Monsters (Prodigium Academy, #1)

by Katie May

With a speed that defies logic, I race towards my attacker. And promptly trip over an orange construction cone in the street.

I blame it on the growl. What person would respect a monster that sounds like a bat giving anal?

A few feet behind him is the Van Helsing dipshit who dared try to hurt me. I glare at his dismembered body. “Take that, bitch,” I say snottily, as if I had any hand in his death.

I open my mouth to say all that, to beg him to change his mind, to give me another chance, when his large hands grasp my neck and abruptly snap it. Parent of the fucking year.

I take one last helpless glance at my cute canopy bed, the severed head on my dresser (because everyone has one), and the spiderwebs on the wall. I named the little guy Peanut. The spider, not the head. The head’s name is Bob.

I remain silent, lips pursed into a thin line. Because how do I explain to someone that I sliced their dick in half?

I have a pretty good success rate, I’ll say. Nine out of ten. But sometimes… Well… Sometimes I get a dick cut in half, slithering like the snakes on Medusa’s head. At least I didn’t set it on fire this time.

How the man can hear remains a mystery, but he does a weird half bow thing. When Dad nods and continues walking into the dorm, I realize that must mean his dad is doing good. Noted. I officially can speak Headlessness.

But, like, in my case, my snapped neck slowly rolls back into place. It’s a lot of grotesque, creaking noises and pained grunts. A few curse words here and there.

“Sorry about that. I’m not usually...well...I haven’t really committed murder. I mean, not in a couple weeks. Honestly, I thought I was past that phase.” She rolls her dark eyes. “So yeah. What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry for accidentally murdering you. I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us.” She twists her fingers anxiously, uneasily, in her lap.

“Err...yeah. Don’t worry about it. Accidental murder happens all the time,” I reply. Because, really, what can I say?

“No killing,” I say, gulping. “Should be easy enough.” It’s hard to kill a lot of monsters. For the most part, we bounce right back as if it was any other Saturday night.

She’s everything I never knew I wanted, a vision of elegance and grace. Right as I think that, she trips over a rock and faceplants on the ground. Wincing, she rubs at her forehead and scrambles back to her feet.

This girl—this blonde-haired, dewy face girl—is my mate. And if her close proximity to Dracula is any indication, she’s his daughter. As a wise man once told me, “Fuck me sideways, backwards, and everywhere in between.”

There’s a reason us girls bleed out of our vaginas: to warn away monsters. Show them how badass and deadly we can be. Oh, your cock shoots out cum. How quaint. My pussy? Yeah. We have blood, motherfuckers. And...I’m getting off track.

It takes real skill to perfect such a smile. I had to practice for days in the mirror before the humans stopped running from me. Apparently, grimacing malevolently while holding the severed head of your enemy is not the way to make friends. Who knew? I still have that head, if you want to know. My first accidental kill.

And dammit, I like my blood in my body where it belongs (yes, I see the irony).

she says, reaching onto her bedside table to grab her nose and eyeballs. Yup. Cynthia apparently doesn’t sleep with her facial features.

The trail is overgrown with weeds, long branches obscuring the exit from view. It looks like the type of trail she would lead me down seconds before she murdered me. “Okay!” I say happily, skipping along beside her. If I’m murdered, at least I’ll die knowing ahead of time that I’m a dumbass.

Note to self: don’t ever, not ever, trust a man. Instead, cut up their bodies and bathe in their blood.

“Hello, little miss. Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you having a shitty day?” When she stares at me blankly, mouth agape, I continue, “Then you need the new and improved Mason Medusa. Satisfaction guaranteed. If he breaks, or if he doesn’t perform to your standards, feel free to return him to get a full refund. And if you act fast, I’ll throw in a Frankie as well.”

So, here I am, preparing to feast on him—” My cock hardens while I simultaneously plan ways to murder the donor. “—when some asshole shoves me to the ground.” Frankie’s expression turns dark. Turning towards me, he says, “I have ways to dispose of a dead body.” “And I have ways to kill a body,” I add.

Van Helsing or not, best friend or not, I will not hesitate to kill him if he tries to harm my mate. My loyalty has changed in the last five minutes. She doesn’t know it yet—she doesn’t know me yet—but I have just become hers unconditionally. At the same time, Violet is mine, and I’ll always protect my own. After all, how can we be monsters if we’re not selfish assholes?

determined more than ever to follow my internal promise to sacrifice all men and wash in their delicious blood. Not that I’m a psychopath, mind you. Just moderately psycho.

Oh shit, she’s talking to me. Say something normal, Violet. For the love of Dracula, say something fucking normal. “I gave your brother an orgasm,” I blurt. There you have it, folks. The reason why I have no friends. Fucking shit, brain. You had one job to do, and it was not that.

Listen up ladies and gentlemen. Don’t ever, not ever, allow a guy or girl to treat you like Vin did me. You’re not trash, and the minute someone starts treating you like it, carve out his heart and eat it. This concludes my public service announcement. Suck dicks. Don’t be one.

Vin places his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “You okay? I saw—” Before he can finish whatever he’s going to say, I lift my leg and knee him in the balls. Motherfucker shouldn't have messed with a monster.

One of Frankenstein’s creations—a large green monster with thread woven into his face—removes his arm and hands it to her like an offering. She takes it with an easy, slightly sardonic and sociopathic grin, before turning back towards Vin. And proceeds to hit him with the arm.

I focus on Violet who is currently sitting on Vin and...tickling him?

Yup. My little monster is using the borrowed arm to tickle Vin’s side, and Vin—the epitome of cool and collected usually—is laughing hysterically, attempting to bat her away. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Violet watches her go with more amusement than fear on her face. She turns back to us eagerly. “Does that mean we're best friends again?” she asks indicating the hall where Vanessa has disappeared down. Mason sighs heavily, and Vin pinches the bridge of his nose.

I protect my precious treasure, he replies at last, and the words send a chill through me. Fuck, Hux is a scary motherfucker when he wants to be. His letters didn’t tell me that.

Straightening my shoulder and raising my head, I try to recall one of the many life lessons my father has given me: act confident, and you’ll begin to feel confident. That, and don’t just bury a body. Burn it.

“Yeah, I thought you got some sort of pass because you were supplying the teacher with drugs,” the wind adds. That shall be Vin’s new name. He doesn’t deserve any other title.

Hux makes a rumbling sound deep in his throat, and Mummy whips his head to face the dark-haired monster. “Umm...three?” Mummy tries, and Hux’s growl intensifies. He’s scaring me. And also turning me on. But then again, I’m a kinky bitch. “Five?” Mummy questions, and Hux nods his head. Clearing his throat, Mummy attempts to gain control of the situation he already lost. “Okay, I’ll pick the teams—” Another growl echoes from my scary friend.

He probably didn’t expect to go to class today and get verbally manhandled by a guy with a split personality.

I have the distinct impression Hux would physically tackle me to the ground and shield me from the sun. Maybe he’ll even try to destroy it, plunging us into endless darkness. The man’s pretty fucked up.

“I’m giving him sexual favors in exchange for protection,” I blurt to the man and his friends. Everyone blinks at me. Everyone. Even Mummy has stopped talking to a student on the opposite side of the gym to stare at me.

If I was weird, I might start inhaling him like one would inhale cocaine. But I’m not weird, so I just lick him instead.

“I care,” I say immediately, and then blush. Play. It. Cool. “I care about you, Frankie.” Dammit.

I kind of want to kill her. Like, girl, stay in your lane. He’s obviously here with another girl and isn’t interested in you.

Vin, in all the years since I have befriended him, has never once apologized. Not once. Not even when he fell asleep on a girl in the middle of sex because she was taking too long to orgasm. Not when he accidentally stabbed the wrong guy in the back on a hunt. Not when he punched me in the face after that bitch, Cheryl, seduced me.

Like Vin, he takes an intimidating step forward. I try to trail along behind looking similarly badass. But to be frank? A guy in a beanie with a glazed look in his eyes can’t be badass. It’s literally impossible.

“If he does, I’ll cut off his dick and feed it to him like a dog. Make him get on his hands and knees and bark for his dog food,” Vin replies darkly, and both Jack and I blink at him. What the everloving fuck? I always suspected Vin was in to some kinky shit, but this is next level.

But then again, I’ll also be liable to run into a wall and knock myself unconscious. Dark halls? Unfamiliar landscape? My clumsy ass? Not a good combination. On a scale of one-to-live, I’ll be a negative twenty. I’ll probably kill someone else with me.

“It’s Cal and Barret. I told you that. They don’t like those other names—says it gives them a bad rep. And about the girl...well...we’ve all killed someone before, haven’t we? We’re monsters. You can’t blame them for lashing out when they’re locked in here like prisoners just because they’re different. Cal was starving,” she defends, and the red-haired Cupid gives my mate a look I really don’t like.

“My mate goes into detention to be sacrificially slaughtered and leaves as the best friend of the monsters who were supposed to kill her,” Mason mutters, too low for anyone but me to hear. “Just fucking great.” Great. That’s the beginning to a twisted joke. A vampire, the Boogeyman, and Cupid walk into detention together… The Breakfast Club: Monster Edition.

He groveled, I forgave him, so we should be good. I told him I could easily feed from a donor, but what did the asshole do? He growled at me. Fucking growled. I call him my blood bitch now.

interrupting my reading of a riveting passage about a human who claimed to know about the existence of monsters and murdered dozens of people on our behalf. Like, fuck, John, we may be monsters, but we don’t just murder random people without just cause. The details are both gruesome and enthralling.

“Next time I’m woken up by a hot assassin in the middle of the fucking night,” Cynthia begins, her voice coming from the opposite corner of her body. “You need to be a good friend and help me find my fucking tits.”