Page 71 of Virgin Sacrifice

“Is there something I can help you with, or did you just come over to discuss how your brother is the superior twin?” I baited him, looking down and pretending to focus on my notes, not that I could read a word of them at the moment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him shift his body toward mine before I felt his other hand wrap firmly around my thigh. The thick wool tights I wore did nothing to ward off the warmth of his palm on my leg.

“Luz.” Aaron’s voice was abnormally harsh, and I looked up to see his eyes zeroed in on Nixon’s hand on my leg as though he could burn away the offending appendage with the heat of his gaze alone.

The killer next to me went almost preternaturally still, and the hairs stood up on my arms as he slowly turned his sights to the now clearly scowling Aaron, the mischievous glint in his eyes having turned into something dark and far more predatory.

“Croft, is it?” he asked coldly.

“Aaron Croft,” the idiot replied with an irritated surety, and I ignored the desire to roll my eyes at his bravado. I really didn’t want the Labradoodle to die today.

“Hmmm.” Nixon’s storm blue eyes took in Aaron’s rigid posture and puffed-out chest with casual disdain before he languidly eased back to rest deeper in his chair, then turned back to face me, his hand still on me. “Methinks your guard dog is all bite and no bark, Luz,” he drawled.

Aaron turned an alarming shade of red and leaned forward, nearly spitting. “And I think you should—‍”

“It’s fine, Aaron,” I said, holding up my hand to stop him when he started to protest. “Nixon and his brother have a tiny stalking problem. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” I kept my tone even and cool, even though he squeezed my thigh almost painfully tight in warning. Or approval. It was hard to tell sometimes with the twins.

“Tsk, tsk,” Nixon clucked at me. “I told you sweet pet. If you want to be rid of us that badly, all you need to do is tell us all your deepest, darkest secrets.”

Somehow, I doubted that very much.

“Okay, you first,” I countered with a sugary smile.

“In front of the plebs?” he scoffed, provoking my ire again.

“Again, no one asked you to come and slum it up with us, Blackwell.”

“Luz . . .” Autumn’s voice was a pleading whisper.

“Not sure how you can say that when those lips of yours are practically an invitation themselves,” he replied airily, tugging hard on the strand of hair he still had coiled around his fingers.

The slap of Aaron’s palms coming down on the table cracked through the space, causing Melody to nearly jump out of her seat.

“Listen, Blackwell, if you don’t—‍”

“If I don’t, what?” Nixon spat, whipping his attention back to Aaron, like a viper preparing to strike. “What will you do, Croft? Tattle on me to the librarian? And what do you think would happen to poor Cheyenne Willis if you did that? She’s a single mother with her two children. Life can be terribly cruel to orphans.

“Or maybe you’ll run to the head of campus security, Jonathan King, a lifelong bachelor with a terrible gambling problem. Not sure anyone would be that surprised if he met with a nasty end,” he continued with ruthless sincerity dripping from every word. “Or perhaps, you’ll just call and complain to Mommy and Daddy? Alicia and William, correct? 55 Meadows Lane, Westchester, New York. Your mom’s quite the fetching woman, Croft. I wonder if she’s a natural redhead?”

Aaron choked at the last remark, and the mood at the table took a sour turn. Even Melody had paled, and I hoped she was reconsidering her interest in Nixon.

I deftly plucked my favorite gold mechanical pencil from the table before turning to give Nixon a patently disingenuous smile. Biting down on my lip, I reached for the lock of hair he had been twirling, this time gently plucking it from his fingers with a caress.

“All right, it’s time to go,” I said in a sickly sweet voice.

Then I drove my pencil decisively into the soft fleshy part of the hand still wrapped around my thigh, stabbing him right between the thumb and pointer finger and forcing him to let me go. Nixon yanked his hand away from me with a muttered curse, and I stood up without hesitation, sending my chair sliding out across the floor behind me.

Before he could utter another word, I strode away from the table into the stacks. I was counting on him to abandon terrorizing the group to follow me, although I refused to look back to confirm it. I would know soon enough if my plan worked.

Sure enough, I had barely made it three rows deep when I found myself painfully yanked backward by my hair.

This time I didn’t argue with him. Instead, I submit fully, letting him lead me backward through the row like a dog on a leash. With a swift tug, he spun me around and backed me into the corner between two of the stacks where I landed harshly against the wall, my scalp now throbbing.

He was immediately in my space, slamming his palms onto the wall above my head to cage me in, his nearness making my breath catch in my throat. Trapped between those deliciously inked arms, the scent of cinnamon and flames swirling in the air brought me back to Halloween night. This time, the coppery scent of his blood hung in the air too.

Looking up to meet his eyes, I wasn’t surprised to find his usual playful mask missing. There was also none of the rage one might have expected—I did just stab him with a pen. No, there was nothing in Nixon’s expression but cold, utter indifference.

Could he murder me in broad daylight in the middle of the library and walk away scot-free? Probably.

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