“What happened?” Dimitri spins in a circle before leveling his gaze on a trembling werewolf. “You. My office. Now.”
The wolf looks as if he’s seconds from peeing his pants, but he complies with a jerky bob of his head. Only when he scurries away does Dimitri focus once more on the assembled students.
“Vampire hate acts will not be tolerated in my school. Anyone who participates will immediately be sent to detention…or worse.” He allows his threat to linger in the air, hovering precariously like the blade of a guillotine seconds before it drops. “Until I get to the bottom of this horrendous act, I will be calling students to my office every hour. Is that understood?”
No one is moving. Hell, I’m pretty sure no one is even breathing.
I want to tell Dimitri about Cheryl and Fish Boy. The scary man from the private feeding room.
But if there’s one thing monsters hate, it’s snitches. In this world, they don’t just get fucking stitches. They get buried…ten feet under, and the majority of the time, still alive.
My stomach gurgles suddenly, capturing the attention of the entire cafeteria.
“Is there something you’d like to add, Ms. Dracula?” Dimitri asks coyly. I spot Cynthia—my old roommate—sitting at a table across the cafeteria, her eyes concerned. When she spots me looking, she blanks her expression and focuses on her human liver.
“I’m…” I trail off as my stomach rumbles a second time. “Oh shit!”
Literally.
Before I can even take a step, my stomach bottoms out, and I literally shit my pants.
“Come on,” Mason says gently as the cafeteria breaks into laughter. Jack, who has just entered the building, immediately hurries towards me, face drawn in confusion. Vin follows from behind.
“Having a shitty day?” Cheryl—now fully dressed—jests snidely, too low for Dimitri to hear. Mason snarls at her, removing his plaid shirt to wrap it around my waist.
Ignoring the bitch, I whisper, “Mase, I don’t feel so—” My stomach twists once more, and I release a pained whimper.
“Everyone, quiet down!” Dimitri says from behind us, his voice cutting through the laughter and amused whispers like the crack of a whip. When I glance over my shoulder, his face is utterly impassive, except for the slightest downwards tilt to his lips.
My eyes are drawn to a figure standing directly behind Dimitri, a large smile on his face. No Name Asshole. His tattoos ripple as he crosses his muscular arms over his chest. When he meets my gaze, he nods once in acknowledgment.
Motherfucker!
Oh, it’s on.
Let the games begin, asshole.
CHAPTER 11
VIOLET
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—my shitting incident is overshadowed by the deaths of the donors. Seven. Seven innocent men and women were slaughtered
Anger rages to life in my stomach, swirling with the intensity of a whirlpool.
It’s not as if I’m unfamiliar with death. Hell, I have killed a few people myself. I am, however, against killing people who don’t deserve it. And those donors? They did nothing except offer their blood to starving vampires.
I toss and turn all night but am unable to comprehend the point of killing the donors. Just to fuck with the vampires? Or is it for something more sinister?
The next morning, the first official Roaring practice takes place over by the cemetery. I wake up early and don a pair of gray sweatpants and the customary red t-shirt bearing the Academy’s crest. I brush my blonde curls back into a disheveled ponytail, a few disobedient strands tumbling down my cheeks.
“You rang, Pinkie?” Mason uses his hip to push open my bedroom door. Like me, he’s wearing the Academy-issued red shirt with the hideous golden crest. A pair of low-slung basketball shorts complete the ensemble. As always, his beanie rests snugly on his head, concealing his snakes.
I turn away from my reflection and stick my hands on my hips. “I need you,” I say without preamble, eyeing the throbbing vein in his neck. Jack hadn’t answered my call, and I’m still pissed at Vin. The only other options were either Frankie or Mason, and since I’m pretty sure Frankie doesn’t have blood…
“Thank, fuck,” Mason murmurs. “I’ve been needing you so fucking long that my Little Mason is beginning to ache.” Before I can ask what the hell he’s talking about, he whips off his shirt, baring his chiseled stomach and chest to me.
Dude has a six-pack. And good lordy, I have the irresistible urge to get on my hands and knees and lick down the trail of hair to his prominent V. Then, I’ll grab his cock and whisper, “Come to mommy,” before sucking him dry.
Focus, you thirsty bitch,I chastise myself, wrenching my gaze away from his mouth-watering body.
“I’ll even let you ride me,” Mason continues, untying his shorts and shrugging them down. Once they’re around his ankles, he sticks his thumbs into his boxer briefs, pushing them down just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his pubic hairs. I’d half expected them to be dozens of tiny snakes, but instead, they’re dark and curly. “Why the fuck are you still dressed? Get naked, dammit.”
“Um…Mase?” I lift one brow at him, my gaze still fixed on the outline of his erection. “I meant I need to drink from you. And no, not drink your cum. I meant your blood.”
The expression on his face? Priceless.
He glances down at his scantily-clad body and then back up to me.
“Well…” He crosses his arms over his chest, as if attempting to cover his nipples. “This is awkward.”
“Get over here and let me drink,” I say, moving to perch on the edge of my bed. “Maybe I’ll give Little Mason a present afterwards as a reward.”
He practically sprints over to me—well, waddling would be a more accurate description given his shorts are still
