Page 33 of The Blood we Crave

I’m not sure they even know how to play fair or what that entails. All that matters is that they win, no matter the cost.

The harsh snap of rope echoes in the air, and Briar falls ungracefully onto the forest floor with a resounding thud. Panicked, she tries to shove the noose off her feet while Sage helps.

But Rook encroaches further, moving into our space, about to put this game to an end. Sage and Briar would go skinny-dipping while I meet the icy hands of death in a chilly embrace.

He can’t catch all of us. I have the chance to run, to leave them behind, but I can’t do it. Even with their stakes being so little and mine being so life-altering, I can’t make myself leave.

My entire life, I’ve hidden or run from the things that have scared me, always blending into the background in order to avoid confrontation or attention. I made myself a ghost in order to survive, made myself weak.

I don’t want that anymore.

I don’t want to be the friend that runs from her friends and leaves them in trouble. I want to be the friend who does something, and that’s what I’m going to do.

With quick footsteps, I jog away from my friends, scanning the ground until I find a long piece of dry, rotted wood, a heavy fallen branch that will do the job I need.

Rook closes in on my friends, distracted by them just enough that I can walk up from the side. My hands are sweating as they curl around the long branch, feeling the wood dig into my palms.

My arms work before my brain can catch up. I swing my arms forward in the motion of a baseball bat, cracking the branch across Rook’s back with a loud snap. The weak material breaks against his skin, dropping him to the ground with a groan.

“Run!” I scream, knowing it was enough to stun him but not enough to keep him down on the ground forever.

Briar and Sage scramble to their feet, scattering in different directions. I take off through the woods, leaving Rook mumbling on the ground. The last thing my ears can hear is a dark laugh.

There’s no direction or plan. All I know is I need to put as much distance between myself and Thatcher as possible.

The problem?

I have no clue where he is. Knowing my luck, I’m probably headed straight for him.

Which is odd for me. I always know where he is. The shadow attached to the tip of his shoe, the ghost in his hallway. Where he is, I follow.

Wake up, run, shower, eat breakfast, which is always fruit and yogurt on Thursdays, and egg whites and toast every other day. His grandmother, May, goes to the farmer’s market on Wednesday, and I think he secretly feels bad if he doesn’t eat the fresh produce. Or maybe he just likes fruit.

I know his school schedule, thanks to an oblivious secretary in the front office of Hollow Heights. There are only a few places he goes that I can’t seem to find him. The brief intervals when he disappears once every six months, sometimes for the entire day, other times only a few hours.

I could follow him wherever he travels to in his custom Lamborghini, but something about those rare trips he takes feels a little too private. The other boys, to my knowledge, don’t even know about them.

Maybe a part of me knew where he was headed, what he was planning on doing, and that piece didn’t want to disturb what he was planning. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to see him doing what Thatcher does best.

Hurting people.

“Darling phantom.” Thatcher’s voice slices through the fog. “Are you finished running from me?”

I’m not afraid of being caught by Rook Van Doren or Alistair Caldwell. Their reputation is a thing of nightmares, and it would be understandable if I was fearful for my life. They aren’t the kind of people you want to involve yourself with.

But it’s not them that makes my blood run cold and freeze the valves of my heart. They don’t scare me, not like he does.

They are playing for bragging rights. This is supposed to be a fun night outing with friends. A way to commemorate all we’ve been through and us coming back together.

But I’m not playing for fun.

I hadn’t made a deal with the Devil or the Vengeful One. I had bargained my life with death, the Pyscho, the Hollow Boy everyone is most uncomfortable around. The one that makes everyone’s spine stiffen when he walks into the room. The one that makes you want to hide beneath your bed but you can’t dare look away from.

My heart thumps in my chest as my legs slow for just a moment. I just need a second to catch my breath and figure out where I am. We’d darted from the beach and into the forest line, but I could still hear the crashing waves.

I place my hands on my knees, gobbling down air until my head spins. I flinch as the trees groan with the sway of the wind, my eyes snapping up to look around me.

My eyes try to survey my surroundings, but I’m too panicked to focus on anything for too long. I try my best to stay alert, but it seems my survival instincts need work because every twig that snaps and creature that moves beyond the mist increases my fear. I can’t contain the loud gasp that escapes when the sound of a crow howling rings through the night.

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