Page 46 of Tempest

She cries out, then laughs with shining, watery eyes as he turns her wrist and small droplets of her blood hit the chalice.

“This is a spell?” My voice barely registers above a whisper.

“Does this interest you, princess?” Tempest’s velvet rasp hits the top of my ear.

I clench my hands at my side, refusing to give him the satisfaction of answering in the affirmative.

“Which part?” he asks quietly. “The pain of the cut or the pleasure of being included in something? I bet it was lonely in your white tower.”

I feel more than see him move behind me, his fingers dancing along my upper arms and drawing me back, away from the center of the crowd.

For some reason, I move with him. Do my feet betray me by trusting where he leads or is it self-preservation kicking in, wanting to disappear into the fringes before the cloak notices and wants some of my blood, too?

“Who is that?”

“You know him as Professor Hunter Morgan,” Tempest answers. I didn’t realize I’d asked the question out loud. “I’m familiar with him as the biggest cum-stain on campus. But, so long as he’s busy slicing into co-eds, my sister can’t approach him. We’ll keep an eye out for her right. Here.”

He draws me to a halt by allowing my back to hit his chest.

I gasp. Something hard nestles into the small of my back. Hard. Firm. Thick.

Tempest tightens his hold on my upper arms, preventing my escape.

My heart-rate quickens. “Wh-what is this place? This spell?”

“You’ve heard of the Anderton mother and daughter. Killers who needed to be killed. Souls whom the colonists wanted to suffer eternally. Each year an alumni calls on Sarah and her nameless daughter to assist in whatever a student desires. Straight A’s, attention from the hottest guy, bigger tits, a more memorable pussy…” Tempest’s hands move to my shoulders, massaging idly. I hate to admit it feels so good. “…to be touched where no one has ever touched them before.”

I stiffen, despite the tendrils of shivers he spreads from my neck to my toes.

“Spells are pesky fuckers, though. They require exact incantations. Precise times. And, of course, sacrifice.” His voice drifts closer as he murmurs, “What do you think that girl is willing to sacrifice for an easy A?”

“What they’re doing is twisted.” Honesty bubbles up to the surface a lot easier than parsing through the feelings Tempest elicits with his fingers. “Taking the memories of tortured women and spilling blood for their own gain. What the Anderton went through, I can’t bear to imagine.”

Listen up, little girl, you do as I say, or you lose an ear. You scream; we take part of your tongue. You whine, and I’ll go after your hymen, see if I give a fuck.

“You would know better than most,” Tempest surmises. At this point, he’s massaging a brick wall. I press my lips together in hopes my anguish stays where it is. Far away and buried under other people’s medical degrees and pharmaceutical therapy.

Tempest continues, “You’ve experienced two tragedies and, in my opinion, possess more sacrifice in your pinky toe than whatever that chick has to offer.”

I’m stunned at the unexpected compliment if that’s indeed what it is.

“What would you ask of the Anderton women?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I move to twist away. Tempest doesn’t allow me to budge. “I want nothing from this place.”

“I beg to differ.” His fingers dig into the soft parts of my shoulders. “Why have you come here, princess?”

The lie slips out easily. “To be with Clover. I’ve missed her.”

“And?”

“To get the type of education I missed out on.”

Tempest presses harder. I wince, but I won’t give him what he so clearly wants. Begging. Capitulation. Pleading.

“There are better schools. Easier ones. You didn’t need to sequester yourself in the mountains to obtain an Ivy League diploma.”

“None of them have Clover. She’s my best—she’s the last friend I have in the world.”

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