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
