by Katie May
“If they find this body, you could get accused of murder,” Vin tells her with a detachment I know he doesn’t feel. He meets my eyes, and I nod subtly, already removing my backpack. “So we need to get rid of it. Now.”
Chapter 17
Violet
You’ve heard of stain-be-gone?
Let me introduce you to the new and improved version: body-be-gone.
That’s right, folks. Pour it on any body—young or old, male or female, the body-be-gone doesn’t discriminate—and watch it disappear before your very eyes.
Frankie could make a killing (get it?) selling it on the black market.
To my utter horror and morbid fascination, Ali’s body begins to deteriorate before my very eyes. It starts at her legs, burning through the flesh and bone with the same ease you’d burn paper. Actually, it sort of reminds me of that. The body curls in on itself like charring, burning paper seconds before it dematerializes, becoming nothing more than soot and ash. Not even the bones remain.
Hell, not even the ash remains as a strong gust of wind carries it through the tree branches.
All I can do is stare in horror at the forested ground that once housed the dead body of my fellow classmate. Stare and think.
Somebody killed Ali, but who? And why? What could be the reason behind murdering an angry werewolf? And why would they frame me?
And, the most pressing issue, what do we do now?
“People are going to realize she’s missing,” Mason murmurs, echoing my own thoughts. His hands tighten around my waist, kneading the tender flesh, seconds before he buries his head in my hair and inhales.
I don’t move away from him. Apparently, I like physical comfort. Who knew?
“We act like everyone else,” Vin reasons stoutly. “We haven’t seen her since…since…”
“Since last class with Ms. Stevens,” pipes in Jack. He shifts uneasily from foot to foot, his glasses sliding down his nose. He uses his middle finger to push them back into place.
“We tell everyone we went to the houses, grabbed the flag, and went immediately back to the gym,” Frankie adds. He straightens to his full height, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. He seems tired, I realize. The sort of tired that comes from being out in the sun all day. Is it possible for someone to gain bags under their eyes in seconds?
The silence stretches as awkward eye contact is made and retained. All of the men give a sort of macho head bob that I try—and fail—to replicate. Seriously, who knew that head nodding could lead to a kink in your neck?
With that consensus, we head back down the trail and towards the gymnasium.
Fortunately, we are not the last team to arrive.
Unfortunately, we only found one flag.
When Mummy arrives, wrapped arms crossed over his chest, he gives us a disapproving look as if he genuinely thought we would do better than that. My mood sours further when he announces Cheryl and her merry band of monsters the winner at three flags.
Nothing like seeing and disposing of a dead body then losing the competition to your nemesis to put a damper on your day.
Cheryl sashays over to our group, hair shimmering like rubies in the artificial gymnasium lights. Blowy the Best Blowjob walks behind her alongside two people I don’t know. Taking up the rear of the group is Ali’s boyfriend, Fish Face. He doesn’t look upset or anxious or any other emotion you would normally feel if you suspected your girlfriend had been murdered. So, bonus?
“Should’ve been on our team, Vinny Poo,” Cheryl says with an exaggerated hair flip. If there was an Olympic sport for hair flipping, I have no doubt that Cheryl would come home with the gold. Me? I’d probably whip my hair so hard that I lose an eye. And then, with my noticeable lack of eyes (yes, somehow it turned into losing two eyes instead of one) I’d fall into an abnormally large garbage disposal. Of course, I’d survive.
But talk about embarrassing.
“Don’t touch me,” Vin hisses as the beautiful girl places her delicate, albeit scaly, fingers on his arm. Her lips contort into a sneer, but she composes herself quickly.
“What happened to you? You’re a Van Helsing,” she emphasizes the name with a sardonic twist to her mouth. Her declaration garners the attention of a small group walking by. Their faces are unmistakable—the assholes from breakfast, minus Vanessa.
Hunters.
Now, hunters don’t usually go after just vampires. They consider themselves the police of the monster world, putting down any monster that goes too far. At the Academy, their curriculum consists of appropriate monster responses, ways to kill every breed, and the unspoken laws regulating the monster world. Kill one human? Sure, that’s fine. We’re monsters, after all. Wipe out an entire town? The hunters come, guns blazing.
But the Van Helsings?
They focus on vampires, believing us to be a lesser breed. They look at Dracula, the leader of the vampires, as the devil himself. The epitome of evil.
Some hunters, like the group slowly converging on us, follow the strict regiment implemented by the Van Helsing family: kill all vampires. Hell, they might even be Van Helsings themselves. Heaven only knows how large they are—cousins, aunts, aunts of aunts, cousins of cousins, a brother’s friend’s uncle’s grandma’s cousin.
The Van Helsings are a fucking tribe.
And this tribe?
They want my blood.
Vin tenses significantly as the hunters approach, more upset now than he was when we had found the body.
These were the assholes with Vanessa and Vin in the cafeteria, when Vin had embarrassed and accused me of compelling him. That memory momentarily exacerbates my rage, but I push it down.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the male leader snaps, eyeing Vin like he’s a disgusting pimple on someone’s nose. A healthy dose of fear and disgust combined with the “should I say something or should I leave it” mentality. But combined with all that is anger. Lots and lots of anger.
Cheryl grins like the cat who finally got the cream. Mason and Jack both stand in front of me, attempting futilely to obscure me from view. Frankie takes a step closer to me, our shoulders brushing.
Fuck, this could go really, really bad. These men will tear Vin alive for being my sort-of friend.
“I’m giving him sexual favors in exchange for protection,” I blurt to the man and his friends.
Everyone blinks at me.
Everyone.
Even Mummy has stopped talking to a student on the opposite side of the gym to stare at me. Vin’s mouth is agape, eyes comically wide, and Cheryl just looks pissed.
Welp, you got this far, Violet. Why not finish the mile?
“I knew I needed protection because I’m a poor, defenseless vampire,” I say, sniffling. Jack is trying inconspicuously to shake his head, to warn me against talking, and Mason is covering his mouth to hide his smile. I can’t see Frankie’s face, but his grip is suddenly tight on my hand.
Wait, when did we start holding hands?
I kind of want to swoon, but I figure that would ruin the badass, sexual vampire image I’m trying to portray.
“I’m really, really good at, um—” My eyes land on Blowy. “—blowjobs. Super good. I think it’s the teeth.” I allow my fangs to poke my bottom lip and then bite the air seductively.
Okay, not seductively, per se.
But I don’t think I look too shabby either. A solid six on the whole sex-o-meter scale.
Again, another round of synchronized blinks.
“Vin’s offering you protection...in exchange for blowjobs,” the man says slowly, carefully, as if testing the truth of my words on his tongue.
“Yes.” I nod my head vehemently—before realizing I look over-enthusiastic and need to tone it down a notch. “I decided to create a...errr...um...I decided to hire bodyguards,” I decide on quickly. “Yup. Four bodyguards. You never know when you’re going to need protection.”
Sounds perfectly plausible, if I do say so myself. And these guys ha
ve been kind of following me around. Huh. Maybe I should start offering blowjobs and shit as payment. Make this whole thing legit.
Cheryl’s face is bright blue in rage. Yes, blue. Her gills are ten times more pronounced as she bristles.
“What the hell, Vin?” she screeches, turning towards a shell-shocked Van Helsing. He’s still gaping, stunned into silence.
The new guy’s predatory gaze slides over my body before resting purposefully on my breasts. He nods his head with something that resembles approval.
“Not a bad idea, Vin. Not a bad idea at all.”
Chapter 18
Violet
The men are not happy with me.
“What the hell, Vi,” Vin snaps as soon as we’re in the hallway and away from other students. Frankie and Jack stand behind him, expressions carefully blank. Mason leans against the wall, but unlike the others, he has a huge ass smile on his face.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I defend, annoyed. “But even you guys can it admit it looks pretty damn suspicious.” I turn my pointed glare onto Vin. “You kill my kind for sport—”
“And you do the same to mine,” he interrupts.
Ignoring him, I continue. “And I still don’t even know why you guys are hanging around me. Is it because I have big tits? Because I promise you, they’re not that great. I’m pretty sure my right is bigger than my left. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Mason groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Pinkie, please stop talking about your tits. Please, for the love of all that’s good and holy, stop.”
I totally have the urge to fondle my breasts, but I dismiss it.
Later, I tell my boobs very seriously.
“Look, can we talk about this later? I have to get to class.”
Vin looks as if he wants to argue—fuck, he even opens his mouth to argue—before conceding with a sharp nod.
“What class do you have?” Jack asks gently, and I throw him a grateful smile.
“Urban legends,” I reply, having already memorized my schedule.
“I have that too. I’ll walk with you,” Frankie volunteers.
“With Dimitri?” questions Vin.
“Errr...I believe it’s Mr. Gray, but I’ll have to check.”
Frankie squeezes my hand before I can check my class schedule.
And…
We’re holding hands again.
I totally want to have a girly moment where I swoon and make a wedding scrapbook.
“It’s Dimitri,” Frankie assures Vin. “But we probably should start heading over there. It’s on the opposite side of the academic building.”
“We’ll meet you outside the classroom.” Vin’s voice leaves no room for argument. Turning towards me, his eyes soften considerably. “Be safe, okay?”
“Um...yeah, okay.”
Vin is a strange, strange man. A confusing man. One second he’s throwing me on the ground and accusing me of a despicable act, and the next he’s following me around apologizing, concerned for my safety. I almost think he cares about me which is strange by itself. For one, Van Helsings don’t care about vampires, least of all Dracula’s daughter. And second, we barely know each other.
Yet there was no hesitation, no fear, when he decided to dispose of the body and then cover for me.
They should seriously consider making a manual for men. The do’s and don'ts. The on and off switch. You know, normal stuff.
Mason wraps me in his strong arms, nuzzling against my neck like a needy cat. Come to think of it…
Maybe Mason is just an overgrown cat.
Nailed it.
Jack waves at me once, blushes, before hurrying down the hall in the opposite direction of Mason and Vin.
“Today has been a strange day,” I muse to Frankie once we’re alone. He takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes.
“Tell me about it.”
“Oh I will,” I say teasingly. “But you were witness to like ninety-nine point nine percent of it.”
“What’s the point one percent that I missed?” Frankie asks, falling in step beside me.
Leaning towards him, I conspiratorially whisper, “I woke up at two in the morning and…” I cast a quick look in both directions.
“And?” he asks, leaning closer to me as well.
He smells good, I realize somewhat distantly. Almost like peppermints. If I was weird, I might start inhaling him like one would inhale cocaine.
But I’m not weird, so I just lick him instead.
He jerks backwards, head slamming against the wall. When his wide eyes fall on me, a single eyebrow raised, I shrug sheepishly.
“You smelled good.”
Because that explains everything.
I really need to work on my excuses. Or I just need to stop licking random people.
Actually…
I rather like licking random people. And sucking.
Okay, so maybe not random, random people. I don’t consider Frankie a stranger anymore. It’s not like my tongue is a magnet and the men are the fridges.
Frankie is staring at me blankly, and I realize I missed half of what he said. Correction: everything he just said.
“You’re a strange monster, you know that, right?” Frankie asks, but his tone makes me think he’s not upset by that. If anything, he sounds amused. Maybe a little tender.
“My dad said I was dropped on my head as a child,” I reply very seriously.
Frankie’s lips twitch as he reaches for my hand, propelling me along. “Come on. Let’s get to class before we’re late.”
The halls are beginning to empty out, but there are still a few students loitering about. More than one do a comedic double-take as we walk by.
“What’s up with them?” I whisper to Frankie after a pretty female staggers to a stop, eyes fixing first on our interlocked hands before rising to glare daggers at me.
Am I mistaken, or does Frankie blush?
“I don’t usually…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t usually associate with females.”
“But you associate with males?” I ask. I want to understand everything there is to know about Frankie. His secrets and fears. His desires. I want to bare the man beneath the mask.
“No,” he sighs. “I don’t usually associate with anyone. Male or female.” When I give him a quizzical look, he reluctantly explains. “I’m committed to my work. I never felt the need to...partake in activities with members of either sex.” He shrugs his shoulders.
I have so many things I want to ask him—namely, his kindling relationship with me and what it means.
I don’t, though. His face is drawn, cheeks still rosy. I know when a conversation needs to end, and this one? This one has hit a fucking cement wall.
“So I heard you have a lab here?” I say sweetly, and he notably deflates in relief at the subject change.
“Yes, in the basement.” He grabs my shoulder to stop me and points down the hall, towards a door labeled as Employees Only.
“Down there?”
“Down there,” he agrees, resuming our steady pace.
“What do you do down there?” I ask just as we turn at a fork in the hall. Frankie shrugs, but another blush darkens his cheeks.
“A lot of things,” is his evasive reply.
I once more nod understandingly.
He doesn’t need to spell it out for me. “A lot of things” does not necessarily mean good things.
It’s no secret that Frankie is the school’s most esteemed drug dealer. Even Cynthia knows about him—he deals everything from fairy drugs to human organs.
“Can you take me there sometime?” I ask tentatively, unsure if I’m encroaching on taboo territory. When Frankie whips his head around to stare at me, eyebrows raised, I hurry to elaborate. “Your lab. Can you take me?” He doesn’t answer right away, a dumb-struck expression on his face, and I feel myself grow self-conscious. “I won’t touch anything, promise! And I won’t talk if you don’t want me to. I’ll just sit
there and watch.”
He looks away quickly, clearing his throat. “It’s not that. It’s just...no one has ever wanted to watch me work before. No one has ever cared.”
“I care,” I say immediately, and then blush.
Play. It. Cool.
“I care about you, Frankie.”
Dammit.
He clears his throat harshly once more before opening the door to one of the classrooms. My cheeks are still on fire, and I duck under his arm to enter.
I have only taken one step into the classroom, towards a set of empty desks near the back, when Frankie whispers, “I’d like for you to join me.”
My smile is wide as I practically dance to my seat. I add a few extra butt shakes along the way—there’s not really a reason. My butt just likes to move and show off. And not trying to toot my own horn or anything, but I personally believe I have a damn good one.
Frankie slides into the seat beside me...and then moves his desk even closer until his thigh is touching mine.
I glance around at my fellow classmates, wanting to see if any of them are staring at us. Fortunately, I don’t recognize the majority of them.
I think if I had another class with Cheryl, I’d be liable to murder her. Wait. Is it too soon for a murder joke?
I notice, somewhat absently, that the majority of students are females, all scantily-dressed. The ones wearing blouses have the top few buttons undone, showcasing their bras. Others are wearing skimpy shirts and short skirts.
I only have a moment to ponder about their strange clothing attire when the door to the classroom opens...and the most perfect guy I’ve ever seen enters.
He has light blonde hair, so blonde it’s almost white. His body seems to be hewn from stone, muscles rippling as he places a stack of papers and his briefcase onto his desk.
Dimitri Gray.
Dorian Gray’s only son.
I don’t know much about that particular legend, but I do know the curse extended to his son. Beautiful and perfect...with a dark soul only visible in a painted portrait. Apparently, the men of the family are unable to look into mirrors for fear of seeing their monsters personified.
