His nostrils flare as I take another step closer. Before I can continue my amazing rant—if I do say so myself—my back is pressed against the wall and his hand is around my throat.
“You’re all disgusting vermin,” he hisses, spittle flying in my face. “None of you deserve to live. Watch out, little vampire. You’re soon going to find out that you have more enemies than friends at this Academy.” Abruptly, he releases me, nodding towards a fridge in the far corner of the room. “You can have one bag. That’s all we’re going to allow.”
“We?” I want to fight back—push my luck—but there’s something dangerous lurking in his dark eyes. Something that makes me tremble with barely veiled fear.
“The Anti-Vampire Resistance.” His lips curl into an evil smirk. “You’re lucky Dimitri Gray is headmaster, or else I’d stick a stake into your heart.”
Yeah, let’s not and say we did.
“Nice talking to you,” I murmur, quickly grabbing the blood bag and using my vampiric speed to exit the room.
What the ever-loving fuck is happening?
I nearly trip over my own two feet when I enter the cafeteria and see the public donors. Or, lack thereof.
Every single human donor is dead, their lifeless, glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling. I can’t tell who—or what—killed them. I recognize a few of them—a man named Jerry, a woman named Sarah, a woman named Alixandra, and a man called Harry. A few vampires hover on the outskirts, faces etched in horror.
Anxious murmuring erupts across the cafeteria. I watch as Vin removes himself from the Van Helsing table and inches a step closer to me. He doesn’t speak to me or even acknowledge me, but I know he’s as aware of my presence as I am of his.
“Pinkie!” Mason hurries through the throng of whispering monsters until he’s able to pull me into his arms. His gaze narrows on the sea of dead donors. “What the fuck happened?”
Did that guy do this? The Anti-Vampire Resistance guy?
The doors to the cafeteria fly open as a group of professors hurry inside. At the front, leading the charge, is Dimitri himself. He looks like darkness personified, his all black clothes juxtaposed by his pure white hair. His eyes search the crowd before stopping on me. He surveys me from head to toe, inspecting for injuries, before he turns away to face the dead donors.
“Somebody better start talking.” He doesn’t yell—doesn’t even raise his voice—but the entire cafeteria stills, knowing danger when they sense it.
Hands shaking, I rip open my blood bag and suck it dry. I’ll ask one of the guys to come to my room tonight so I can feed, but for now, I’m going to rely on stale bagged blood. It tastes almost sour, as if it’s been sitting out for a while. It’s nothing compared to the raw power in Vin’s and Jack’s blood.
“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.