PROLOGUE, PART I
NINE YEARS AGO
HAVEN
I’m going to kill Loni.
Of course, if I want to murder my best friend, I have to find her first. Easier said than done. The entire senior class is either crammed inside of Sebastien Reynolds’s house or partying on the property surrounding it. The Reynolds family is one of the richest, most powerful families in Harmony Heights. Their rebellious son could easily throw a rager and invite the entire school if he wanted, but with graduation sneaking up on us… graduation and the big ceremony in August, two months later… everyone here is in our grade.
In our grade, and have some sort of connection to the stupid fucking Order.
Whoops. Good girls in Harmony Heights don’t curse. Offerings raised from the cradle to be sweet and helpful andvirginal…they shouldn’t even know the meaning of the word, letalone use it so casually to insult the secret society that rules all of our lives.
Unfortunately for them, nobody ever asked Haven Smith her opinion.
Gritting my teeth, I push through a cluster of football players gathered around a keg as I scan the backyard. The music coming from inside of the house is almost loud enough to drown out the laughter and the voices of the partygoers outside of it. To my left, someone cannonballs into the Reynoldses’ pool. A handful of bikini-clad cheerleaders squeal as the water sprays them. When I spy Lindy Watkins perched on the edge of the deep end, I have to resist the urge to rush behind her and shove her in.
Let’s see how your perfect blonde hair handles a dip in the chlorinated water, Lin. Maybe then you’ll think twice when it comes to sniffing around the Heirs…
I shouldn’t care. Really, why should I give a shit that someone who isn’t pedigreed enough to be considered an Offering has decided to make it her life’s goal to marry up? Especially since I’ve been taught from infancy that, one day, my only worth would be in snagging the most powerful Owed that I could. Just because Lindy set her eyes on one in particular… only he’s not out here, is he? I do a second sweep over the crowd, and I realize that none of the Heirs—mine and Loni’s flippant nickname for the clique of five guys who basically rule Harmony Heights High… and who’ll eventually own the town one day, too—are slumming with the rest of us outdoors.
Loni’s not out here, either. She told me that, if I decided to show up to the party, she’d hang out where I could find her. I figured that was near the front. Nope. The back? No Loni.
That leaves the inside. I took a quick tour through it on my way to reach the backyard and didn’t see her. Then again, I wasn’t really looking, and before I say ‘fuck it’ and head home, I’d really like to make sure that Loni is okay.
Like me, she’s an Offering. Like me, she’s held to a higher standard than girls like Lindy Watkins and her squad. She needs to be careful, and if she’s too in over her head to do so, it’s my job to do it for her.
Sidestepping Patrick Miller before he can spill the contents of his red Solo cup on me, I head for the back sliding door, intent on searching inside again. I purposely ignore anyone calling out my name. Graduation is almost here. Then, before I know it, it’ll be August. I have to attend my first Claiming ceremony then, and if Jack Collins—the King of the Order, and the fucking bane of my existence—has it his way, I’ll be engaged this summer.
It’s what my parents expect of me. What the head of the secret society demands. I’ve been promised to Jack’s nephew since I was twelve, and though there are a thousand reasons why I don’t want to be Offered to Adrian Heller as his arranged bride, the biggest one is most likely hiding somewhere in the Reynolds family’s mansion—and I only hope that my best friend and my supposed groom aren’t together.
Oh, who am I kidding? She’s desperate enough to think that I have no clue, but me and Loni have been besties since we were in diapers. There isn’t anything about her that I don’t know, and that includes her complicated relationship with the boy all of Harmony Heights believes is going to Claim me as his future bride once he’s branded into the Order.
She’s playing with fire these days, and we’ve had enough run-ins with the Heirs to know that it’s not worth the burn. At least,Ido. But Loni…
“Goddamn it,” I mutter under my breath as I climb the stairs that lead to the back patio. “When I find you, Avalon Dougherty, I’m so going to beat your ass.”
“Tsk, tsk,” comes a familiar male voice. “That doesn’t sound very Offering-like of you, sunshine. Though, to be fair, if youand Loni go at it, you can bet I’ll have a front row seat to that catfight.” A husky chuckle, followed by, “Me-ow.”
Speak of the devil?—
My hands curl into fists at my side. I ignored everyone who thought it might be a brilliant idea to get on Haven Smith’s good side before she becomes Haven Heller, but that voice… that mocking tease… as much as I want to, I can’t ignorehim.
I want to pretend it has everything to do with my status as an Offering. Young women born into the Order, prized only for their beauty, their—ha!—obedience, and their virginity, Offerings are just that: brides given to the most powerful men in the secret society so that they can breed and grow and build the Order of the Owed. I’ve spent the last two years trying to fight past the brainwashing that they put me through for the first sixteen of my life, but sometimes… sometimes the training holds.
And when one of the Heirs—a son of a founding family, and a boy who will lead the Order near the top once he turns eighteen, gets his brand, and becomes aman—calls out to you, you pause and turn.
Or maybe it’s just because he’s Connor Heyward.
There he is. Connor is leaning against one of the stone columns bordering the patio, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Healwayslooks pleased with himself.
It's fuckinginfuriating.
His arms are crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankle. His rich brown hair is trimmed and neat, his blue eyes gleaming in the porch light attached to the back of the house. He’s wearing khaki pants and a soft pink polo shirt, everything about him screaming: boy-next-door.
I know better. To make it even worse, sometimes I think that I’m the only one who does.
