Page 9 of Pretty Savage: Defy

Silas just smiles.

Anger flares, and I take a step toward him. “You did that on purpose,” I hiss.

“Damn right I did.” He leans in until I can feel the heat of his breath, can smell the faint reek of liquor. “We’re on the same side for now, sugar, but double-cross me and...well.” His finger lifts, points directly at Jackson, who’s moved to the couch where he slouches with his chin on his chest, eyes glazed. “I’ll let him off the leash.”

The words are hanging in the air when his expression shifts. There’s a slight furrow between his brows. His head cocks to one side, as though he’s listening to a distant sound, but I don’t hear anything.

Whatever pulled him away passes and the act returns, but it doesn’t fit quite right anymore.

“My goodness!” He claps his hands together. “Where has the time gone?” Then he’s turning me to the door. Silas tosses a black ski mask to me. “Put this on.” I tug it over my head, flinching when Silas yanks it down until it covers my eyes. Hands grip my shoulders, spinning me. There’s the click of a door opening and the rush of cool night air. I stumble down a metal step.

Silas’s voice is in my ear. “Run along now. Quickly. You’re needed inside.” He gives me a gentle shove, and I fall forward, landing on my knees on rough asphalt, scraping skin.

“Go get ’em, tiger.” Silas’s laughter follows me, mingling with diesel smoke as the bus drives away.

Tiger.

Carrson’s nickname for me.

The right word in the wrong person’s mouth.

Laurel Turner. Art by: The Artful Medic

Map

Ashport and Ashfordville

Chapter two

Seven Days Until Bonding

Laurel

With trembling hands, I rip off the mask, and everything blurs. I blink, then blink again. By the time my vision clears, Silas’s bus is already gone.

Ashford House rises before me, stately and ominous. White columns. Slate-gray roof. Peaked dormers, each window burning with light. I can’t believe it. I’m back where it all began.

I rise and stumble toward the place I’ve called home for the past six months. As soon as I open the heavy mahogany door, I hear it. A sharp crack. An odd sound, familiar, but I can’t quite place it. I follow the noise, winding down the stairs into the belly of the house, to the dining hall where I kissed Carrson for the first time.

Once again, the massive hewn tables have been shoved aside, clearing the center of the room like an arena. The ancient grey stone floor is rough and uneven beneath my feet. The stained-glass windows lining the hall are black mirrors tonight, the outside world too dark to share its light. In their absence, chandeliers flare overhead and sconces flicker along the walls, casting restless shadows. The glow should be warm, but it isn’t. It feels staged, as if the house itself is preparing for spectacle.

The room is packed. Every single Brother and Sister must be here, hundreds of them, with adults I don’t recognize scattered among their ranks. They stand shoulder to shoulder, with their backs to me, pressed so close it’s as if they’ve fused into a single organism, one heaving, silent wall of humanity.

Desperate to know what they’re looking at, I search for a gap I can squeeze through, but it’s no use.

Still, I try. I press my palms against shoulders, shove at elbows, wedge myself between bodies, but I make no progress. They don’t even notice me. Heat presses in on all sides. The smell of sweat, perfume, stale air—it all combines to smother me.

My pulse pounds high in my throat.

Panic claws up my chest and then…

“Laurel!”

Samantha bursts through the crowd. My mouth drops open when I see the tears that streak her cheeks. Sam never cries. “You have to help him!”

“Who?” I ask, looking around. “What’s happening?”

Crack.