Page 29 of The Blood we Crave

However, this was a fact I’d come to terms with long before I found out about the Halo, a sex trafficking ring stationed right here in the heart of Ponderosa Springs. An organization that Sage’s father had gotten involved in that cost him his daughter’s life and Sage’s twin.

Something I don’t think any of us expected to uncover when this all started.

“Lyra—” Briar starts, but she is cut short.

“Correct. They wouldn’t notice you’d gone missing.” Thatcher cuts his eyes to me, bright blue eyes sparkling with bitterness. Gods, they’re so cold. One step in the wrong direction and I feel as if I’d fall into Alaskan waters.

“But your friends, who are sleeping with a Caldwell and a Van Doren, would notice. Which makes you the worst target. Whoever is running the Halo does not want sons of founding families as enemies. We have made that much clear, haven’t we?”

“But Conner—”

“Stop saying his name,” Thatcher bites out, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight, leaving no room for me to rebut. “He is not our ally. He is not your friend. Do not forget which side you are playing for, Lyra.”

Silence falls between everyone, heavy and thick, practically smothering me. I know he’s right. Being cordial with Conner Godfrey is the same thing as being nice to Stephen Sinclair, the dean of Hollow Heights. They have history, the two of them; they’re friends.

As much as I want to believe he isn’t involved, I learned quickly that in this part of Oregon, you trust no one. Every single person has some dirty secret they keep hidden.

“We are just trying to make sure you are safe. With what happened to Rosemary and all the other missing girls, we need to look out for each other,” Briar says warmly, reaching her arm out and grabbing my wrist to pull me into her body, away from Thatcher’s harsh stare and icy presence. She is constantly being a buffer between the two of us, unaware that I don’t want to be protected from him. I’m the one seeking him out.

I’d lied earlier to him when I said I kept nothing from my friends.

I’d kepthimfrom all of them. From everyone.

Thatcher is my biggest secret.

When I was transferred to a foster home in Ponderosa Springs after spending two years out of state, I was in middle school. My first day of sixth grade was near the end of the school year.

I hadn’t forgotten him. His face had been in my dreams every night. The boy who had spared my life. I’d thought Thatcher was magnificent in the gloomy night, but nothing could fully prepared me for seeing him in the light of day in that school parking lot.

My plan was to get close enough to see if he’d say something to me, but true to his word, I was a ghost, one that he had created, and he never saw me. I floated around the same classroom, hovered in the same lunchroom, and he didn’t give me so much as a second glance.

But then, something shifted. I was a ghost to everyone, invisible to those around me, but the only time I felt understood, accepted, was when I was around him. He was the only person in the world who knew my story, what I was, and the horrors I’d witnessed.

Even if he didn’t acknowledge I was there, there was a comfort in following him around. Knowing I wasn’t alone out there, knowing I wasn’t the only one living with a monster inside of me.

But then it gradually became less about getting his attention and more about being around him. Watching him. Even the most mundane tasks he did were so fascinating to me.

I kept myself close in school, and then I got bolder, lurking outside of school to see if he was different when he was alone and not surrounded by people. I got to know the boys through him because most of his free time was spent with at least one of them by his side.

At the Graveyard, I stood in the crowd of people, watching him support his friends in whatever blood sport they were taking part in that night. Then at the Cliff where he’d meet up with them, around town, and eventually, his house.

Close wasn’t close enough. No matter where I spied from or how private the area was that I was watching him, I never felt close enough.

I tried to stop at one point, but I realized that the damage was done. My heart refused to let him go.

Now, here we stand, and he’s a far cry from that boy who’d left coins on my mother’s eyes. The boy who had saved me from his father’s wrath.

What stands in front of me is the Angel of Death. A grim reaper made of shadows and elegance. A human man with hands made to strip life from others. The darkest of the darkest souls encased inside a winter incarnate corpse made from the purest marble, chiseled and etched to perfection, smooth porcelain skin that glares in the moonlight.

His black long-sleeve shirt is pushed up to his elbows, showing the deep blue veins that run across his forearms like tree roots. And for a moment, I wonder what color Thatcher bleeds. If I split his skin right now, would red ooze from the cut? Or would it be black? Gold?

“Speaking of the other girls,” Sage chimes in, making me blink and tug my eyes off Thatcher’s face, “we need to do something for them. We know about this organization. There are fifteen missing girls out there—that’s just in and around Ponderosa Springs. Who knows how many more are out there? We can’t just stay silent and let them die.”

“Babe, we talked about this—”

“Do not babe me.” She glares at Rook hard, pausing for a moment to share a private moment through their eyes. “My sister could have been one of them. Shewasone of them. I will not turn a blind eye like everyone else in this godforsaken town.”

Without thinking twice, I reach my hand out and loop my fingers through Sage’s, squeezing tight and letting her know that we have her back. Talking about Rosemary is a tough subject for everyone, especially her. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live without your other half.

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