Page 3 of Deadly Sacrifice

My heart does a little flip, not used to any kind of attention from guys, but I bite my cheek to keep myself together. Narrowing my eyes, I lean back an inch or two for some space. “Wrong girl. My name isn’t Ember,” I mumble, already turning my attention away from him. It’s not even eight-thirty in the morning; I don’t have the energy for hot guys, and after the hallway incident, I’m all tapped out.

He chuckles, this raspy sound that shoots straight to my vag. Leaning in and assaulting me with his clean, soapy scent, he grabs a lock of my hair and twirls it between two fingers. “I’ve definitely got the right girl. But if you don’t like that name, I can think of plenty of other things to call you in private,” he whispers seductively.

“Not interested,” I say dryly, even as my legs squeeze together and the place between them practically melts for attention.

He tugs lightly on my hair, really testing my limits. “You sure? You won’t get a better offer dressed like that. I’m just man enough to know it’s all about what’s under the ugly clothes.”

My lips curl in distaste before I can smoothe my features. He might be smoking fucking hot, but could he be more of a predictable man-whore? I might not have much — okay, any — experience, but I’m not desperate enough to lose my virginity to a guy who has absolutely no charm.

“I can’t even believe my luck,” I answer, a cruel smile taking over. “Barely into my first class, and I’ve already met the campus fuck boy.” His smile falls, his brown eyes flashing with something dangerous, but I continue. “Let me guess, you’ll rock my world? Show me a grand time? But when the morning comes, we don’t know each other, right? I mean, not that I care. I’m definitely not interested in anything more substantial with a guy like you. But is it even worth it for ten minutes of lack luster sex? The shaving and getting ready and putting on sexy underwear just to take it all off again the second I walk through your door because you’re the kind of guy that doesn’t care for foreplay, right? You’ll talk a big game, jack hammer into my pussy with no skill at all, and assume I’ve had a blast when really I’ve faked it to spare your feelings. So no thanks.” I give him a slow once-over, pat him on the cheek, and add, “Don’t touch my fucking hair again.”

His eyes spark as he licks his lips. “Oh, Ember. You wound me. Ten minutes? I’ve got enough stamina to last all night, baby. And foreplay is my favorite part. Whatever sorry dipshit ruined sex for you will be long forgotten by the time I’m sinking inside.” He winks at me, grabs his shit, and moves to a desk in the back before I can think of anything to say.

I track him as he moves with the grace of a jungle cat; beautiful but deadly. He sits down next to another hot as sin guy — seriously, is Blackwood just filled to the brim with walking sex? — and they start up a conversation that’s clearly about me. The guy who was sitting next to me blatantly points my way while the muscled brunette beside him stares at me with a blank face that makes me want to curl up in the corner and hide.

Facing the front of the class once more, I unclench my jaw before I break a fucking tooth.

Great. College is going to be a blast.

3

Asher

By the time class is done for the day, I’m dragging ass. It’s not even that I have a loaded schedule, but I just couldn’t get any sleep last night. With the start of junior year at Blackwood University comes a heap of responsibility. Frat shit, which I can usually handle, but word is I’m going to be voted in for president this year. I can decline, but if Dad got wind of that, he’d blow a fuse. And then there’s school, obviously. Class and homework and study sessions.

Most of all, though, is my duty to The Celestials. Junior year means initiation. It means proving myself through humility, secrecy, and sacrifice.

Dad never told me what the entire process would entail, but I get the gist. The Celestials are a group made up of powerful men and women whose reputations and lives would be at risk should their participation ever get leaked. So a secret society, if you will, with a bunch of snobby fucks that lord their wealth and status over everyone else to get their way. We’ve got politicians, celebrities, big wig CEOs from a few major companies around the world, just to name a few. They get what they want, however shady their desires may be, and nobody bats an eye.

Being born into it, being a Malcom, means I don’t get a choice. I join willingly or by force, sworn either way to keep my damn mouth shut and reap the benefits I never asked for. It could be worse, though. Honestly, a life of wealth and success, never having to actually stress about getting that promotion or affording a bigger house? I can deal with everything else if it secures my future.

My muscles are tight as I walk out of my last class, financial management. Rolling my tense shoulders as I turn the corner, thoughts zoned out as far as they’ll go, I nearly bump right into someone. On instinct, my hands shoot out and steady her, gripping her arms tightly while shock zaps through my system.

Her wide eyes dart up to my face, a sunburst of gold and brown and green, so alluring that I nearly lean in to get a closer look. Something about this woman is so damn familiar that it’s unsettling. I thought the same thing this morning in sign language when Creed pointed her out. I’ve never seen her before, and yet at first glance, the sight of her pulls on old memories that are long forgotten.

I’d probably stand there all night trying to unravel the puzzle, except that she jerks back, cheeks flaming. With anger or embarrassment, I’m not sure, though.

Clearing my throat, I shove my hands in my jeans pockets so I don’t grab her face to study it for answers. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was headed. My fault,” I tell her with a tight smile.

A heavy breath whooshes out of her lungs, and she cracks the barest hint of a smile. “It’s alright. It was me. I was reading over a syllabus. Sorry.” She winces, tucking her red hair behind her ear.

I nod at her, furrowing my brows as I try to place her somewhere, anywhere, that would make sense. Apparently, the weight of my curiosity is uncomfortable.

She takes a step backward, glancing around before hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “Um, well, sorry again,” she mutters before turning and walking away, her flaming hair billowing behind her.

I stand there like an awe-struck moron for a while, left with the lavender scent she carries. My thoughts are only disrupted when an arm wraps around my shoulders, followed by a manic laugh that I know all too well.

Cocking a brow at Creed, my cousin and one of my closest friends, I find him watching as the little redhead walks down the hall. I turn back to watch as she turns a corner and disappears.

Creed lets go of me and grips his chest, shooting me an awed expression. “I think I’m in love. I’ve found my soul mate,” he says wistfully.

Rolling my eyes, I nudge him, and we start walking toward the parking lot. “You said so this morning, too. What exactly is it she said to you to warrant your unbridled affections?” My tone is only slightly teasing. Creed is… unhinged. He’s passionate and loyal, and he’s a funny motherfucker, but all of that fades away the second he’s triggered. I’ve seen him turn that switch in two seconds flat. So if he says he’s in love with her, I’m sure as shit not going to argue. I don’t want to piss him off.

“She basically told me to fuck off.” He barks out a laugh when I swing a shocked look at him. “It was hot,” Creed adds, rubbing his hands together in excitement like he’s plotting out ways to win her over already.

I let my concern for the poor girl slide as we get outside and find Griffin leaning against the fountain in the main square of campus. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest as he glares at something in the distance. He does that a lot. Stares off into the air with an almost anguished expression. He hasn’t been the same since… well…

Over a year ago, Griffin was attacked at his parents’ house. He had gone home when some of his classes got canceled early for spring break. I guess there was an intruder in the midst of breaking open the safe in the garage. Griffin tried to fight the guy off, but despite his size, the other guy got the upper hand. He had a knife and the second he could, he slit Griffin’s throat. It’s a fucking wonder that he survived at all, but ever since, he hasn’t spoken a damn word. I don’t know if it’s the trauma or if his vocal cords were actually damaged, but Creed and I don’t ask.

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