How does she do this to me?
“Can I give you a hand with that?” a coy voice says from behind me. Someone must’ve followed me into the bathroom.
I lift my head marginally to meet the pair of bright green eyes staring back at me. She’s pretty, I suppose, with large tits clearly visible through her skin-tight shirt. Hourglass figure. Mane of curly orange hair. The old me would’ve fucked her against the grime-coated bathroom stall and then sent her on her merry way. The new me…
I’m almost tempted to fuck her anyway, just to stop the incessant babbling in my head. It’s like there’s an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, both demanding I listen to them. The devil wants me to forget about Violet, forget about her doe-like eyes and mischievous smirk. Forget about her peaked nipples as Frankie plucked them between his fingers. He wants me to fuck this red-headed woman until we’re both screaming our release, her too-large tits bouncing in my face.
But the angel? He’s revolted. Instead of seeing a beautiful woman, he sees a complication that will stop us from getting what we so desperately desire.
“Get the fuck out,” I hiss at the woman, and she scatters like her life depends on it. In all actuality, it probably does.
Without bothering to lock the bathroom door, I pull my throbbing cock free from the confines of my pants. My eyes roll back into my head as I begin to stroke myself from base to tip. Violet’s hooded gaze flashes through my head. The lust emitting from her bright eyes. The sultry tilt to her lips.
And her pussy glistening with the evidence of her arousal.
I begin to stroke myself faster and faster as the image changes. Now, she’s leaned over Frankie, her cheeks hollowed as she sucks him. Her glorious breasts brush against his knees with each bob of her head, her nipples beaded diamonds.
Just before I reach the impending explosion, I press down on my balls in the way I saw Violet do to Frankie. Pleasure courses through me, momentarily stealing the breath from my lungs. My vision turns hazy as I press my free hand to the sink to steady myself.
Fucking hell.
Fucking Violet.
With a growl, I shove my dick back into my pants, not bothering to clean myself up. It’ll feel like a win for Violet if I do that—though I don’t understand my own logic.
Believe it or not, I don’t stalk Violet all the time. I actually wasn’t at the club to see her.
I have a job to do, and her fucking show almost caused me to fail at it.
Heart hammering, I wash my hands, refusing to stare at my reflection in the mirror. The rumors are true about me and my family—the mirror shows the truth about our monsters, the truth about us. And the last thing I want to be reminded of is the darkness polluting my soul, distorting me into a monster completely unrecognizable.
Fuck me.
Fuck my monster.
And fuck Violet Dracula.
Only when I feel like myself again do I emerge from the bathroom.
My eyes immediately want to latch on to the booth I had last seen Violet and Frankie at, but I will myself to look away. My control is tenuous at best, and I don’t trust myself around her. When I’m in Violet’s presence, I’m not Dimitri Gray the headmaster, Dimitri Gray the assassin, or Dimitri Gray the monster.
I’m hers. And I hate it.
Instead of entering the main dance floor, I turn towards the steep staircase leading to the upper levels. The second floor is for the VIP members only, but it’s the third and fourth floor that capture my interest. Only the true monsters party up there.
I find my victim on the third floor, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. An unfamiliar female sits at his feet, sucking his dick, and his four business associates spread out in a semi-circle around him, each with a female of their own. Fortunately for them, my client only hired me to take out Matthew Peder. He owns a winery a few miles away from here, but that’s only a front. According to my source, he also traffics females.
Particularly, vampire females.
Since I took the job at the Academy, I’ve been extremely selective over which cases I take. And since I met Violet, I haven’t taken any that would force me to leave the city.
This man? This chupacabra?
He’ll pay for all he has done.
I remain in the shadows as I watch him converse with the other men. At one point, the female finishes her blowjob and moves to perch on the arm of his chair. When he begins to finger her pussy, I look away with annoyance.
Finally, Matthew excuses himself from his companions to refill his glass. Using the shadows as coverage, I follow him to the purple-lit bar.
“…take it for what it is,” a very drunk Matthew slurs to the impassive bartender. “And what it is, is a pain in my ass.” He guffaws as if he just told the most hilarious joke before taking the proffered bottle. Over his shoulder, the bartender—a man named Bernie—meets my gaze and dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. I have been around enough for Bernie to know not to question me. If there’s one thing monsters covet above all else, it’s self-preservation.
Before Matthew can turn around, I grab his shoulder and tug him a short distance away, towards a mirror I had installed years ago.
There are numerous purposes for mirrors. They show you your true self, the darkness you attempt to hide behind a teasing smile and a beautiful face. But they’re also a pathway, a portal, if you will. You just need to know how to use them.
Matthew lets out a strangled cry, attempting to scream for his friends, but I have already pulled us both through the mirror.
It’s a sickening sensation, like wading through knee-deep tar. It clings to my body and makes
