Page 7 of Perfect Pursuit

Roger. Owe you one.

I crouch down to the two women who likely feel like their insides are coming out their mouths. “I have to run out.”

Fallon pries her eyes open and I’m confronted with emotions in no way is my heart ready for. Her eyes are swirling with a mix of agony and fear, plus something I refuse to let myself see—a feverish, naked longing. God, I want to consume the last of what I see in her eyes more than I want my next breath, but I don’t want it because some son of a bitch drugged her.

I reach for her free hand—the one that isn’t clutching the clean bowl and explain, “I wanted to check your condition before I bought any food—especially if I had to take you two to the ER. Now, it’s time to go get your hangover provisions.”

She relaxes. Her lips curve and her eyes drift to half-mast. “Taking care.”

I relish the feeling of her flawless skin beneath my fingers as they stroke down her cheek. “I promised you I would.”

“Close my eyes and die now.” At that, her long lashes drift fully downward and hide the unique shade of blue from my view.

My heart flips in my chest at the flippant words knowing if I’m right, there was a damn good chance of that or something else having happened to her and Austyn last night. Leaning over, I press a kiss on her forehead before I do the same to Austyn. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

I get to my feet and am opening their dorm room door when Austyn mumbles, “T-t-take m-m-my k-k-keys.”

I’m about to leave when I hear Fallon manage, obviously still drugged. “He came.”

It isn’t until I’m in the hallway, a hallway I note is filled with the noxious smell of puke, I confirm aloud, “Just like I always will. No matter what you need, witch.”

With that, I go to meet members of my former team for answers.

CHAPTER FOUR

KENSINGTON, TEXAS

Every time I hear Erzulie’s name, I think of Stevie Nicks.

Every time I hear her sing, I know I’m right to do so.

—@PRyanPOfficial

Five Years Ago—October

Trepidation.

It’s an emotion I’m not used to feeling.

My emotions since the night a group of us at a party were deliberately drugged have caused my sense of self to evaporate. I’m no longer striding across campus without a care in the world. Instead, I’m checking in dark corners, even in the middle of broad daylight. Even with hours of counseling, I can’t find my balance any longer, despite my desperate need to locate my sense of self.

It’s gone.

I’ve changed.

All because of one night.

At home in Kensington for parent’s weekend, I find myself keeping makeshift weapons in my pocket as I stroll down the streets. Fear can be tangible when you can feel your heart pound out of your chest when you walk alone in a dark corridor to get to a classroom, and you don’t know if your nightmare is going to jump out and grab you. Still, it’s exhausting.

Something has to give.

Part of my brain wants to hide away from the reality of the outcome of the university’s investigation into the college party Austyn and I attended. We didn’t get sick on the punch—we were drugged. If it wasn’t for how little we drank, who knows what would have happened to us.

A subdued whisper tells me, More than just your feelings would have changed. I know that to be true, based on the stories that have come out. The only thing is, no one is blaming anyone except the guys who spiked the punch.

Our reasoning and control were stripped from us.

I clutch my coat around me tighter before racing the rest of the way home. Bursting through the front door, I quickly drop into a chair.

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