Roaring

by Katie May

  “Zeus, have mercy,” Vin mutters under his breath. Releasing his nose, he levels me with a penetrating glare. “Violet, love, did you kidnap a baby from the hospital?”

  “Of course not!” I protest indignantly. “I stole the little guy from a supermarket. Finders keepers.”

  At his look of horror, I drop the act and release a heavy sigh.

  “I’m just fucking with you. This is Cynthia’s little brother. I’m just watching him for her as she finishes getting ready for her date.”

  “Do you know how long it took me to find my D-sized boobs?” Cynthia exclaims as she sidles up beside me. Despite taking the last half hour to dress and do her hair and makeup, Cynthia looks the exact fucking same as before. I honestly can’t see any difference. The same sheet of black, tangled hair. The same pale face and slightly yellow eyes. The same too-sharp teeth in a too-small mouth. The same flowing white dress that swishes with every step she takes.

  Without a word, Cynthia takes the baby from my arms and begins to rock him back and forth.

  “I’ll drop him back off to my parents,” she states. “Thanks for watching him.”

  “Yeah…” I can’t help the wistful sigh that escapes me as I watch her disappear. Honestly, I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me. It’s not that I want kids anytime soon, but I think the possibility that I might never be able to have them is really hitting me hard. If what Diedre Stevens said is true, I’m not even a vampire, let alone Dracula’s daughter. So what am I? Can I even reproduce? What if I die before I get pregnant or married? Why am I having such morose thoughts today? Is it because Bar—

  Nope. Not going there.

  “You’re the strangest creature I’ve ever met,” Vin deadpans as he steps into my small dorm, Mason at his heel. With another sigh, I move to sit back on the bed and hug a pillow to my chest.

  “What’s wrong, Pinkie?” Mason moves to sit beside me while Vin remains standing, his arms folded over his chest.

  “What’s wrong?” I release a bark of humorless laughter, throwing my head back. “What isn’t wrong is the better question. Barret’s dead. I’m apparently some sort of fucked up monster. Dracula is avoiding me—and he might not even be my dad. I have a bunch of monsters who want to kill me just because I have vampire blood in my system. And I might never be able to have a fucking baby!” I’m panting by the time I finish my spiel, but fortunately, there are no tears in my eyes. I know that the second I start crying, I won’t be able to stop, and I can’t have that. I need to be strong, if only for a moment.

  Brows cinching, Mason asks, “You want…a baby?” He looks as if he’s going to be sick.

  “No! I mean, not anytime soon.” I’m rambling—which is never a good sign. It means I’m closer to losing my wits than I initially believed. “I just want the option, and I might not have that because apparently, I’m fucked up. Did you know that? Did you? I’m fucked up, even in the monster world. F to the U to the C to the—”

  “We get it,” Vin interrupts, tone scathing. Eyes heated, he lunges forward until he captures my wrists in both of his hands, slowly lifting them until they’re above my head. “But why the fuck do you keep saying that about yourself? I don’t like it when you refer to yourself like that.” Fire blazes in his eyes as he surveys me from head to toe. My chest heaves as if he is physically undressing me, one piece of clothing at a time.

  Mason lazily begins to trace my collarbone. “You’re not fucked up, Violet,” he whispers, and you know shit just got real when he uses my real name. His hand lowers until it’s cupping my breast, his thumb twisting my nipples through both my shirt and bra. His boyish smile makes him look innocent, but his chiseled jawline, broad shoulders, and prominent cheekbones make him appear anything but.

  “You’re perfect,” Vin growls, leaning over me until I’m forced to fall on my back. “You’re a goddess, and the world’s too fucking dumb to see you as one.”

  “You’re biased,” I point out as his tongue lowers to my neck, trailing upwards until it reaches the edges of my lips. I lift my chin, emulating the confident woman I’ve always wanted to be. And also giving him more space to worship me with those wicked lips of his.

  “You don’t see yourself the way we see you,” he breathes, breath fanning against my parted lips.

  “And how do you see me?” I’m barely breathing, my entire focus fixated on both the beautiful man in front of me and the second beautiful man beside me. My shoulders physically deflate as if a heavy rain washed away all of the tension.

  “As someone to be loved and cherished,” he whispers before crashing his lips to mine. I moan low in my throat as his addictive taste bombards my senses, momentarily making me lose my mind. But I don’t want his sweet kisses. Not now. I want to punish him for making me leave Jack and Hux behind. For allowing me to live when Barret didn’t. For breaking my heart at the Halloween party those many weeks ago, when he disappeared with Cheryl instead of protecting me.

  I bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood before immediately licking it away, his flavor exploding on my tongue. Releasing him, I turn my head to the side to kiss Mason. As always, he’s an enthusiastic kisser, putting all of his passion and emotions into the heated kiss. Our tongues tangle together as he tugs my hair to the point of pain. Pulling away from him, I turn back towards Vin and resume where we left off. I know he can taste Mason on my lips, but that only heightens my arousal. My core is throbbing, desperate for what only these two men can give me.

  I want to be punished.

  I want to feel pain.

  “Have you two ever…?” I gesture between the two of them, vivid images assaulting me. Mason pulling Vin into a fervent kiss, their lips clashing just as their personalities do. Their hands roaming each other’s bodies. Their cocks rubbing against each other with each clash of their lips.

  “Head out of gutter, Pinkie!” Mason says, gently whacking me on the back of the head. “Not happening.”

  “Not even a teeny tiny little kiss?” I ask, pushing out my bottom lip in a pout. Vin and Mason exchange a glance over my shoulder, and I swear I stop breathing. I can feel my arousal dampen my panties as a sultry grin pulls up Mason’s lush lips.

  “One kiss, you say…” he whispers, crawling towards Vin. He runs his hands up his muscular thighs, his chest, and then his broad shoulders. Vin lowers his hands to Mason’s back…and then lowers them some more until they’re inches above his rock-hard ass.

  They lean towards each other, eyes closed, and I rub my thighs together to alleviate the ache. I’m panting as if I’ve just run a million miles.

  When their lips are a hair’s breadth apart, they turn towards me at the same time and begin to pepper kisses on either side of my neck, chuckling darkly.

  “Not happening, Pinkie,” Mason says as he suckles my skin. Vin twists my face to recapture my lips, his tongue prodding the seam before I finally relent and open my mouth to him.

  “Tease,” I breathe against Vin’s lips.

  In answer, he merely resumes his brutal kisses while his hand cups and squeezes my breast.

  “But just because we won’t play with each other…” Mason murmurs.

  “Doesn’t mean we won’t both play with you,” finishes Vin. And sweet merciful Zeus, I swear I cream my panties right then and there.

  “What type of play are we talking about?” I pant as Mason’s hand feathers underneath my shirt, across my stomach, and up to my chest. He begins to knead my tit through the lacy material of my bra, lips curved into a bewitching, sensuous smirk. “Jump rope play? Hopscotch? Uno?”

  “What the fuck, Violet?” Vin murmurs as he plants kisses up and down my neck. When he reaches my ear, he grabs the lobe between his teeth and bites down gently. “You’re so strange.”

  “I’m only strange because you’re too normal,” I counter immediately. Before I can claim Vin’s lips once more, a whine reverberates through the room. All three of us freeze, only our heads moving to stare at the closed door.
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  “Is it our baby?” Mason teases, finger idly drawing circles on my chest.

  “Shut up.” I elbow him as the whine sounds again, followed immediately by incessant scratching. I make a move to get up, but Vin places a hand on my chest to push me back down and strides across the room, the evidence of his arousal poking through his gym shorts. He grabs his blade that he must’ve put on my dresser and wrenches open the door.

  “Biscuit?” Mason exclaims, sitting upright and staring at the hideous mutt outside my dorm room door. The creature tilts his furry black head to the side, rivulets of color sludging down his back. He looks as if he has been through the meat-grinder, his ears torn and riddled with holes. His amber eyes train on me as another desperate whine escapes his body.

  “You named the mutt from hell Biscuit?” I query as the creature, ignoring Vin entirely, gallops into the room, jumps onto my bed, and curls into a ball near my feet. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and I can’t help but notice it’s a hideous shade of gray.

  “He seems to like you,” Mason points out as Biscuit chirps happily.

  Oh my freaking god. He is adorable.

  “Can I keep him? Please? Please? Please?” I scratch him behind his tattered ears, and he leans into my touch, body vibrating with his contented purr.

  “Violet…” For the millionth time that day, Vin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just keep a murderous Frankenstein-created beast as your pet.”

  “But he’s sooo cute.” I press a kiss to his furry nose. To the beast, I ask, “Where are your brothers? Did they come too?”

  “She said she wanted a baby,” Mason points out with a wicked grin. He leans around me to pet Biscuit’s rough hide.

  “Why do I even bother with these children?” Vin murmurs, more to himself than to us. I’ll have him know that I’m extremely mature and intelligent for my age, thank you very much. And because I’m so mature, I’m going to refrain from sticking my tongue out at him and then slicing open his throat to drink his blood dry.

  Mature Violet for the win.

  Abruptly, Biscuit begins to cough, eyes widening slightly in his distorted face. Mason grimaces as a slimy beetle flies from the hound’s mouth and bounces off the wall.

  “Ewww,” he laments, nose scrunching in disgust.

  “Did you eat a beetle, handsome man?” I coo to the dog. “Silly puppy.”

  “It’s a monstrous, fifty-pound beast of mass destruction,” Vin deadpans. “Not a silly puppy.”

  Before I can retort, a green mist slithers across the floor of my room like a palpable entity. Immediately, my hackles raise as Mason grabs my waist, pulling me against him.

  Vin spins towards the fog with his dagger brandished, eyes spewing vitriol and something akin to fear. “Who’s there?” he demands.

  Because when the mist comes a’knockin, you go a’runnin.

  Yes, that’s actually a nursery rhyme in the monster world.

  The green mist begins to swirl rapidly like a tornado, and the acid in my stomach sluices around. Slowly, it solidifies into the silhouette of a large, muscular man with broad shoulders and dark skin.

  Barret’s green hair is wildly mussed as he flashes me a sheepish grin.

  “I would highly recommend not being eaten by a dog.” He pauses, an unsure expression crossing his handsome face. His painfully beautiful, handsome face. His painfully beautiful and dead handsome face. “Why are you all looking like you’ve seen a ghost? Do I have blood on my cheek?”

  CHAPTER 36

  FRANKIE

  For as long as I can remember, I never knew what to call the man who created me. Was he my father? My creator? Something else entirely? All I know is that I went from nothing but a thought to a sentient being. In the process, I was gifted with an intelligence that surpassed those around me and an impenetrable body.

  Not even a knife to the heart could kill me.

  Now, I sit across from my father—my manufacturer?—in the small kitchenette I share with Mason, Vin, Jack, and Hux. He languidly sips from the porcelain teacup while his sharp eyes assess me.

  Frankenstein is a sinewy man. Nothing significant about him in the slightest. His hair is beginning to gray, the wispy strands shorter on the top than the sides. A fine, pointy mustache rests above his thin lips, and his eyes are wrinkled with age—not from smiling or laughing. I don’t think I’ve seen the man laugh once in his life. His tan shorts contrast greatly with his plum-colored button up that seems a few sizes too large. The fabric swallows him whole.

  Currently, his knee is bouncing with agitation as his eyes flitter from my face to the window and then to the closed door.

  As well as being the top scientist in the world, he’s also a paranoid maniac. Living for centuries will do that to a person.

  “You wanted to talk?” I ask curtly, glaring daggers at my own cup of tea. I have no intentions of actually drinking the liquid. Frankenstein made it himself, and anything that he creates is immensely dangerous—a tree that is being cut down, just waiting to fall and demolish everything in its pathway.

  “Are we safe?” Frankenstein queries, jumping to his feet to survey first the windows and then the kitchen itself. He opens up every cupboard and places a strange, silver device on the swinging wooden doors. No doubt, it’s one of his newer inventions designed to track for both spells and listening devices.

  As I said before, Frankenstein is a paranoid bugger.

  Instead of answering, I allow him to sweep every nook and crevice of our quaint kitchen. Only when he’s satisfied that there’s no one lurking in the closet does he sit back down across from me. He eyes the teacup warily—almost distrustfully—as if someone put poison in it during the few minutes he was away.

  “Safe. Yes, safe,” he mutters to himself as he grabs the porcelain cup, tips it over, and stares intently at the engraved initials of the artist on the bottom. Hot tea cascades over the edge of the table and hits his lap, but he doesn’t even blink at what I’m sure is a blistering sting.

  “What did you wish to discuss with me?” I level him with a glare capable of freezing fire. I’ve always been a cold, unfeeling man. For the longest time, I thought that was all I was capable of being. After all, I’m nothing but an experiment brought to life by a burst of lightning. Only Violet is capable of unthawing the ice surrounding my heart, leaving me feeling warm, and at the same time, bereft. That impassiveness has been my defense mechanism since I was first created. It feels odd to have it suddenly chipped away from me, baring the man underneath. The man I hadn’t known existed.

  But around my father, I’ll remain cold. I’ll remain the uncaring, apathetic piece of meat he created in his image. If he knew the truth, that my very genetic makeup was beginning to alter because of the mating bond, he’d lose his shit.

  Experiments aren’t meant to find their mates, aren’t meant to fall in love. We’re fated to wander this world as nothing but a machine for the monsters to use and discard. Human consciousness trapped in a body capable of withstanding time itself.

  “The beasts you created for the first game were remarkable,” I say at last, knowing that flattery is one of the only ways to breach his crazy mind. As expected, he sits up straighter and preens under my praise.

  “I spent all year working on them. I see you met a few…” He nods towards the corner of the room where one of his creations stands sentry. For some reason, I haven’t been able to shake this monster. The centaur chose to remain in the arena, but the hounds and the man with no face followed me. I have no idea where the mutts disappeared to, but the man remained with me, delegating himself as my servant and protector. I sense no ill intent from any of them, so I’ll let them be. For now.

  “Yes, well, I have you to thank for that,” I reply, refilling his now empty cup. Without allowing it to cool, he brings it to his mouth and chugs it, brown liquid dripping down his chin. I just barely cover up my expression of disgust. “He seems quite fond of me. No doubt, he recognizes pieces of you in me
.”

  Frankenstein waves away my words, grabbing the entire teapot and drinking straight from the nozzle. “You, my dear boy, have done great work as well. I’ve seen those Violet Dracula dolls and—”

  “Those Violet Dracula dolls?” I interrupt, my muscles bunching. I’d thought we eliminated them all. Those sex dolls have been nothing but a nuisance, and I know they’ve hurt Violet as well. I can’t even imagine what she has gone through with the knowledge people have used those dolls for both pain and pleasure. It makes the ice in my stomach turn to molten lava, seconds from bursting and igniting this entire fucking world on fire.

  “Why, yes.” His brows cinch together in confusion. “You sent one to my office just the other day.”

  “I did no such thing,” I protest immediately, adamantly. When his brows raise even higher, I work to moderate my volume. “I believe there’s been some mistake. We’ve chosen to…discontinue that line.”

  I don’t bother correcting him by saying Mikey—Merlin’s dead son—was the one to create those dolls.

  “Ridiculous!” Once more, he waves his hand as if he’s trying to eradicate my words straight from the air. “They’re my top seller. So far, our company has sold over one thousand of those dolls.”

  Ice sludges in my stomach as his words register. My hands grip the edge of the table until my knuckles are white, nearly translucent.

  “Your company decided to make more of them.” Though it’s not a question, Frankenstein treats it as one.

  “Oh, yes. It’s good business. Good business.” He bobs his head eagerly, extending a hand as if he’s encouraging me to celebrate with him.

  “She’s innocent, Frankenstein,” I manage to grind out through gritted teeth. “A child should not pay for the crimes of their parent.”

  “Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.” With a burp, he drops the teapot back onto the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Money is power, and Dracula is money.” His shrewd eyes narrow, and I suddenly feel small again. Small and vulnerable, like a forlorn child desperately wanting to please his father. “You care for this vampire?”