by Katie May
Cal appears momentarily struck speechless, but he allows me to drag him through the club and to Jack’s car parked illegally on the curb.
“You’re alive,” Cal repeats as he climbs into the backseat. Barret, surprisingly, takes the passenger one. “Violet…” I finish buckling my seatbelt and glance at him through the rearview mirror. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I say immediately, ignoring Barret’s huff of disgust. “Cal, do you not remember what happened?”
I pull onto the road and hightail it out of there, no doubt leaving track marks on the asphalt.
“I remember…Barret dying.” He glances at his best friend, as if the sight of Barret physically pains him. “And then I remember crossing through the portal. I was so pissed and upset.” He rakes his fingers through his tousled pink hair. “I was walking back to the academic building when Alex and his fucking father stepped through the portal. I remember that I was furious that they somehow survived when Barret didn’t, and then I recalled how they tried to kill you. I just…snapped, I suppose. I don’t remember anything after that.”
“You fucking killed him,” Barret snaps, and I’ve never heard my gentle giant sound so furious before. His body thrums with pure, undiluted energy, the wispy green strands of his hair standing on end. “You murdered the necromancer.”
“No…” Cal whispers, clutching at his head. “I wouldn’t have killed anyone.”
“You did, asshole. And you didn’t even do it in the games, when it would’ve been legal.” Barret’s hand tightens on the armrest of his chair as his face twists. “And now, you just made Violet an accessory to the murder of a high-profile monster. Which, as you know, is punishable by death.” Barret’s lips compress into a thin line as he faces straight ahead. “You just killed us all.”
CHAPTER 40
VIOLET
Only seventy-eight competitors survived the first round of the Roaring.
Seventy-eight.
According to Vin, Hux and Jack made it out of the arena with plenty of time to spare. But when I went to go visit them, they were nowhere to be seen.
I slept restlessly that night, consumed with worry for Hux, Jack, and Cal. My mutt slept at my feet—yes, I claimed the ugly, adorable creature—pitiful cries escaping his fanged mouth, as if he sensed my agitation. He began to cry in earnest when I left him this morning.
Now, I stand once more in the center of steel bleachers as I prepare myself for the next round of the Roaring. Like before, Frankie and Mason stand on either side of me while Vin waits beside his family. I’m grateful to see that Vanessa has survived the first round. As my designated best friend, I sort of have to cheer for her, though I would anyway. I can see how much Vin loves his sister.
I’ll be the first to admit my disappointment that Asshole One and Asshole Two—read as, Vin’s parents—survived as well.
The second game of the Roaring is supposed to test our intelligence, though none of us have any idea what to expect. Last year, they placed the competitors in rooms that were on fire and forced them to find a way to escape. The year before that, they buried each competitor alive and gave them three hours to find a way out.
I scan the throng of competitors anxiously, but I don’t see Hux or Jack anywhere. That only amplifies my tension as I bounce from foot to foot. Are they okay? Did something happen in the arena? I’m desperate to hear Hux’s thick accent whisper, “Precious Treasure.” But, like, not in a creepy way. In a totally romantic and sexy way.
“What happened last night?” Mason whispers conversationally as we wait for Dimitri to once more take his spot on the stage. “When you found Cal?”
Oh, nothing much. Just a little murder and mayhem.
Automatically, my eyes flicker to where Alex stands by himself opposite us. His dark eyes narrow accusingly, and I can’t help but wonder if he knows about what happened to his father. Barret’s confession flitters through my brain like a pair of incessantly flapping butterfly wings, and I stare at the giant in a new light. Why did he help me? Or was that just a ploy? Was he trying to gain Barret’s trust?
Fuck, I’m getting paranoid. Dealing with so many cocks will do that to a lady.
“Welcome!” Dimitri’s cold voice slithers over the assembled crowd. “You are here because you survived the first round of the Roaring.” The audience cheers, pumping their fists and whistling enthusiastically. It’s kind of demented, if you think about it. Half of these monsters lost a family member or a loved one, yet they’re still laughing as if nothing bad had just transpired. As if we hadn’t lost hundreds of lives.
Then again, that’s the monster world. Only the strongest survive, and the weak aren’t even mourned.
“For this round, each competitor will enter a door designed specifically for them.” As if on cue, a door materializes in front of each competitor. All of them are insignificant in appearance, though their colors and shapes vary. Mine has intricate trim around the sides and a hanging flower plant overhead. “Your goal is to exit your room in exactly one hour.” His cold blue eyes train on me, and his devilishly wicked lips quirk to the side. I’m suddenly bombarded with memories of me in his office as he expertly eats me out, his fingers tweaking my nipple.
Totally appropriate thoughts to have when you’re potentially facing imminent death. Way to go, Violet.
“Each room is different,” Dimitri continues, maintaining eye contact. “Nothing you see in your room is a trick. But be warned,” his voice lowers ominously, “you might not like what you hear.”
I know his statement is directed at me, but I can’t quite understand what he means. Is this a hint?
“Be careful, Pinkie,” Mason says seriously, his expression grave. I can tell he doesn’t like the fact that he won’t be able to protect me during this challenge. Honestly? I don’t like that either. Sure, I’m not the most athletic monster, but I can break balls and take names with the best of them. I want to—no, I need to—protect my men, no matter the cost. I’m going insane with worry.
“You may now enter,” Dimitri states, and one by one, the doors fly open.
My heart hammers in my chest as I step through the glittery, silver portal.
“You’re a survivor, Violet,” I whisper fiercely to myself. “You’ll kick the ass of any monster who dares try to harm you. Badass Violet for the win. Your men will be safe. Have faith.”
“Are you talking to yourself again?” a familiar voice drawls, and I blink rapidly to orient myself to my new surroundings. I appear to be in a sparsely furnished room with a single couch against the far wall opposite a coffee table and recliner. There are no windows or doors, and the portal has already dissipated. Sitting lazily, almost languidly, on the couch is none other than Dracula himself.
Opposite him, Dimitri leans against the wall with his arms folded over his chest and his frosty stare freezing me in place.
“Is this real?” I whisper, my back flush against the wall.
“I can assure you that it is.” My father rolls his eyes as he takes a drag of his cigarette. He’s dressed in a black trench coat pulled open over a suit and tie. His dark hair is slicked away from his aristocratic, almost elegant features. In private, my dad can be a little…eccentric, but around other people, he has a tendency to act like a massive douche. His mannerisms change entirely around people. Instead of behaving like the “cool dad,” he turns stoic and cold. I have long since accepted Dracula, no matter the face he wears.
“What is this about? Is this the competition?” I glance desperately between my father and Dimitri, but both men are impassive.
“Have a seat.” Dracula nods towards the chair opposite him, and I daintily perch on the edge. My body thrums with excess energy as my eyes dart anxiously in every direction. “This was the only way I could speak to you without others knowing.”
“Wait.” I hold up both hands. “Did you hijack the Roaring?”
“As soon as Dracula finishes speaking to you, we’ll bring you back to the arena,” Dimit
ri states simply. “As I said before, each room is designed specifically for the contestant.” His lips quirk marginally, and I realize that the sly bastard has somehow found a way to cheat the system. Not that I’m complaining. If this gets me answers, then I’m willing to do just about anything.
“I’ve been needing to talk to you,” Dracula begins, leaning backwards on the sofa and extending his legs. He crosses them at his ankles and places his clasped hands on his stomach. “You have questions.”
“Of course I have fucking questions!” I jump to my feet, my agitation demanding physical movement. Pacing, I scrub a hand through my disheveled blonde curls. “Why didn’t you tell me that Diedre was my sister?”
“Because I have a lot of children,” he answers simply. “Thousands, more or less.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just drop a bomb the size of Alaska in my lap. I have over a thousand siblings?
Someone needs to give Dracula a condom.
But not me, because, ew.
“Was she telling the truth?” I continue, my stomach twisting into dozens of tight, intricate knots. “Am I not your biological daughter?”
Dracula releases a heavy sigh, the tick in his jaw commandeering my attention. His reaction only reinforces what I have already suspected.
“It is true,” I whisper in numb horror. “I’m not your daughter.”
And if Diedre was telling the truth about that, then was she also telling the truth when she said one of my men helped frame me for murder? No, I can’t think like that. I refuse. The second trust is broken, it’s impossible to mend.
“No, you’re not.” He presses his lips together. “At least, not through blood. You’re my daughter in every other sense of the word.” The sincerity in his eyes is impossible to doubt. He hasn’t once claimed Diedre as his own, but me? He claimed me for the entire world to see. In his own sick, demented way, the asshole loves me.
“What am I?” I stare down at my hands as if I’ve never seen them before. For my entire life, I’ve thought these were hands that belonged to a vampire—and not just any vampire, but Dracula’s daughter. Who am I? What am I?
“I don’t know.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, forking his fingers together.
“You don’t know,” I repeat dubiously. My eyes flicker to Dimitri, still standing silently in the corner. Why is he here? What part does he play in all of this?
“You can trust him,” Dracula says, misreading my expression. “He’s loyal to me.”
Dimitri’s eyes flare at his words, face tightening in distaste, but he doesn’t contradict my father. I have the distinct feeling that Dimitri is loyal to no one but himself…and to me, though I don’t speak that thought out loud. Everything about the assassin-slash-headmaster is confusing. He’s nothing but a sexy contradiction—a beautifully wrapped package that carries nothing but spikes.
I want to demand they tell me how they know each other, if Dracula hired Dimitri from the start to protect me, but I don’t want to know those answers. I wouldn’t be able to survive if Dimitri was only protecting me because of a deal he made with my father.
“Tell me what you know,” I demand at last, and Dracula’s face tightens at my tone. He never liked when I talked back to him.
“Nineteen years ago, I received a call from a close confidant of mine…Dorian Gray.” I release a startled gasp as I once more stare intently at Dimitri, but his expression is neutral as we discuss his estranged father. “Dorian Gray had discovered something peculiar, and of course, he contacted me first and foremost.” Dracula nervously licks his upper lip, the only indication that he’s distressed by this conversation.
“Nineteen years ago…when I was born. Let me guess? He found me?”
Dracula releases a bark of dry laughter. “Don’t be so vain, my sweet daughter. He actually found your rather pregnant mother.”
“My mother?” I stop pacing and whip my head around to face him. The only thing I remember about her is that she died when I was younger from an accidental overdose.
“She was lying in the middle of the forest, sobbing. Dorian was there, as well as his son.” He nods towards Dimitri, who has gone rigid, lines of tension evident in his beautiful face. “She was dying, and she begged for me to look after her unborn baby. I accepted, of course, because I knew your mother.”
“You…knew her?” The more he talks, the more confused I become.
“We were lovers many years ago,” Dracula admits with a dismissive wave of his hand. Obviously, that disgusting snippet of information isn’t relevant to the story.
“Who was she?”
My stomach tightens to unbearable levels until I fear I’m going to expel the meager contents currently residing in my stomach.
“Your mother fell in love with a very evil man,” Dracula continues, ignoring my question. “And when she tried to leave him—taking you with her—he attempted to murder both of you. I vowed to keep you safe and love you like you were my own. I even had a witch place a spell on you to dampen your powers while keeping the ones that were decidedly vampiric strong. As you got older and more insistent that you know your birth mother, I had that same witch implant fake memories to keep you satisfied.”
“Who are my parents?” I demand, dropping myself into the chair opposite him. My legs feel wobbly and leaden, and I have no doubt that if I were to attempt to stand a second longer, I would collapse. Dimitri moves to stand beside me, face expressionless sans the slightest hardening of his eyes.
“Your mother is Hera, Queen of all the Gods, and your father is none other than Lucifer himself, the original monster. Your lineage encompasses two mythologies, two very different types of monsters, but both have their own set of enemies. If the world discovers who you truly are, you won’t have only a few monsters attempting to kill you. Every species in every world will be gunning for your ass.”
CHAPTER 41
VIOLET
“Hera,” I repeat numbly as I stare at my hands. Hands that belong to the daughter of a goddess and the devil. Only minutes ago, I was desperate to know my identity—who I am, who my parents are, what my species is. Now, I’m desperate for Dracula to break into laughter and assure me that this is nothing but a sick, demented joke. I’ll do anything to remain in my tiny, oblivious bubble for a few more minutes. Just a few. I’m not ready to face the world and the implications of his words.
“Even before we were lovers, we were close friends,” Dracula continues, eyes effectively keeping me silent. “When she asked for me to look after her daughter, I couldn’t refuse. That very night, you were born. A healthy, beautiful little girl.” He speaks with a reverence that I’ve never heard before, and I have to wonder if that respect is for me…or the power I apparently wield.
“Is she…dead?” My heart begins to thump erratically as I move my hands to the armrests of my seat. I squeeze until I fear I’m going to break my fingers. Pain like I’ve never felt before consumes me as completely as a tidal wave. I fear I’ll become lost in it. Drown in it.
“Hera?” He reclines back in his chair. The only indication he’s anything other than aloof is the tightening of his eyes. My father is a master of illusions, a master of perfecting his blank mask. To the untrained eye, he appears almost bored with this conversation. Only someone who knows him as well as I do can see the jittery way he holds himself, the way his fingers tap a staccato against the couch’s armrest. “Fortunately, your mother is alive and well.”
“And she hasn’t come for me?” I can’t hide the hurt that creeps into my voice.
“You know it’s not safe,” he answers curtly.
“Because of Lucifer?” I stick my thumb into my mouth and bite down, the blast of pain almost welcoming. It penetrates the numbness that settles heavily in my head like a depressive fog.
“Lucifer is the original monster,” Dimitri interjects, startling me. For a while, I had forgotten he was here, lurking beside me like a sexy shadow. “He created all of the monsters
we know today.”
“And he fucked my mom.” I scrub a hand down my face, wishing I could just as easily wipe away the pain and betrayal trapping me six feet underground. Because, yeah, I’m pissed. Fucking furious. For years, my father led me to believe I was nothing but a vampire, his favorite daughter. That latter statement may be true—and I know that blood doesn’t always equal family—but he still lied about my identity. He still made me believe that my mother was dead. I carried the pain of her death like battle armor. It made me stronger, while at the same time, it weighed me down. My mother is alive. Should I be ecstatic? Over the moon?
But the fact that she can’t see me? Can’t talk to me?
It only exacerbates my rage.
Dracula lightly brushes a strand of his meticulously groomed hair out of his eyes. The onyx strands contrast greatly with his pasty, almost sickly, skin. Why did I ever think we were related? Looking at him through a new lens, I realize we look positively nothing alike. While his hair is as black as pitch, mine is sunlit blonde, the strands interwoven with shades of white and a light brown. While his skin reminds me vaguely of alabaster, mine is as smooth as porcelain with a slight tan most vampires could only dream of acquiring. His nose is long and thick, the tip slightly crooked, as if it had been broken one too many times, while mine is tiny and pert. His lips are thin, while mine are lush.
“At the moment, Lucifer believes you to be dead,” Dimitri continues, once more commandeering my attention. His hands are clasped primly behind his back as he tilts his chin up. “He knows that he didn’t kill Hera, but he truly believes that he killed his demon spawn.”
I raise my hand in the air. “As his demon spawn, I very much protest to being called ‘demon spawn.’”
Ignoring me, Dimitri continues. “The world can never know the truth about your heritage. When Dracula agreed to take you in as his own, relations between vampires and the other monsters were not nearly as tense.”
