“About me joining the Roaring?” I ask from where I still sit on the ground. “Nope. Haven’t changed my mind. Still competing.”
“Violet…”
“Don’t you Violet me!” I lunge to my feet in a surprisingly graceful move and point a finger in Dimitri’s direction. “This has nothing to do with you.”
His teeth grind together as he stands to his full, impressive height, towering over me and making me feel unbelievably small and dainty. And…safe. The man is a glorified serial killer, yet I have never felt more protected than I do in his daunting shadow. “You’ll die,” he hisses, the sound eerily similar to the snakes on Mason’s head.
“Why do you care?” I counter immediately, and I have the pleasure of seeing a crack in Dimitri’s apathetic exterior. I can’t put my finger on the emotion in his ice-blue eyes, but it’s enough to stop me from mounting another argument. My tongue feels like cotton, and I open and close my mouth repeatedly, unable to conjure up another word.
As quickly as it appears, that flicker of life dissipates, leaving his face expressionless once more. “You’re right. I don’t care. Die for all the fucks I give.”
He briskly steps away from me, moving to sit once more behind his desk. My lungs struggle to replenish their air supply, as if when he left, he took all of the oxygen with him.
“Don’t be an ass,” I snap, dropping myself back into the leather, high-back chair.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he retorts immediately. Silence ensues as we both glare at each other, each of us demanding compliance. I want him to tell me what the fuck is going on, and he demands I listen to him without questions. Frankly? That’s not going to work for me. I’m a stab first, ask questions later kind of girl, except for when it’s my own freedom on the line.
If Dimitri expects me to listen, I’ll need answers.
Like, why? Why is he so insistent I quit the Roaring before it has even begun? Why does he express such a keen interest in me, of all people? Is it because of who my father is?
Dimitri tilts his head to the side as he examines me as thoroughly as I examine him. Finally, he reaches into his desk and procures a heavy textbook. “There’s a new class starting tomorrow at nine in the morning. It’s designed to focus on the analytical side of the Roaring. I, of course, will be teaching it, and I expect you to attend.” His tone brooks no room for argument, but of course, being the smartass I am, I can’t help but complain a teensy tiny bit.
“I have class that hour,” I say immediately, attempting to hand him back the textbook. “I can’t just skip—”
“You can and you will.” He levels me with a no-nonsense glare, the message clear enough.
He will not put up with my shit.
“Fine,” I concede at last, shoving the book into my backpack. “Is that all?”
The smirk on his face bodes trouble for me. “Remember, Violet, that there is a difference between a sociopath and a psychopath. The one similarity?” His smile grows until twin dimples appear on both his cheeks. “You can’t trust either.”
I STARE at my reflection in the full-length mirror as I dab blush onto my cheeks. Hopefully, I don’t look like a fucking clown. My eyes automatically flicker to Cynthia’s deserted bed, as they always do when I have a joke I want to say. My stomach tightens into knots when I see that it’s, once again, empty.
Dammit, I actually miss the girl. A lot. Who knew I would grow so attached to a female with a retractable vagina and five sets of tits?
Shaking my head vehemently, I turn towards the dress I have draped over the bed. It’s a tiny black number with spaghetti straps and a belt cinched around the waist. On me, the hem ends just above my knees, still modest, but showcasing my long legs.
I slip it on, loving how soft it feels against my skin. I have forgone a bra, but decided underwear was necessary, given how short it is.
I complete the ensemble with a silver bat necklace I got from Dracula himself. My blonde curls tumble around my shoulders, the white highlights heightening the golden locks. I feel beautiful. Sexy, even.
Confident.
I can’t help but smile at my reflection and see her smile back at me. Her eyes are alight with happiness. The shadows that once plagued her are nowhere to be seen. Sure, they still make a periodic appearance like pesky weeds, but they’re no longer completely consuming me.
A knock on the door startles me, and I grab my clutch off my bedside table.
“Coming! I hope you’re—”
My words trail off when, instead of Frankie at the door as I expected, I see Cynthia. The Woman in White has her dark hair loose today, cascading around her shoulders in snarly waves. She wears a flowy white dress that tightens around her breasts before sweeping outwards at her waist. Her pale skin has undertones of yellow and dusky brown, a common trait in all banshees.
“Violet,” she says stiffly.
“Cynthia.” I fold my arms over my chest and step away to let her inside. Despite not sleeping in here the last few days, it’s still her room. She hasn’t officially made a request with the registrar’s office to switch roommates.
“I’m just picking up a few of my things,” she declares as she stalks to her closet, ripping it open and grabbing a white dress off its hanger. It’s the exact same color and style of the dress she has on. Pretty sure it’s the only thing she owns. She haphazardly tosses the dress over her arm and turns to stare at me. Her eyes give me an assessing once-over before she nods sharply. “You look cute.”
“Thanks,” I say sincerely, shocking even myself. Shouldn’t I
