Page 1 of Virgin Sacrifice

Prologue

The first time I died, I assumed it would be my last.

Looking back on it now, it’s almost embarrassing how naïve I was, all those silly fears and expectations.

Death is scary. Death is painful. Death is irrevocable.

What a whiner!

Nope, now I know better.

Death can be scary, sure, and in my experience, it’s usually painful and irrevocable. But not always.

The first time I died, I thought it was an accident. A terrible mistake.

Now I understand that we are all destined to die from our very first breath.

To this day, I can still feel those large hands tightening around my neck, can see the spots in my vision growing larger and blurrier as the world around me starts to swim.

In my nightmares, the fetid scent of their breath poisons what little air I can gasp while the flecks of their spittle decorate my cheeks and eyes.

The fear from your first time stays with you forever. But the shame is far worse.

I peed my pants.

Drip, drip, drip.

It ran down my leg, ruining my new underwear with rainbows and hearts on it.

Father is going to be so mad at me for having an accident.

Death may not be forever, but the lessons it teaches you are.

Chapter one

Luz

Hollow Oak University

“There is always a choice, and I choose to practice the ritual and embrace all the power it imbues upon me . . .”

My ragged breath and the rush of my blood pumping through me were all I could hear as I raced through the woods as fast as my feet could carry me. I ran as though the devil himself was at my back as the words echoed in my mind.

“There is a sacred art to what we do, as women . . .”

It was a lecture my mother had delivered to me a thousand times. She believed wholly in the divine power of femininity, of beauty and a woman’s grace. So, when she spoke of the act of getting ready, of putting on her face and doing her hair, it was with all the reverence of a true believer.

I wasn’t quite as devout as she was, but the power of her practice was undeniable, which was why I was currently running through the backwoods of Hollow Oak University before the crack of dawn, in order to make sure I had enough time to get ready properly for my first day of classes.

Light had started to creep into the sky as I headed back out of the woods. I was still learning the trails that cut through them and had kept close to the campus, not wanting to get lost. I slowed to walk as I approached my dorm, enjoying the easy warmth of late summer in Connecticut.

Back in my dorm room, which mercifully I didn’t have to share, I quickly stripped out of my sweaty running gear and unbound my long, thick, dark hair. It was always the first step of the ritual.

Maybe there was something to Mami’s worship. The women in my family were blessed with gorgeous locks that grew well past our waists. I kept mine cut to just above the bottom of my ribs, but it didn’t matter whether I chose to wear it up or down, it was always a production. Which was why I needed to get into the shower and get it dried as quickly as possible if I wanted to be able to complete the ritual in time to get breakfast before class.

An hour later, my waves were brushed and fluffed to perfection, floating airily around my face, décolletage, and down my back.

“The ritual gives us the ability to control how they see us, mija. It’s a subtle, delicate thing, but it’s power nonetheless . . .”

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