Strange Angels

1. After Party

Roman didn't attend parties, nor did he host them, but just this once he found himself breaking that rule.

Shelley was upstairs, locked away in her room where she wouldn't be bothered by any of the party-goers. The stairs had been roped off in an attempt to keep people on the main floor, rather than prying through the Godfrey mansion for something scandalous to be used against them or pawned later for some unfair price in one of Hemlock Grove's pawn shops. Though, Roman knew it was futile since teenagers would do whatever the fuck they wanted.

Despite the curfew set in place, many teens from Hemlock High had shown up to sip on expensive bottles of alcohol and get high off the best kinds of drugs. Most of these people were strangers, blurred faces he passed by in school hallways. He could give less of a fuck about them and he knew they sure as hell didn't give a rat's ass about him. They were here for a good fucking time.

With Olivia gone on some "errand" for the next couple of days, the house was his. What better way to spite her than throw a party? Well, it didn't feel as good as he thought. Only an hour in and he was ready to call it a night. Not one of these people looked like they could give him what he wanted.

He tilted his head back and let the burn of his drink slide down his throat until there was nothing left. He'd had enough and was just about to send everyone home when someone stumbled into him.

"I'm so sorry!" the girl apologized, using him to righten herself.

"You have two eyes, can't you see where the fuck you're going?" he snapped, staring her down.

She immediately retracted her hands and stared up at him, wide-eyed. Already, tears were brimming at the edges of her eyes as she stumbled out another apology. He was barely listening; he was so angry. With his hands clenched into fists, he raised his arm and the girl flinched. Before he had the chance to do anything, someone grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Scurry off, Ally, I've got this." Not needing to be told twice, the girl who bumped into him literally fucking bowed at him before running off as she was told.

Roman turned around, unsurprised to find Leandra glaring at him. Her dark hair hung wildly around her face, only reaching an inch past her shoulders which were bare. She was donned in a sleeveless lace crop top and jean skirt with low-rise converse. Her face was flushed with anger and her hands were fisted on her hips, now that she had politely taken her hands off him.

Roman raised an eyebrow after openly checking her out. "Didn't think I'd find you at one of my parties."

"Usually you're not worth my time, but unfortunately I had nothing better to do this Friday night and my friends caught wind of a Godfrey party," she held out her arms, "now here I am."

Roman smirked. "Yes, congratulations, your small pea-sized brain found its way to my home. What a struggle that must've been. If you'll excuse me," he dangled his full glass of scotch in front of her face, "I need another drink."

She stepped in front of him before he could move anywhere. "I didn't initiate a conversation with you just to be dismissed."

Roman grew bored and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest while the glass dangled loosely in his right hand. "Make it quick then. I haven't had enough drinks to tolerate a sober conversation with you ... or anyone."

"And that's a perfect opening to what I was going to talk about: your terrible attitude."

"Fuck," Roman cursed, rolling his eyes, "I've got one mother. I don't need two." He made his way to the kitchen with the little bunny following behind him. Thankfully, the music was too loud and there were so many people loitering around she had to focus more on maneuvering around them than whatever it was she had to say.

He was halfway through pouring his drink after chugging the previous dry when she appeared next to him at the counter. "There's more?" he drawled.

"What's your deal? You're so much higher and mightier than us common folk that touching you is a huge offense?" The light danced off her green eyes, which appeared almost yellow due to the reflection. Roman thought her eyes almost looked demonic. He wouldn't have been surprised if she was the vargulf he and Peter were looking for. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"If I say sorry, will it make you disappear and let me enjoy this party in peace?" he asked, taking a long sip of his drink.

"No!" she said. "How you treated that girl and everyone else in this town is wrong and I'm sick and tired of you walking all over everyone."

"Sorry, what was that? You think I'm the sexiest man alive and everyone should worship me at my feet? That's a little extreme Leandra, but if you want to get on your knees for me now, I won't be opposed–"

She slapped him across hard enough to leave a red print. His glass slipped from his fingers and shattered at his feet. In a blink of an eye, Roman had her pinned up against the counter with his body, his hand at her throat. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes before it dissipated into a glare. He almost would've believed the act, if it weren't for the pulse beating rapidly beneath his fingers. She was so frightened; he could almost hear the blood pumping through her veins.

"Who the fuck do you think you are," he seethed quietly, his lips nearly meeting hers from the way he leveled his face with hers. "You come here, to my party, my home, and what? You think you can disrespect me? Talk shit about me and think you can get away with it?"

His teeth ached as he stared her down. The look of fear in her eyes had him tightening in his pants. Even the intoxicating scent of whatever perfume she was wearing had fueled his desires and all he could think about was snapping that pretty, thin little neck of hers. It'd be so easy. One of his hands easily covered half her throat, if not more. All he needed was one little twist and–

"What are you going to do to me?" Her quiet one betrayed the false bravado of her eyes, but it was what snapped him out of whatever reverie he was in. Fuck, he was probably going through withdrawal. When was the last time he had a good hit? Or a hit at all?

His mind was a fucking mess. What was he thinking?

Roman released his grip on her and backed away. He turned his back on her, staring down at the reflection of the light on his shoes. "Get out of my sight."

"What?"

He turned around and stared into her eyes. "Get the fuck out of my house. Go home or wherever, but you're no longer welcome here, understand?"

She blinked, turned, and fled from the kitchen.