Page 23 of Endless Anger (Monsters Within #1)

A few students turn to stare as I continue, head down, my arms wrapped tight around my middle.

I’m used to the attention because of how small Avernia is, but that doesn’t mean I want it.

Unless I’m trying to convince people that they should give a shit about their environment, I’d rather people didn’t look at all.

Not because I’m afraid or ashamed but because I never learned how to react properly when they do.

All I know how to do is bite.

The crowd thins the farther out I go, but I find the coolers, lifting one to pull out a few mini bottles of tequila.

Unscrewing a cap and downing the first immediately, I keep moving away from the party, in search of a reprieve from the ghosts and everything else haunting this school. The town even. All of it’s tainted.

Two bottles down, and I realize just how far I’ve walked. Now I’m past the quarry itself, weaving through the trees on the very outer edge of the cliffs. When I turn around, all I’m met with is wide trunk after trunk, obscuring my view of the gathering.

I can’t hear them, and I find the silence soothing, so I continue forward. Mom used to say that if you get lost and circle around long enough, you’ll eventually find yourself back where you’re supposed to be.

Dad says not to listen to her wildlife survival advice, but it’s not like I can really go very far anyway. The mountain will block me off.

An eerie feeling sweeps over my shoulders, blanketing my arms like black slime.

Glancing behind me, I try to see if maybe someone followed me into the forest, but it appears I’m alone.

But I don’t feel alone.

Distantly, a branch snaps. I spin toward the noise, scouring the shadows, but come up empty again. The muscles in my arms cinch tight, tension threading through them. My vision is a little fuzzy, but I swear I see a figure dash between two trees.

I turn around again, not fully certain which way I came.

Any footprints on the ground have been swallowed back up by the soft earth.

Laughter reaches my ears next, and I swivel in its direction, hopeful over how feminine it sounds. I follow it, my heart pounding, sticking close to the trees as I move.

“If that’s you, Aurora, I’m literally going to gouge your eyes out.”

A shiver coasts over my spine, getting caught in the ridges. I don’t get a response, but the laughter suddenly stops.

Moaning ensues instead.

I freeze as sounds of pleasure fill the air. Grunts and groans float to the treetops, getting caught and plummeting back down like heavy rainfall.

Fascination skitters along my arms, buzzing all the way to my fingertips. Again, I move toward the noises, clinging to the shadows as they get louder. Closer.

With trembling hands, I peer between two trees, coming face-to-face with the complete opposite, empty end of the quarry. This side morphs into the mountain, connecting us to the barrier while bracketing Lake Lerna below the cliff.

Several feet away from the edge, a group of people are twisted up in one another. My chest tightens as I watch the shadows move together, their bodies writhing on the ground.

One shadow stands over the others in front, and I watch silently as the person seems to reach for their waist, undoing their pants. They’re just barely visible in the moonlight, and I lean forward, trying to make out the identities despite the white masks and black hoodies some of them are wearing.

Death’s Teeth members ? They’re notorious among students for public excursions like this one, especially during full moons, but I can’t imagine they’d be so bold during a Curator party.

An anonymous student organization, they tend to hide in the dark and commence their activities where they have time to clean up the messes afterward. Typical vandalism and occasional drug-induced sex fests are their legacy at Avernia, though there are rumors about more violent traditions as well.

Some say they’re vigilantes, seeking justice for those who’ve been wronged by the other organizations. Others say they’re self-serving, seeking control of the entire town, and that the increase in student suicides over the last few years can be traced back to them.

I say nothing at all. I don’t want their attention.

Their iconography—some sort of three-headed beast emblem—is carved in the biggest trees in the forest, spray-painted on quarry rocks, and etched into bathroom stall in the dorms. A calling card of sorts that they tend to leave after they’ve been somewhere.

For some reason, everyone thinks I’m a member.

I couldn’t even get Visio Aternae to accept me. There’s no way a shadow group would risk its reputation for me. But since they’re notorious, people just assume I’m involved.

“Oh, shit ,” one of the orgy partakers cries out—a woman’s voice I’m awfully familiar with. That must be who’s in the middle of the human sandwich, and I roll my eyes. So much for no dicks in this economy .

Gurgling cuts off whatever she’s about to say, and I see the person before her ram their hips forward, shutting her up with what looks like a cock. Celeste gags, and it takes a moment before she’s given any reprieve; then she’s yanked off, gasping for air.

Heat singes my entire body.

“Christ, Beckett, she’s gonna pass out if you keep doing that.”

The heat evaporates with that one sentence, and when I squint, I can make out his black hair and the outline of his dimpled chin. He’s the only one not wearing a disguise.

Beckett?

Of course, Celeste is out here with the president of the Curators. I don’t know why I’m surprised, really, given that she’s a member of the organization. Maybe I thought our association would have her excommunicated, but clearly?—

“Who fucking cares if she passes out,” Beckett replies, shoving his way back into Celeste’s mouth. “It’s not going to matter in a few minutes anyway.”

When he pulls off again, Celeste sputters. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Shut the fuck up, you dumb bitch.” Beckett grabs her head with both hands, forcing his cock between her lips. The other two people continue their own ministrations, thrusting from below and behind, and something unsettling spasms in my gut. “You literally asked to be a part of this.”

I move back a step, my fingers spreading on the trunk beside me.

She manages to break away after some more gagging, and I hear her spit. “You’re hurting me?—”

My heart lurches to my throat when a dull thud abruptly ends her sentence.

Ice solidifies in my veins.

He hit her.

I can’t tell if it was Beckett’s hand or another person’s, but someone hit her.

Celeste screeches, flailing as she apparently tries to push the people off her, dragging her mouth away long enough to let out a shrill scream .

This time, I watch someone’s fist drive right into her face, and shock washes over me, giving my feet roots. I can’t move, can’t run or rush in to help.

My stomach churns violently, twisting so hard that I wince from the onslaught of pain.

She goes slack without protest. Unconscious by the way her body slumps, held up only by the cocks still moving inside her.

“Fuck, man, I’m close?—”

“Knocking her out does it for you?”

“Don’t judge me. She’s really hot. Are you sure we have to do this?”

“It’s not up to us. Periculum in mora. Just don’t fucking come in her.”

“Aw, man. That’s so fucking boring.”

I glance down at my feet, trying to will them to move. This is—they’re going to hurt her. They already are, and I’m just standing here watching…

Oh my God. I was aroused earlier.

Putrid shame pulses into my heart, filtering into my bloodstream. For once in my life, I’m completely fucking immobile, but my body is trembling. I want to move, but I can’t— I’m stuck ?—

Simultaneous grunts spill out around the group, each person halting their gyrations with a final thrust.

Vomit surges up the back of my throat, and I buckle, falling to my knees as it pushes past my lips. I hurl into a bush, digging my nails into the dirt, and let out a small sob.

“What the fuck was that?” one of them asks, and my heart seems to stop beating inside my chest.

Lifting my head, I shuffle against a tree. I don’t move a muscle, fear keeping me totally still.

The trunk across from me has the three-headed beast carved into it and outlined in some dark liquid. Paint, I hope .

“Is someone out there?” one of the guys calls.

I cover my mouth with my palm, trying to regulate my breathing. No part of me knows what to do. My brain is short-circuiting, attempting to run through dozens of scenarios at once and coming up totally empty, unable to focus on any one thing .

How the fuck can I ever face my roommate again, or look in her bright blue eyes, after this?

The group remains quiet for several minutes before they finally pull away from Celeste. Listening for me.

Eventually, they seem to move on.

“Who fucking knows,” one says, walking toward a backpack lying on the ground a few feet from their tryst. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“It’s the worst part,” someone else says.

But not Beckett.

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares out into the forest, right in my direction.

I retch silently, afraid I may puke again, and keep my hand in place.

Finally, he turns away, but I don’t feel an ounce of relief. Only raw terror exists in my body right now, resurfacing when he tells the other two to hoist Celeste up.

A flash of shiny metal glints in the dark. Beckett raises his hand, lifting Celeste’s chin, and he murmurs something quietly to her. The other two murmur back, and I know it’s that Latin phrase from before. It has to be—the Curators love their dead languages.

He drives the metal object directly into her throat.

My mouth drops, a silent scream trying to escape. I slide my foot back, my limbs moving before my brain has fully caught up to what I’m seeing.

Horror courses through me, shaky and unending. Operating on autopilot, I push from my place beside the tree slowly, keeping my gaze on the group. Beckett pulls the knife from Celeste and then assaults her with it again. And again. And again .

She doesn’t make a single noise through it all.

When they start to bind her hands and feet together with some sort of rope, I run . Back the way I came, my body vibrating with a vengeance.

I don’t get very far before someone grabs me from behind.

A large, warm hand slaps over my mouth, cutting off my shocked cry before shoving me against a tree trunk .

Milliseconds pass with me standing as motionless as possible, confusion and trepidation rendering me totally useless.

Pinching my eyes shut, I mentally prepare myself for death and inhale slowly, catching an oddly familiar scent—metallic, like I’d expect, but also something soft and comforting, like cedar and grapefruit.

The hint of cologne. Soft, clean cotton.

I open my eyes, letting them adjust to the moonlight again, and a new sense of dread fills my gut.

There’s no way…

My assailant reaches up with one arm, running a hand over his face.

Several strands of his obsidian hair drape across his forehead, long enough to look effortlessly tousled.

His sharp, clean-shaven jaw tightens, his pale skin smooth and glistening with perspiration.

A silver hoop piercing his left nostril temporarily draws my attention—the sapphire stud is gone.

There’s a scar that cuts into his upper lip, making the full flesh bow, and I hate that I know exactly which fight with his cousin caused it.

The longer I stare, I realize that somehow, witnessing my roommate’s murder isn’t the worst thing that I’ll experience tonight.

Because before me are the fiery, endlessly angry brown eyes of a man I haven’t seen or spoken to since he ditched me three years ago.

And he’s covered in blood.