I freeze, shock making me momentarily immobile. I stare up at my best friend, my brother, and confusion and anger war for dominance within me.
“But…but you’re a Van Helsing,” I protest feebly, dropping my joint onto the ground with shaky fingers. “You can’t have a mate.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” He scoffs, shifting uncomfortably in his leather chair. “But she… I don’t know how to explain it. I just know, okay? I just fucking know.”
Is that why I don’t feel jealous or possessive when Violet’s around Vin and the other guys? Because they’re her mates too?
There must be something in my expression, something hinting at my rapidly percolating thoughts, because Vin quirks one dark brow at me. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I blurt instantly. When Vin continues watching me with shrewd eyes, I ramble, “So what the fuck did you do that hurt her so badly?”
Because friend or not, brother or not, I will not hesitate to rip out his spine and gift it to Violet as a macabre necklace.
Sort of like a macaroni necklace but with…bones.
“She saw Cheryl kissing me,” he responds pensively.
Like a dam with too much pressure applied, I fucking crack. In the next moment, I’m on my feet and barreling down on the dumbass hunter, dropping my joint in my haste. He doesn’t lift a hand to stop me, despite easily being able to. I’ve just punched him a second time when I feel hands on my shoulders, pulling me backwards.
“What the hell?” I seethe, facing the intruder. Frankie holds his hands up placatingly and takes an automatic step backwards.
“I heard fighting,” he deadpans, flickering his gaze from a bloody Vin to a livid me. “I needed to make sure I didn’t need to hide a body.” He uses his middle finger to push up his thick glasses. “Now, what the bloody hell is going on?”
“Bloody hell,” Vin mocks, staggering to his feet. He wipes at a blob of blood that has formed on the corner of his lips. “You’re not even British.”
“This asshole,” I hiss, seriously wishing I had Violet’s skill at coming up with creative insults and nicknames, “kissed Cheryl in front of Violet.”
The change that comes over Frankie’s face is drastic. Before, it had been merely impassive, almost bored with the conversation at large, but at my words, his eyes flash coldly and his lips curl into a hideous sneer. He looks seconds away from pouncing on Vin and finishing what I’d started.
“She kissed me,” Vin protests immediately. Now at his full, impressive height, he towers over both me and Frankie. The intricate pattern of tattoos on his skin undulate, ripple, as he flexes. “The last thing I wanted was that viper putting her lips on me.”
I shift uncomfortably at the pointed stare Vin throws my way. Months ago, Vin and Cheryl had dated. It was a loveless relationship, but a relationship all the same. During that time, Cheryl believed herself to be in love with him and was tremendously hurt when he only saw her as a body to warm his bed.
So she came to me, crying and sobbing that Vin had broken up with her. If I had been sober, I might’ve seen through her tearful façade, but alas, I’d been high as a kite. We’d fucked, and Vin barreled in just as she orgasmed. To say he was pissed is an understatement. Not because he cared about her or was jealous…but because Vin didn’t like being betrayed.
Cheryl played both of us that day and had nearly broken our already tenuous relationship.
“You broke Violet’s heart,” I tell him now, taking great pleasure in seeing pain flash across his face. Fuck, I’m a sadistic bastard, aren’t I? I blame the fairy weed.
“We can break yours as revenge,” Frankie suggests coldly. When his eyes glint maliciously, I know that he doesn’t just mean metaphorically.
“Damn, Frank.” I whistle, shoving my hands into my back pockets and rocking on my heels. “I didn’t know you had it in ya.” To Vin, I say, “You broke it. You fix it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Don’t start this pathetic bullshit with me,” I warn, removing another joint and placing it between my teeth. “You’re Vin fucking Van Helsing. You stop monsters for a living.” Inhaling deeply, I balance the joint between my thumb and pointer finger. “Maybe the monster you need to stop this time is you.”
With that Hallmark card gold, I stalk out of the room. I can’t fix Vin’s idiotic mistakes, and I can’t stop him from being one in the first place, but I can be there for Violet.
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.