“I need to talk to you,” I blurt abruptly. “About Diedre Stevens.”
There’s a prolonged pause on the other end of the line. For a moment, I believe he has hung up on me. I glance at the screen bemusedly, just as his slightly shrill voice echoes from the phone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dad,” I begin, bringing the phone back up to my ear. “You’re acting suspicious as fuck right now. She said—”
“Not now,” he cuts in, tone scathing. “We’ll meet Friday night. I’ll text you the address.”
With that ominous statement, he hangs up on me. I stare at the now dark screen of my phone with growing confusion and horror.
One thing is for certain—Vladimir Dracula is hiding something from me.
My confusion doesn’t abate by the time I enter the cafeteria. If anything, it grows like a seed finding soil and taking root in my stomach.
The inside is exactly how I would imagine a human cafeteria to look like. Of course, there are small variations—like the buffet of human body parts run by monsters with spiders for hair. A few human donors sit on uncomfortable plastic chairs against the far wall. Opposite them is a separate hallway that leads to the private feeding rooms.
It’s the latter location I head to, my mind consumed with Dracula’s curt tone. He almost sounded…afraid. What the fuck does he have to be afraid of? He is the apex predator; the monster that other monsters are wary of.
I’ve just reached the private feeding rooms when I notice Jennifer pacing just outside. She’s a vampire like me, with an hourglass figure and pitch-black hair. Her smoky eyes turn in my direction, and I’m struck by the pure, undiluted hatred there. Like, damn, girl, did I pee in your Cheerios or something?
“They’re not letting us fucking feed,” she hisses, baring her fangs.
“Huh?” I turn towards my usual room. Jack is scheduled to meet me in the next five minutes, after he finishes class.
“The fucking vampire haters,” Jennifer seethes. “They’re not letting us feed.”
My brows furrowing, I push open the first door.
Only to vomit in my throat when I catch a glimpse of Cheryl’s tits as she rides Fish Boy.
Have you ever seen tits made of gills before? Have you? Because let me just say, they’re a sight to behold. Every time they bounce, the blue gills sparkle in the artificial lighting. I’m pretty sure her nipples are a shade of blue as well.
And…
I really should stop staring at my nemesis’s nipples.
The boy she’s riding like a fucking pogo-stick is the same asshole who attacked me the first day of school. His girlfriend, Ali, was murdered only a few weeks earlier.
Just proves my point. No men are loyal.
His cock—lined with gills—thrusts in and out of a moaning Cheryl.
For the longest time, I sorta assumed they were related.
Cue—actual, honest-to-god vomit.
Cheryl meets my eyes as she continues to ride Fish Boy. Pure malice flashes in her gaze as she throws her head back, thrusting her blue tits further in my direction. She begins to knead the heavy globe as her other hand plucks at her clit.
“Oh, Vin!” she screams as Fish Boy’s hips begin to move erratically.
“You know, I can literally see that the man you’re fucking is not, in fact, Vin,” I point out.
“Harder, Vin! Harder!” She leans forward, tits swaying, and Fish Boy places a hand on the back of her head to hold her steady.
“Still not Vin,” I murmur.
Her voice is a gasp when she speaks next. “I’m just remembering the way he used to fuck me. Or wait…maybe I’m thinking about Mason.” She twists her head to smile up at me, tweaking her own nipples. “Actually, I’m most definitely thinking of Vin.”
Of course, that immediately makes me think of what I’d witnessed in the hallway, and my vision becomes coated with a red sheen. Jealousy pulsates through me in tandem to my repeatedly beating heart. I clench and unclench my hands as I stare Cheryl down.
Vin’s not with her. If he was with her, she would be rubbing that in my face. Don’t let her win, Violet. Don’t let the bitch fucking win.
I take a deep, calming breath just as Cheryl begins screaming louder, her voice overshadowing Fish Boy’s own inarticulate phrases.
This is so fucking weird.
“I’m just going to…um…leave.” Slowly, I back out of the room, just as Fish Boy grabs his gilled-dick, pulls it out of Cheryl’s cunt, and spins her around to spill his seed onto her breasts. It’s…blue. And sparkly. Using his dick, he begins to rub it into her nipples, which I swear are turning into seashells. No fucking joke. You can’t make this shit up.
The door closes silently behind me as I step back into the hall. Jennifer leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow raised.
“See what I mean?”
“Are all the rooms like that?” I gesticulate towards the room of horror. I’m pretty sure I need to bleach my eyes out after that scene.
“Some people are fucking. Some are just sitting and refusing to leave.” With an irritated huff, Jennifer turns on her heel and stalks away, no doubt to feed on the public donors stationed in the cafeteria.
I open doors at random, my agitation growing by the second. In one, there’s a full-blown orgy occurring. A male is fucking another male against a table as he sucks on a girl’s pussy. In front of them, two girls are rubbing their nipples together while two men fuck them from behind.
And…
Now I’m thinking of orgies.
With my guys.
Well, not my guys, but my guy friends who are guys.
The third room proves to be the same—a big, giant clusterfuck. Literally. It’s the fourth room that gives me a pause.
A single man is leaning against the table, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl firmly fixed on his face. He has hair so dark it’s almost the color of pitch, and he wears a form-fitting black t-shirt that clings to his pectorals. Tattoos run up his arms from the tips of his fingers, a myriad of colors and symbols. He looks extremely badass and extremely scary.
“Hey,” I begin awkwardly, lifting my hand and wiggling my fingers. “Um…I was wondering if I could use this room to drink.”
Kill ‘em with kindness is what my dad always tells me. Well, at least the first part. Kill ‘em.
He doesn’t answer, eyes narrowed intently on me.
“Is that a yes?” I tentatively ask, quirking a brow. I swear I see his scowl deepen, as if my voice alone irritates the shit out of him. “A maybe?”
“Vampire scum don’t deserve to eat,” he bites out at last. I’m shocked by the aversion in his tone. It goes beyond petty squabble. It’s absolute hatred and loathing.
My temper flares immediately as I stalk up to the cumquat.
“Because I’m a vampire? Because you’re afraid I’m stronger than you? Faster than you?” His eyes narrow dangerously the closer I get, but it only fuels my hate fire. “Who the fuck are you? Do you even go here?” I shake my head vigorously.
Focus, Violet.
“Zombies need human brains to eat. Ghouls need live body flesh. Witches require human body parts for their spells. What makes us so fucking different? Is it because we’re more durable? Because we’re more powerful?”