“What do you want me to do? Pound into your sweet pussy? Lick you dry? Finger you to heaven?” He winks seductively at me, and I swear my vagina winks back. Shameless hussy.
“You’ll see,” I say lightly. “Now get your ass up and dressed. It’s time to train.”
Chapter 12
Violet
At some point during the night, it must’ve rained. Pregnant gray storm clouds can still be seen hovering over the horizon. A frigid wind blows at the back of my neck as I step into the cemetery bogged down with weeds. My eyes automatically flicker to the large oak tree planted right in the midst of all the gravestones. It feels like it’s been years since I first met Jack and Hux, but I know it can’t have been more than a few weeks.
Mason sulks beside me, still peeved that I hadn’t allowed him to give me an orgasm. And, friends, my vagina is livid with me as well.
Later, I tell her seriously. It’s important to have a good relationship with your furburger—to nurture it and feed it. If you don’t, it’ll wither up and die a slow and painful death.
Near the largest tomb at the edge of the cemetery, over fifty students stand in a single-file line as Mummy—aka, King Tut—paces before them. When he catches sight of Mason and me, his eyes narrow into slits through the pale bandages on his face.
“You’re late!” he bellows, his voice echoing through the silent graveyard. Even the dead are still sleeping at this hour.
I exchange a wide-eyed glance with Mason before breaking into a run and joining the end of the line.
I spot Vin and Jack standing together, identical expressions of concern marring their handsome faces. Before I can lift my hand up to wave, Cheryl sticks her head out from the opposite side of Vin and smiles smugly at me. Disgust swirls in my gut like a live nest of snakes as she loops her arm with Vin’s. I can’t help the pang of jealousy and rage that explode within me like errant fireworks, despite the fact he shoves her away with a sneer of disgust.
Surprisingly enough, I see Frankie standing farther down the line, his back ramrod straight. Frankie? Competing in the Roaring? The man sells drugs in exchange for getting out of gym class. Exercise and him is the equivalent to…exercise and me. Let’s be honest—why run a mile, when you can stay at home, curled beneath a blanket, while binge-watching Netflix and eating ice cream from the tub? Some people need to get their priorities in order.
“This year alone, there are over three hundred monsters registered to compete in the Roaring,” Mummy begins in a curt voice. His hands are clasped behind his back as he paces, giving him a regal, imperious demeanor. Even in the full-body wrappings, he looks every inch the Egyptian king.
“Three hundred,” a girl squeaks, and Mummy whips his head in her direction, leveling her with a glare that reminds me distinctly of a frosted-over sword.
“Are you scared?” he whispers menacingly, taking a step closer until he’s towering over the slip of a girl. When she defiantly shakes her head, lower lip trembling, Mummy releases a harsh bark of laughter. “Well, you should be. The Roaring is immensely dangerous. Last year, we had one hundred and fifty-seven deaths. Do you know how many people competed last year?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, spinning on his heel until he has resumed his eccentric pacing once more. “Two hundred. One hundred and fifty-seven monsters died out of the two hundred competitors. Does anyone know that percentage?”
Don’t pick me. Don’t pick me. Don’t pick me.
“Violet?” Mummy stares at me intently.
“Um…”
Mental math. The bane of my existence. Give me a cadaver, and I can tell you how to remove the heart with minimal damage to the other organs, but ask me to solve a math problem without a calculator, and my brain turns to mush. That’s third grade shit right there. Fourth grade, they teach you the good stuff—like how to use a fucking calculator.
I pretend to think about it for a long moment. “…you carry the eight and move the four to the right.”
“That’s seventy-eight point five percent,” Gills, of all fucking people, says helpfully. She throws a pointed look in my direction, her lips curling in a hideous sneer. I half want to warn her that her face will stick like that…if it wasn’t already ugly as sin. The obstetrician probably took one look at her face, one look at her butt, and told her mother that she had birthed a set of twins. “I wonder how many vampire deaths there were?”
Mason tenses beside me, and I notice Vin giving Cheryl a scathing glare. She merely fluffs up her orange hair with a roll of her eyes.
“Are we late?” a familiar voice inquires. “Please tell me we’re not late. I told you that we should’ve left earlier.”
“No fucking way,” I breathe as Cal and Barret saunter through the gravestones, Cal’s magnificent wings on full display for the world to see. “Cal? Barret?”
Before my brain can even catch up to what is happening, I’m racing towards them, my hands outstretched. One of my arms links around Cal’s neck while the other encompasses Barret.
“What are you doing here?” I pull back to stare into each of their faces. Due to their past transgressions, Cal and Barret are forced to remain in the upper levels of the Academy. I’m not exactly sure what they did that was deemed horrific enough to be locked away, and I haven’t dared to ask. They have only been allowed outside a few times before—every Halloween night. Even then, they had a chip in their necks that would explode if they didn’t return to their prison by midnight.
“We’re competing,” Barret replies with an easy smile, ruffling my blonde curls. “Are you happy to see us, Cheese Curd?”
Someone begins laughing behind me, but she quickly smothers the noise when Barret swivels his head in her direction. I place my hand on his arm to reclaim his attention.
“Of course,” I reply earnestly. When Cal’s feathers begin to ruffle—quite literally—I place a hand on his arm as well. We all have our vices, and Cal’s makes him a drama queen.
“She would be friends with the psycho monsters,” a cold voice retorts from behind me, and I spin on my heel, unsurprised to see the shit head from yesterday standing in line with the rest of us monsters. He’s wearing the customary red shirt, but it does little to dissipate the darkness that seems to cling to him like a second skin. With his tousled black hair, numerous piercings, and the tattoos that cover every available swath of skin, he’s a sight to behold. I might’ve even considered him sexy, if he wasn’t such a pompous jackass.
“What’s your problem?” I hiss, baring my fangs. When I take a step closer, all of my men spring into action. Vin and Mason step up to either side of me, while Jack and Frankie take up the rear. Even Cal and Barret look as if they’re charging into battle, fierce scowls on their faces.
The man continues to look at me, anger and rage simmering in his fathomless black eyes. They’re like twin abysses—one wrong move, and you could get lost in them forever.
“Don’t talk to me,” he says through gritted teeth. He clenches his jaw and stares pointedly over my head, almost as if my face physically pains him.
“Alex, leave the vampire whore alone,” Cheryl whines, slithering up to him like the lizard she is. She places her hand on his arm—as she just did with Vin—and like with him, Alex levels her with a frosty glare before storming away.