a female orgasm? how to milk a cow?—I hang back. Fuck. I wish I had a jacket or something.
Frankie surprises me by staying beside me. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he attempts an air of nonchalance, but his eyes betray his concern.
“It’s just the sun,” I answer his unasked question, keeping my voice low to hold off any and all wayward boys. I have the distinct impression Hux would physically tackle me to the ground and shield me from the sun. Maybe he’ll even try to destroy it, plunging us into endless darkness.
The man’s pretty fucked up.
“Hold on,” Frankie says, dropping to his knees and pulling off his backpack. He pulls out a couple of strange looking vials and what appears to be...eyeballs? And a...and a goat horn? Just what the fuck is Frankie doing with that stuff in his backpack?
Procuring an empty tupperware container, he begins to put all of his—errr—ingredients into the bowl just as the other guys realize
we haven’t been following.
“What’s going on?” the wind demands.
“Is something wrong with my precious treasure?” Hux roars—damn, someone needs to tone it down a notch.
Just kidding. I—and my vagina—love it.
“It’s just the sun,” I assure them. “Burns me worse than a redhead in summer.”
“That’s an easy fix. I’ve been making this cream for years now,” Frankie says distractedly.
He uses a spoon (who the fuck keeps spoons lying around in their backpack?) to stir the creamy liquid. It’s thickening, turning a deep red color. Hopefully, that red isn’t from the blood of the eyeball.
“Here.” He lathers a generous amount on his hands before turning towards me. The second he would’ve touched my skin, he hesitates. “May I?”
“As long as this doesn’t make me grow hair or something.”
He snorts, seemingly offended by my accusation. “Of course not!” He begins to rub it into my arms, paying extra attention to each individual finger. “That requires pine needles, which I clearly didn’t add to this.”
“Clearly,” I respond dryly as his hand travels to my shoulders. I’m not going to lie—his hands feel really, really good.
“I only did it once,” Frankie continues bluntly, and I stiffen. Not what a girl wants to hear when he’s currently balls deep in rubbing it on her. Either oblivious or ignoring my body’s reaction, he says, “Had a bunch of pissed off clients. A few death threats. The usual.”
His hands lower, brushing against my bare stomach. Goosebumps pebble on my skin, and my breath hitches. I know he’s merely applying an ointment, probably doesn’t feel anything himself, but I can’t stop my visceral reaction.
I need to get laid.
When he scrubs it into my face, licks of fire following the path of his fingers, I can barely hold in the instinctive moan.
Yup. Definitely need to get laid. With a big, fat cock.
Frankie finally pulls his hands away from my skin, and I’m surprised to hear his breathing as ragged as my own.
