Page 2 of Deadly Sacrifice

Glass shatters all around us as we flip and flip, over and over again, and fiery pain explodes across my entire body. The car settles upside down, suspending us by our seatbelts. She’s out cold, but I’m painfully awake and sickeningly aware of every scrape and break along my body.

My phone got dislodged from my hand at some point, but over the pulse in my ear and the shouts from outside the vehicle, I still hear the operator’s tinny voice trying to reach me.

Blood is dripping from me and pooling on the roof below my head. Too much blood, I think sluggishly as I blink at the crimson liquid. I can smell it in the air and taste it between my teeth.

The last thought I have before darkness weighs me down is that I hate the fucking Stars.

They did this to us.

2

Prudence

Present Day

Breathe, Prudence. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You got this.

Steeling my spine, I slap on a smile that burns my cheeks as I walk up the main steps of Blackwood University. Hefting my olive green backpack up a bit higher on my shoulder, I glance around at the multitude of students rushing around the square.

First day of college... I did it, Mom.

With a heavy heart that I shove way the hell down in my chest, I grab the large brass handle and swing the heavy wooden door open. I’m an undecided major, so all of my classes are general education for now, which makes it easy for me since most of them will be in this building. The Lunar Hall.

I make it all of three steps into the building before I realize I have no clue which direction I’m heading. I stop to peer at the little map of campus pulled up on my phone. It takes too long for me to tune into the sound around me. Or lack of it. The murmurs from the other students nearby stop abruptly, and I slowly lift my gaze, only to find half the students in this hall turned toward me.

I try to act unaffected, but it’s unsettling, to say the least. My pale skin ensures that everyone can see the nervous blush rising through me, on a warpath from my chest, up my neck, and into my cheeks. The seconds feel like hours as I scan the faces, trying to deduce what happened.

A soft grunt sounds from behind me, and I spin around so quickly that my wavy red hair smacks me in the face, obscuring my view for a moment. Embarrassed, I swat it away and tuck the wayward strands behind my ears.

And then I look up into the most hypnotizing blue eyes that I’ve ever seen. And I mean, I look way up. The guy is towering over my five foot five inches, easily a foot taller than me, maybe more. I’ve never felt so fucking small. His curly, sandy hair is barely tamed back into a bun, a few errant curls slipping free and framing his chiseled jaw, covered in a fine dusting of scruff. After I shake myself to stop from drooling or something equally horrifying, I find his eyes again. They stand out against his tan skin, such a light blue that I feel like I’m staring into a pair of rare diamonds glinting off the ocean.

It might have been a nice moment — one of those meet cutes that I always read about in my books — except that he’s glaring at me like I shit in his cereal this morning.

Awkward.

I don’t even bother offering a half-assed apology for blocking the way and standing here like an idiot. Dropping my gaze to the floor, I turn my back on him, and continue my trek down the hall, only semi-confident that I know where I’m headed. I could have asked him for directions, but he didn’t give off the friendliest vibes. Besides, I have no time for gorgeous guys with poor attitudes. I’m here for one reason: Mom.

It takes a few minutes to wander and find my first class of the day. I’m taking a bit of everything this semester; chemistry, geometry, sign language, and political science. I figure it’s best to try it all out and decide later what I like best. I don’t want to get a degree in something just for the salary it could afford me. Money isn’t worth a damn when I’m gone. If I’m going to spend years of my life doing something, I’m going to enjoy it.

My first class today is sign language. It’s a beginner’s course, and even though I’ve taken an online class before this, Blackwood University admissions insisted I start here. As peeved as I felt at first, I’ve decided to see this as an opportunity to refresh my knowledge and hopefully have an easy class. I’m anticipating the other three to be difficult as shit.

Keeping my eyes glued to the shiny linoleum floor as I walk, I head straight to the middle of the class and sit. Not the front row, just begging to be the teacher’s pet. Not the back row, silently screaming that I don’t give a fuck. But the middle, because I want to be ignored as much as possible while I learn as much as I can manage.

I’m not here to stand out. Or make friends. Or — despite what my heart and pussy may have briefly thought this morning with Mr. Tall and Angry — find a boyfriend. All of that is just a distraction. And getting close to people always brings questions that I can’t answer.

As I settle into my seat, I mindlessly rub my thumb over the angry red scar on my wrist. Despite what people always assume, it’s not from trying to off myself. The scar starts at the base of my left wrist and travels halfway up my arm. I’ve got another one across my stomach and hip. A smaller one on my thigh. And another on my scalp, though you can’t see it now that my hair has grown back around the old wound.

As always, my thoughts drift back to the car accident that had nearly killed me. If the police and paramedics had been another five minutes, Prudence Cate Sexton — yes, that’s really my name — would have been a goner. But they arrived quickly since someone had already called the cops about some lady swerving all over the freeway. So instead of a life cut short, I’m just riddled with these scars.

At first, they didn’t bother me too much. But a girl can only take so many whispers and stares before she wants to stab someone. Now, I cover up. Even on a warm August day, I’m wearing a loose long-sleeved flannel button-up and jeans that don’t hug anything at all.

I look like a paper bag most days, but I’ve gotten used to hiding. It’s bad enough when my scars attract attention, I don’t need my curves doing it too. The first thing a guy is going to want is to undress me to see everything up close, but then he’ll see my scars instead and…

Well, I’ve never wanted to be rejected for something I have no control over, so I’ve never allowed myself to fall into that situation.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice someone has taken the seat next to me until they reach over and poke my cheek. I jump, swatting their hand away and turning to them with a glare.

The guy beside me holds his hands up innocently, smiling mischievously as he looks me over. “Whoa, Ember. I mean no harm,” he ensures. His shaggy black hair is almost falling into his eyes, which would be a shame because they’re a gorgeous warm brown, like aged whiskey, just daring me to get drunk on them.

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