Page 23 of Virgin Sacrifice

I could still see it in my mind, though, clear as day. The sagging, distended flesh of the oxidizing organ, and the thick crimson blood running down the door to form a sticky puddle below.

Some stains never come clean.

Chapter eleven

Luz

Thunder rumbled across the rapidly darkening sky as I headed to my ECON200 class. My umbrella was tucked away in my backpack, and I was hoping to make it inside before the rain began to fall. Racing across campus my focus was purely on beating the storm and not the pit of uneasiness sitting inside me at the thought of returning to Locke’s classroom.

For the last couple of weeks after the incident, he had been disconcertingly well-behaved, effectively ignoring me every class since I didn’t ever raise my hand. There was no need to. Participation only counted toward my mark in the tutorial sessions.

The danger that Locke posed was far from over. If anything, I suspected this false détente was a deliberate countermeasure on his part. Up until October fifteenth, I could drop a class without facing an academic penalty. After that, any class I withdrew from would go on my record as incomplete, dragging down my GPA and likely costing me my scholarship. Only an especially cruel person would intentionally wait until after the fifteenth to try to get me to drop their class. I had no doubt Locke Blackwell was capable of that level of calculated cruelty.

I arrived at the class five minutes early—despite the fact that he had been on his best behavior lately, I refused to give him any ammunition to target me.

My worries were all for naught.

As I slipped into one of the middle rows, I noticed that Locke was nowhere to be found, and instead, my TA was leaning casually up against the lectern, offering entering students a warm nod.

When a few more students wandered in with quizzical looks on their faces, Dominic spoke up.

“Don’t worry folks, you’re in the right place,” he said with a wry grin. “Dr. Blackwell’s away at a conference, so I will be lecturing for him today. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Dominic Carlucci, and I teach the Thursday afternoon tutorial session.” Pausing, he eyed the clock. “Let’s, uh, give folks another couple minutes to make their way in, and then we will get started with today’s lecture.”

Dominic was a pretty great TA, making his presence here a pleasant surprise.

From my tutorial sessions, I knew that he was finishing up his master’s degree in economics and that he was super passionate about global finance reform and hoped to complete his PhD in that area. I also knew that outside of the classroom, he was passionate about his seven-year-old rescue pug, Queenie, and his boyfriend of two years, James, who was a philosophy graduate student here at Hollow Oak.

Dominic began to speak, and I quickly fell into the zone, listening to him wax rhapsodically about national income determination and different heterodox critiques he found to be of interest. It was lovely to sit and be able to focus exclusively on the lecture for once. Although Locke’s sneering face kept invading my thoughts.

Class flew by, and before I knew it, the lecture was over and I found myself standing under the colonnade of Granger Hall, grimacing at the fall storm raging outside. Most of my classmates had already scattered or retreated back into the building, leaving me alone on the stone steps as I watched the strong winds viciously whip around sheets of heavy rain.

An umbrella wouldn’t do me any good in weather like this, and yet I found myself unwilling to head back inside for shelter. Instead, I watched in admiration as the tempest unleashed its wrath on the campus.

Rain surged from the skies above and the lightning cracked through the darkness over and over again. There was something so captivating about a wild storm, a timeless display of nature’s ferocity. This beauty was no different.

A sudden gust of wind caused the ancient oak doors of Granger Hall behind me to snap back and forth, like storm shutters, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I sensed someone approaching me from behind.

Irritated at the loss of my sanctuary, I whipped around to confront the intruder . . .

A large, inked hand clamped down on my mouth, and an arm wrapped around my chest, holding me tight like a cage. Rage tore through me, but before I could attempt to bite the hand silencing me, another large figure stepped out from the shadows.

In front of me stood one of the infamous Blackwell twins, and I could only assume the other was at my back.

Adrenaline surged through my body at my proximity to these men who were practically urban legends on campus. This was the closest I had ever been to them, and I found myself wondering which one was which.

Which one had I watched?

“Mmm, she may not be fighting you yet, Ali, but she’s a feisty one. I can just tell,” the one said, scrubbing his jaw with a hungry look in his eyes.

If looks could kill, I would have leveled him at that moment.

The twin at my back, Alister presumably, remained silent, the tightening of his hold on me the only indication that he had heard his brother.

Nixon Blackwell took another step toward us, coming into the light to inspect me.

“Luz Torres,” he rasped sardonically, reaching forward to tease one of the strands of hair plastered to my face while I struggled weakly in his twin’s grip.

I could have tried harder to escape, but I knew if I fled it would only serve to prolong their interest in me. There was nothing predators liked more than the chase.

---