Page 41 of Hallowed Bones

The smell of old smoke and whiskey slaps me in the face as we step inside. My nose wrinkles at the strength of it, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the follow-up hit of too-strong cologne makes my stomach churn. Not even fifteen minutes into my second college party, and I’m missing that damn lake.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Male chants sound in the distance. Elodie grasps my arm and drags me through the various rooms until we’re in a black-and-white-tiled room with an island laden down with a plethora of drink mixes.

“What do you want to start with?” she asks as she snags a red cup and heads to a container with a spout on the side and a tape label that reads Jungle Juice.

“I’m good with a beer,” I say, reaching for one of the unopened cans on the counter. I eye the dark liquid that pours into her cup, but she readily gulps down a few mouthfuls without making a face, so I assume it’s good.

Together, we merge into the party. Elodie calls out to a few of her friends, carting me along with her. It’s as I lift the beer to my mouth and someone shouts a hello to Elodie that I realize—other than she and Liz—the only people that I’ve had regular contact with at Ipswich are the Sons of Salem. Lowering my beer, I scan the crowd. I recognize a few faces from various classes, but I don’t know their names.

Have I been so absorbed in the Sons of Salem that I’ve forgotten the whole point of coming to Ipswich?

Normalcy. Friends. A life.

Recognizing I have a problem doesn’t mean I know how to fix it. So I just sit here, perched on the worn couch like I belong, like I’m not waiting for the walls to cave in. Each second that passes makes it easier to pretend.

Elodie’s beside me, radiant and glowing under the firelight, every bit the girl she was before Jonah’s death. She’s laughing at something, her fingers twirling a strand of her hair as she makes moon eyes at one of the guys in our circle. The knot in my chest eases slightly. I know she’s not okay. Not really. But she’s trying, and I’m proud of her for it—even if I know that this is really just a ruse for her to forget for a little while.

My first beer is gone, and the second one disappears just as fast. The third goes down like water. I’m buzzed. Warm and fuzzy around the edges.

The fireplace crackles beside us, casting shadows over the peeling wallpaper of the large, den-like space we’re in. Other than its poor décor—a foosball table with more scratches on the posts than a cat toy, and couches that look like they’ve been sourced from a dumpster—it’s far less creepy on the inside of the house than it is on the outside. The lacrosse player Elodie’s been eye-fucking for the last hour is telling some absurd story about getting caught in a bus door—ridiculous enough to make everyone laugh.

I’m caught mid-laugh as a tremble of awareness spikes through me, choking the sound off. A moment later, the couch dips beside me. The following shift in the atmosphere snatches the breath from my lungs.

“Hey, Rabbit,” a voice murmurs—rich, cocky, low. Right against my ear.

I don’t have to look. I already know. We’ve only met once before, but he—just like his friends—all seem to have the same effect on me.

Lyall.

I turn anyway.

Lyall looks back at me with a toothy grin that has one of his canines poking out over his lower lip. It gives him a wild and untamable sort of air. He leans closer, lounging like a great big cat and taking up my personal space. I frown and scoot to the side. I thought at worst I’d have to deal with Cameron and Reyes at school. I hadn’t expected Lyall.

“What are you doing here?” I look around, wondering if the others are here as well.

When I return my attention to him, Lyall raises a brow, amused. “I was invited,” he says, his gaze dropping to my mouth for just a second too long. “Just like you.”

I bristle and turn away from him, reaching for my beer only to realize that it’s empty. Thank god for small mercies; it gives me an excuse to get away. “I need a refill,” I tell Elodie. “I’ll be back.”

Lyall opens his mouth to say something, but thankfully, someone calls his name and engages him as I slip from the room. My skin prickles with awareness and heat. Cameron’s words the other day invade my mind.

Ghosts and monsters in the dark aren’t supposed to exist, but you see them every time you close your eyes.

I really should avoid them all, the Sons of Salem. Getting involved with them, even if it’s casually, is a bad idea. If I’m honest with myself, they frustrate me as much as they terrify me. Not the men themselves but what they could do, what they might represent. If I let them in, they’ll only end up making things worse.

The house is alive with bodies and noise—laughter, music, the scents of booze and sweat. I duck past a couple tangled against the banister and make my way into the kitchen.

I’ve just wrapped my hand around a cold can when a solid arm slams down beside mine, caging me in.

My breath stalls.

Fuck.

I spin, heart in my throat.

Lyall towers over me, golden eyes gleaming like a predator who’s found his next meal. We’re close. Too close. His body pins mine between the counter and the scorching heat of his body. The part of me that should scream? She’s dead silent.

No one else even seems to notice, too absorbed in whatever they’re doing—drinking, making out, chatting with their friends. In plain sight and still all alone. That’s me.