I turn, heart hammering, to see a young man sitting beneath a tree. Thick, black glasses accentuate the cerulean eyes gazing back at me framed by long lashes. He scratches absently at his nose, pushing a strand of unruly dark hair away in the process.

He’s beautiful. I know it’s a strange thing to say about a guy, but he has beautiful, delicate features. Almost feminine.

When he meets my gaze, his cheeks burn hotly, and he ducks his head. After a moment, he glances back up at me through his fringe of lashes, a tentative smile playing on his full lips.

“What’s the Roaring?” I inquire, moving a step closer. He scrubs again at his nose, hitting the edge of his glasses, before dropping his hand into his lap.

“It’s a game us monsters play.” He pauses, picking at the skin on his wrist. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it, the gesture reflexive. “Are you new?”

“You could say that.” Before I can stop myself—because, really, when have I ever cared about personal space?—I sit cross legged in front of him. He gulps, instinctively shifting away as if my female cooties are contagious.

Hell, for all I know, they might be.

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.