Roaring

mine—rambles about the proper ways to dispose of a wendigo’s body. Set it on fire, and the chemicals on the monster’s skin will cause the flames to become an inferno, capable of destroying entire forests. The best solution? Cut off the head and bury the body ten feet deep. That way, the wendigo isn’t capable of climbing out from underground.
Most of the students are diligently taking notes, but I zone out. I’ve studied this before.
Years ago, actually, when I was just a boy. My grandfather sat down beside me with a heavy tome. Dust particles wafted off the cover as he dropped it onto the table with an audible thud.
“You need to know how to kill every type of monster, boy,” he said, ruffling my hair. “You never know when you’ll have to choose between their life…and yours.”
That was a few years before my grandfather—one of the only people who’d ever truly loved me—was murdered.
I clench my hands into fists as the familiar tendrils of pain and rage wrap around my mind, clouding my vision. Dracula, himself, had been the one to end his life. To rid the world of the last good man capable of differentiating between right and wrong, capable of enacting justice but also offering forgiveness. Another man who had his life snuffed out too soon by the evil in this world.
Vanessa inconspicuously nudges my shoulder, anchoring me back to the here and now. I shoot my twin a grateful look as I hone in on our teacher’s next words.
“…with the current events of the world.” He moves to rest against the edge of his desk, his legs crossed almost indolently. Mr. Van Helsing—Alfred—likes to believe he’s superior to all of us younger hunters. However, if Alfred was a capable hunter at all, he would be on the field, not in the classroom.
No, Alfred Van Helsing is just a sad, pathetic excuse of a man.
“What is your opinion of the vampires on campus?” a petite, non-related hunter asks from the front of the classroom. Abigail or something. I probably should remember, considering I fucked her a year or two ago.
It takes a moment for her words to penetrate the depressive fog in my brain.
Vampires?
My skin prickles as I straighten in my seat. The other hunters aren’t aware of my relationship with Violet. Or lack thereof. If people knew she was my fated mate…
I shake my head vigorously.
No, no one knows the truth. If they did, I wouldn’t be sitting here in class, alive and breathing. They think that I’m offering protection to Violet in exchange for blowjobs, and I’ll be damned if they find out the truth.
Alfred’s face darkens at the female’s question as he drums his fingers on the edge of the desk.
“We’ve been instructed by the new headmaster not to speak poorly of the vamps.” His pursed lips—as if he has eaten something sour—shows exactly what he thinks about that decree.
The new headmaster? Hopefully, this man or woman is better than the last one. I’m still filled with a blinding rage when I think about the old headmaster, a descendant of Wolfman. He had attempted to murder Violet, until Dimitri fucking Gray murdered him. I still don’t know the full story. Violet has refused to talk to me since Halloween, when she spotted me in the room with Cheryl. Nothing fucking happened besides me telling Cheryl I was done with her and her petty games, but I know Violet feels betrayed in a roundabout way.
I did, however, pry Frankie for details. He has been tight-lipped about this entire thing. However, he assured me that the threat has been handled. For now.
“We should kill all the fucking bloodsuckers before they kill us,” a boy exclaims, leaning forward with a vicious glint in his eyes. My muscles are as taut as the strings on a bow, but I will myself not to outwardly react.
When the class immediately erupts into enthusiastic chatter, I ball my hands into fists and take a deep, steadying breath.
At one point, these men and women were my friends and family members. But that was before I met Violet. Before I began to care for someone more than I cared for myself. More than I cared for the hunt. Now, my thoughts are consumed by the petite blonde-haired angel with a whimsical laugh, cocksure grin, and glimmering eyes. For the first time in my life, I want to murder all of the other hunters in order to protect Violet from their wrath.
“They killed all of those people,” another hunter states. “Dracula’s bitch killed those people.”
I’m seconds from lunging at the boy when Vanessa gracefully stands beside me, dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Despite her soft smile, her eyes are hewn from steel. They’re harsh, hard, and utterly unforgiving.
“I believe it’s already been proven that vampires weren’t behind the attack,” she says diplomatically.
And that’s true…officially. On the paperwork, with all of the i’s dotted and t’s crossed.
The true story? Diedre Stevens, a teacher here and a vampire, killed all those students and framed Violet in order to make a martyr out of my mate. Only a select few know the truth. The rest believe Headmaster Lupine was behind the string of murders.
If anyone discovers the truth about that night, vampire propaganda will increase tenfold.
“Just kill Violet Dracula,” Abigail drawls, removing her dagger and tapping it on her desk. “She’s the ringleader of all this. Her and her disgusting father.”
“She’s innocent,” Vanessa refutes. “There’s no evidence—”
“Who gives a fuck about evidence?” another girl shouts, jumping to her feet. “You, of all people, should want the bitch killed. Her father murdered your grandfather as well as countless other hunters. The girl and her father should pay!”
“There’s no denying that her father is guilty of unspeakable acts,” Vanessa says quietly. “But we’re hunters, not monsters. The moment we start punishing children for the crimes of their parents, we become no better than the monsters we kill.”
At first, I think my sister’s words have gotten through