Page 31 of Deadly Sacrifice

Griffin shakes his head, his glacial blue eyes full of mirth. What are you doing? he signs, looking down at all the books scattered on top of the table.

I close my notebook before he can scan those eyes over all the notes I’ve written down. “Just reading about the town again,” I explain, picking up the closest book to me and giving it a little wave. “You’re right, it is boring,” I tell him. “But I guess I’m kind of a history buff.”

Without asking for permission, Griffin pulls out the chair beside me and sits down. He takes the book from my hand, opens it, and scans a few pages before closing it again. I thought I told you not to waste your time?

“I don’t follow rules very well,” I sass, taking the book back and stacking all the rest of them on the other end of the table so he can’t grab another one. “Besides,” I add casually, turning to him with a mocking smile and an arched brow. “Didn’t you ever learn the first rule about girls? Tell us we can’t do something, and we’ll carry on full force just to oppose you.”

Griffin huffs out a breath, folding his massive arms across his broad chest. He gives me this look, and even without signing anything, I know he’s telling me once more to drop it.

I do my very best to look innocent when I shrug and blink at him. “I’m only reading a bunch of dusty old books about an equally dusty old town,” I explain, biting my cheek to hold my laugh in when he spears me with another look, this one saying he’s not buying it. I wave my hand in the air to push away his concerns. “I don’t see why you care that much. Unless Asher has given you some kind of order to keep an eye on me?”

Before I said those words, I hadn’t even considered them, but now that they’re out there, sitting heavily in the space between us, I’m actually concerned about it. Asher was pushy when he confronted me in the hall outside of the cafeteria. Maybe he’s more of a creep than I thought...

I lean forward in my chair, resting my elbows on the table. “Wait, does Asher have you following me?” I whisper, equally irritated and wounded. Out of all three of them, right from the beginning, Griffin has been the one that I feel the most comfortable with. He doesn’t seem to have any ulterior motives like Asher, and he hasn’t made any attempt to get into my pants like Creed — not that I mind Creed’s seductive charm.

But the thought that Griffin could be following me around campus on Asher’s orders to find out what it is I’m doing is chilling. Before I can run rampant with worry and anger though, Griffin shakes his head, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand.

He holds my gaze for an intense beat, and then grabs my notebook, flips it open to a random blank page, and writes out a few hurried words. Then he pushes the notebook toward me, nodding down at it for me to read.

I don’t follow orders from Asher. I’m not here for him.

“Then why are you here?” I ask him cautiously.

A muscle in the back of his jaw tenses while his icy stare holds me hostage. He licks his lips, opens his mouth as if he’s about to tell me something, and then grits his teeth and scrubs a hand down his face. I’m here for you, he finally signs. I come to the library because I like the quiet, but I won’t lie and say I wasn’t hoping you would be here tonight.

My brows dip low. I don’t know if I want that to mean something or if I should consider my night with Creed a lucky one off and forget about boys until I can get the answers I’m here for. One second, I’m reading too much into Griffin’s statement, and the next, I’m convincing myself that he’s just a nice guy who pities me or something.

My brain can’t keep up.

Griffin scoots his chair in, looking over his shoulder before grabbing the notebook and pen once more. He jots something down and then pushes it over to me.

What you’re doing is dangerous. If you’re not careful, your actions and the things you’re looking into will garner unwanted attention.

“Attention from who?” I whisper.

Griffin flips back through my notebook until he finds the page I was writing my thoughts on. He scans the page and points at one word. Stars.

All the blood in my veins turns to ice. My lungs constrict, my eyes glued to that one word. When I’m finally able to drag my gaze up to his again, his expression is grim.

“They’re real?” is all I can manage to choke out.

Griffin frowns, closing my notebook and looking over his shoulder once more. With a jerky nod, he signs, And dangerous. More than you could imagine.

He pushes to his feet, watching me with wary eyes. He tilts his head toward the aisles of books and then turns and walks away. I scramble to put my notebook and pen away, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and grabbing the heavy stack of books — thanks for the help, Griffin — and then I follow after him.

He leads me back into a dim corner, pacing and fisting a hand in his hair as he waits for me to catch up. When he turns to me, his face is pale. Frantically, he signs, You have to drop this. It’s not safe. Just forget about it and move on.

I’m shaking my head before he even finishes. “No. I can’t do that,” I reply firmly.

Griffin tips his head back with a heavy sigh and then spears me with an icy desperation in his eyes. Why not?

I open and close my mouth too many times, going back and forth about how much to divulge. Ultimately, it’s the open expression he’s wearing that convinces me. “Can I trust you? No bullshit, no Asher getting involved, nothing. Just you and me, with a big deadly secret?” I whisper, cautious about being overheard.

There’s not even a second of hesitation on his part. Griffin nods, patting his palm over his heart as if he’s saying he means it to his very core. Just you and me, he repeats. Promise.

With a deep breath, I close my eyes and fight against all the memories battering at me from every direction. “My mom is sick,” I begin quietly. When I force my eyes open, Griffin is a bit closer to me. I turn my back on him so he can’t read the agony in my face. Growing up with a mentally ill parent was the hardest trial I think I’ll ever face. Never knowing how stable she was from day to day. Having to cook and do laundry and wake myself up every morning before school, all by the age of ten, because she simply wasn’t capable most days.

It was hard. More than hard.

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