Roaring

by Katie May

  “We can break yours as revenge,” Frankie suggests coldly. When his eyes glint maliciously, I know that he doesn’t just mean metaphorically.

  “Damn, Frank.” I whistle, shoving my hands into my back pockets and rocking on my heels. “I didn’t know you had it in ya.” To Vin, I say, “You broke it. You fix it.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Don’t start this pathetic bullshit with me,” I warn, removing another joint and placing it between my teeth. “You’re Vin fucking Van Helsing. You stop monsters for a living.” Inhaling deeply, I balance the joint between my thumb and pointer finger. “Maybe the monster you need to stop this time is you.”

  With that Hallmark card gold, I stalk out of the room. I can’t fix Vin’s idiotic mistakes, and I can’t stop him from being one in the first place, but I can be there for Violet.

  Until Vin gets the stick out of his ass, I’m not letting him anywhere near my girl. He needs to grovel, beg her for forgiveness, or offer her Cheryl’s still-beating heart on a silver platter.

  Until then, they’ll never be able to get past this.

  CHAPTER 7

  VIOLET

  “Hey, this is Vlad. I can’t get to the phone right now, but your call is very important to—shut the fuck up, back there! Can’t you see I’m on the phone? Please leave a message.” I listen to the high-pitched beep and grind my teeth together.

  “Hey, Dad. It’s me. Again. Call me back, please. I need to talk to you. It’s important.” With a disgruntled sigh, I end the call and shove my phone into my backpack. Facing my reflection in the mirror, I purse my lips and cock my hip to the side.

  A new me.

  An unbroken me.

  Today, I am wearing a black jacket over a thin white shirt that stops just above my belly button. My jeans are skintight, conforming to my thighs like a second skin. I’ve left my blonde hair down, but I’ve added a few streaks of white to the unruly locks. The change is small—hardly noticeable—but I feel more empowered than ever before. My reflection offers me a sardonic smirk as I take a deep, fortifying breath.

  “Make this day your bitch, Violet,” I tell myself curtly. “And give that bitch a spanking.”

  With that pep talk, I hurry down the staircase—managing to only trip once—and wave at the phantom manning the receptionist desk.

  I’ve just left my dorm building when I’m bombarded by two unfamiliar men. My back straightens as if someone stuck an electrical rod up my asshole.

  They encircle me, their keen gazes flaying me open and stripping me bare.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?” I ask, lifting a brow. One of the men is tall and willowy, a white business suit hanging off his lean muscles, as if he accidentally got a size too large. The other is wearing a gray suit that accentuates his overwhelming amount of muscle. Both have snow-white hair, icy blue eyes, and the remnants of frostbite on their fingers. They must be descendants of the Yeti or the Abominable Snowman.

  “I’m Charles the Third,” the first one announces, his stuffy, nasally voice immediately grating on my nerves.

  Though…I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to give a last name before you can call yourself the third. Unless his last name is literally Thethird. Huh.

  The larger man simply grunts, bobbing his head up and down jerkily.

  “We’re recruiters for the Roaring,” Charles Thethird continues, puffing out his chest. “Have you heard of it?”

  “Of course,” I say, mimicking his haughty tone. Truth be told, I only just learned about it a month ago. Dad kept me fairly secluded in our Romanian home before my arrival at Monster Academy.

  The Roaring is a game—or, a set of games. It pits the most dangerous and intelligent monsters against each other. There are battles of wits, but also battles of strength and physicality. Students from across the world come to Prodigium to participate in the Roaring. Hell, it’s not even just students. Some of the more seasoned monsters play as well.

  “We don’t see your name on the list of competing monsters,” Charles Thethird says, crinkling his nose as if he has gotten a waft of a particularly pungent smell.

  Me. I’m the smell.

  “Um…” How do I kindly say that me and athletic events don’t mix well? Unless it’s a competition to see who can fall the most times in a ten-minute time frame. Then, I’m your girl.

  A part of me—a part that I don’t dare to acknowledge—is terrified. The games are immensely dangerous, and more people die than survive. I’m not sure I’m ready for death yet.

  But this is a new me, a better me. I came to Prodigium Academy in order to make myself a better monster. All I have ever wanted is to make my dad proud. And winning the Roaring? There’s no way he won’t be proud of me. I will train diligently, find my limit, and break through it.

  I’ll prove Dracula, Vin, and all of the other monsters wrong.

  “You know what,” I begin, flashing a cocksure smile I don’t actually feel. But you know what they say—fake it until you make it. “Sign me up. Violet Dracula. With a D.”

  Charles glances up from his clipboard with piercing eyes. “We know how to spell Dracula.”

  “Well, pleasure doing business with you all.” I smile first at Charles and then at his terrifying brother before skipping away, a bounce to my step that hadn’t been there prior.

  Look out, world. Violet Dracula is back.

  I’M WRITING notes to Jack in Proper Ways to Dispose of a Body—a class once taught by my very own psychopathic murderous sister, Ms. Stevens, and now by pudgy Mr. Skeletal—when a classroom attendant rushes in. He pants, offering a slip of a paper to the monotone professor, who I’m pretty sure, before teaching, worked at a gas station. He uses a lot of gas analogies in his speeches.

  Don’t ask.

  “Violet Dracula,” Mr. Skeletal says, clearing his throat. “You are requested in the headmaster’s office.”

  I still, my movements in direct contrast to my rapidly pounding heart. I haven’t met the new headmaster yet, but the old one…

  He sort of tried to kill me.

  The whole situation put a sour taste in my mouth.

  Jack stiffens, his narrowed eyes the only indication that he has transformed into Hux.

  “I will be going with my precious treasure,” he bites out, moving to follow me.

  “You will not!” Mr. Skeletal’s voice turns shrill, as if he truly believes that the louder he screams, the more commanding he sounds. “The headmaster only requested a meeting with Ms. Dracula.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warn my teacher with a pointed look in Hux’s direction. He’s either oblivious or stupid…or both. The verdict’s still out on that one.

  Instead of taking my advice, Mr. Skeletal moves around his desk until he’s toe to toe with my glowering monster.

  “You will sit back down instantly—” Before he can finish his command, Hux’s hand is around his throat and he’s pinning him to the wall. The class immediately breaks into anxious whispers. Gills—overdramatic bitch—begins to scream bloody murder. The noise makes me want to scratch my own ears off…if that’s even possible. As my dad always says, if there’s a murderous will, there’s a way.

  “You will not keep me from my precious treasure, do you understand?” Hux thunders darkly, and I swear my vagina jumps for joy at having him threaten a teacher for me. Heat suffuses me, migrating from my stomach to my core.

  Mr. Skeletal attempts to speak, legs kicking as his face turns a hideous shade of blue.

  “Do. You. Understand?”

  “Umm…he can’t answer you, Chocolate Bar,” I say, tapping Hux on the shoulder. When he turns towards me, I pantomime choking with both my hands wrapped around my throat. Understanding flares in his eyes, and he drops our teacher unceremoniously to the ground.

  “You are lucky, Mr. Skeletal Dick, that my mate has offered to show leniency.” Hux’s face could’ve been hewn from stone, slashing eyebrows pulled low over glowering eyes. “Kiss her feet.
”

  “We really don’t have to do all of this,” I begin half-heartedly, but Hux has already grabbed Mr. Skeletal by the scruff of his neck and has lowered his face to the ground.

  “Kiss her feet,” he demands.

  Immediately, Mr. Skeletal begins peppering kisses to my Mary Jane shoes. It’s awkward as fuck, if I’m being completely honest with myself. What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t very well make eye contact, now can I?

  Finally, our teacher ambles back to his feet, body physically shaking, and writes two hall passes for me and Hux.

  “Let’s go, my precious treasure,” Hux breathes, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side.

  The halls are vacant as we exit the classroom, the rest of the students either in their classes or at their dorms.

  “I’m sorry if I scared you,” Hux begins in a soft, demure voice. His ebony lashes feather against his chiseled cheekbones as he blinks at me. “That was never my intention.”

  “Scare me?” I release a bark of laughter. Before I can stop myself—before I can even wrap my head around my actions—I turn us both so Hux’s back is to the wall. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  I’ve kissed Jack before, but never Hux. Would he taste the same? Feel the same?

  Without giving myself a moment to reconsider, I press my lips to his. At first, he stiffens underneath me, as if my touch, my kiss, has set off a thousand internal alarms. And then, his lips move under mine in the sweetest, most innocent of kisses imaginable. He growls against my lips, but doesn’t make any effort to deepen it.

  It’s almost as if he’s unsure, hesitant, allowing me to take the reins and control the pace.

  Fuck, that’s sexy.

  I grab his hands and place them on my breasts. My nipples are already beaded diamonds, desperate for his touch. He begins to knead my fleshy globes as my tongue enters his mouth, tangling with his own. It’s a dance, a battle, reminiscent of swords clashing against shields. Surprisingly enough, he tastes different from Jack. It’s barely perceptible—something I wouldn’t even notice if I wasn’t searching for it specifically. While Jack tastes like spearmint, Hux has a distinct peppermint flavor that assaults my taste buds in the most delicious way possible.

  I trail my hand down his sculpted chest until I reach the waistband of his jeans. I pause there, caressing the sliver of skin exposed, before lowering my hand. I cup his erect cock through his jeans and begin to rub in tandem to our heated kisses.

  Hux makes a noise in the back of his throat—a combination between a pleading mewl and a groan—and begins to kiss me harder.

  “It was so fucking sexy when you choked that teacher,” I pant as his finger caresses the seam of my jeans. Fuck, why didn’t I wear a skirt today? Of all the days…

  He begins to rub me as I rub him, our breathing turning ragged. He’s not even touching my fucking skin, and I’m seconds from exploding.

  “Fuck,” I murmur against his lips as his palm cups my wet pussy through my jeans. The friction—combined with his kisses and whispered praises—sends me tumbling over that steep edge.

  But I’ll be damned if I don’t take him with me.

  As my orgasm shakes my legs, I begin to rub Hux even harder, bordering that precarious line between pleasure and pain. When I squeeze tightly, Hux releases a hiss of pleasure. Spurred on by his inarticulate praises, I bite down on his bottom lip, and he roars as he comes, his cock twitching beneath my hand.

  We’re both breathing heavily by the time we’re finished, and Hux reverently leans his forehead against my own.

  “That was…amazing. Thank you for sharing that with me, my precious treasure,” he whispers, lowering his lips to my own in a tender kiss.

  “I’m glad you liked it,” I reply, and for some undefinable reason, my cheeks darken in color. I almost feel embarrassed, which is ridiculous. I have made more men orgasm than I care to admit.

  Then why does it feel so different with Hux?

  My stomach is a tumultuous mixture of happiness and fear, but I can’t decipher where the latter emotion stems from. Still, I can’t stop the blissful smile from curling up the corners of my lips.

  “I’m sorry you’ll have to walk around with cum in your pants,” I say, mentally high-fiving myself. The same thing happened once before with Vin—excuse me, he-who-shall-not-be-named—and it fills me with a primitive, savage sense of satisfaction.

  You see those hunky men, bitches? Well, back off. That’s my cum in their pants. Well, his cum. But he only came because of me. So, ha.

  “We should go see what the new headmaster wants,” I say at last, reluctantly stepping away from Hux. His eyes are glazed, as if he’s high off of lust, and a dopey grin lights up his face. Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever seen Hux smile. Hell, I’m pretty sure I have never seen him smile before.

  “I will wear my cum for the rest of my days, Precious Treasure,” Hux vows. “Or perhaps, I will bottle it up and serve it to you on our wedding day.”

  I totally would’ve face-planted if Hux hadn’t been there to catch me.

  “Wedding day?” I stutter out. My mind immediately conjures up images of me walking down the aisle dressed in a midnight black gown with a matching veil.

  Hux smiles unrepentantly. “Of course. You are to be my wife. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  CHAPTER 8

  VIOLET

  Hux’s dogmatic statement is still echoing in my mind as we step into the main office.

  The lobby is sparsely furnished with a dozen or so plastic chairs arranged against the wall and a single receptionist desk.

  Bird Lady—with webbed fingers and feathers on her neck and cheeks—smiles at us before nodding towards one of the chairs.

  “He’ll be with you in a second,” she assures us, just as the headmaster’s door swings open and Dimitri Gray steps out. My eyes practically bug out of my head and my brain momentarily stalls as I stare up at the dangerous assassin.

  I haven’t seen him since he rescued me from Bloody Mary’s son, and my eyes immediately travel over him as thoroughly as his do me. Seemingly satisfied that I haven’t been injured since he last saw me, he nods towards the office.

  “Come along, Ms. Dracula,” he instructs in a curt, no-nonsense voice. When Hux—wait, Jack—makes a move to follow us, Dimitri holds up one hand. “Please wait out here.”

  Jack hesitates, shuffling from foot to foot, as he argues with his alter ego. After a moment, he sighs reluctantly and sits back in the uncomfortable plastic chair.

  “We’ll be right out here,” he promises me. He eyes Dimitri warily before leaning even closer, his arms resting on his thighs. “We don’t sense any threat from him.”

  “Is that something your monster can do?” I question. “Sense threats?”

  Because that would be fucking sweet.

  Fire creeps up his neck and cheeks as he ducks his head sheepishly. Dimitri, behind me, releases a cold guffaw, as if both men are privy to a joke I’m not a part of. My eyes narrow, but I turn on my heel without another word.

  If Jack’s keeping secrets from me, I’ll carve my initials into his ass. Wait, no. That’s fucked up, even for me.

  And I happen to like his butt.

  Though my initials would be a good way to claim him…

  I enter “Dimitri’s” office with a mutinous tilt to my chin.

  Please, please don’t tell me that Dimitri is the new headmaster.

  The first thing I notice is how different the office is from Lupine’s. While his had been elegant and stuffy, Dimitri’s has a modern flair. The mahogany table has been swapped out for a sleek black desk with silver legs. The bookshelf and suit of armor have been removed entirely, replaced by decorative plants. There are no personal pictures or memorabilia that I can see. It feels…cold. Empty. The bleak white walls paint the room in a harsh light.

  I move to sit in the leather chair opposite the desk, and Dimitri s
urprises the shit out of me by perching on the edge of the table. His long legs extend until they’re nearly touching mine, and damn if goosebumps don’t pebble across my body.

  “So…” I begin awkwardly, forking my fingers through my blonde curls.

  Dimitri crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me, his slashing eyebrows pulled low over hard eyes.

  It’s the sort of look that makes you want to piss your pants.

  And have his babies.

  “You’re the new headmaster,” I blurt out. “That’s cool. Is it because you like giving head?” I ask, emphasizing the sexual innuendo with a wiggle of my eyebrows.

  Once, when I was younger, my father sewed my lips together as punishment for telling a skeleton he had a boner. I never really understood why…until now.

  Thou shall not ever speak. I’m pretty sure it’s a commandment.

  Dimitri continues to regard me coldly, his frigid stare having the opposite reaction than he probably hoped for. Warmth travels up the tips of my fingers, down my spine, and to the soles of my feet.

  “I was told that you joined the Roaring today,” he begins curtly. His face remains carefully impassive, so I can’t tell how he feels about this development. If the icicles forming in his eyes are any indication, he hates it.

  “I thought it would be fun.” I shrug casually, and a muscle in Dimitri’s jaw twitches.

  “Fun,” he scoffs, pushing himself off the desk and standing. He takes a step closer until he towers over me, hooded eyes carving out a piece of my heart and soul. “Did you know that thirty-nine percent of all competitors die every year in the Roaring?”

  I anxiously chew on my thumbnail. “That’s an interesting statistic. Did you get that off the internet? You know you can’t always trust that. Now, a book…a book is where the truth is at.”

  I swear he looks seconds away from throttling me.

  “Drop out of the competition,” he says immediately, his tone brooking no room for argument. I hiss out a breath through clenched teeth, my good mood from earlier rapidly fading.