Page 17 of Our Covenant

“Does that lose me points?” I wince, waiting for my heart to be shattered.

Elsbeth looks me over like she’s using the new information and putting it together with my outward appearance to see if they line up.

“No, but only time will tell if you’re as kind as you seem. Or if you’re a pretty face who knows just what to say to get a girl to go out with you on Saturday night.”

“What will I find out about you on such a night?”

She lifts her hand up expectantly. “Give me your phone and you’ll find out.”

I obey without another thought, taking my phone from its pocket on my arm. Opening it with my password, I pass it to her. She types out a text to whom I presume is herself then holds it out to me. Our fingers brush and the contact feels electric. I’m hit again with the urgency to do something. Pull her in close for a kiss, get on my knees between her legs, create some sort of elixir that would instantly bond us for eternity . . . but instead I say:

“I should get going. But I’ll text you later with options for dinner.” I grab up my cup and pastry, knowing damn well I’ll be cursing myself for leaving but too afraid that’ll I’ll give into these foreign impulses if I stay.

“I get to pick?”

Getting to my feet feels like I’m climbing Everest as her gaze follows me.

If she wanted, I would let her choose every last detail of the rest of our lives, but that feels a bit strong. “Of course,” I say simply and hold her gaze a little too long.

She smiles and cocks her head. “A true gentleman. See you soon, Mads.”

It takes every effort to walk away, but the moment I step outside, my lungs fill with fresh oxygen and the world around me is a little less colorful. The reds of the leaves on trees I pass on the way to the parking lot aren’t has beautiful as Elsbeth’s silky auburn hair. The sun peeking through gray clouds isn’t as warm as her smile. Even the dark green ivy growing up the library walls isn’t as vibrant.

When I get to my car, I take my phone out and see a text and a photo from the newly added thread:

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Just in case you were worried the number was fake.

She sent through a quick selfie, the café wall behind her, and then I notice the small roll of paper tucked into her hair clip and the flower petal tied to it with red thread. My stomach drops and realization hits me like a ton of bricks. My stomach roils and I heave over into the gutter to purge the acid and few sips of coffee.

My thumbs shake, hitting the keys into the legacy group chat as fast as I can.

Mads

SOS.

9

ELSBETH

The limerence-inducing spell was probably overboard. By the look on Maddox’s face, I could have subdued him with a single wink and flirtatious compliment. But I want him running back to the others scared. I want the four of them to wonder who I am and where I came from. They won’t figure it out until it’s too late, but that’s all part of my plan.

Alric wants me to remain subtle. Docile. He wants me to be as malleable as my mother has been. For him and the legacies, it’s how they want their faithful disciples: willing to fawn at their feet and eat up their patriarchal rhetoric on the platinum spoons they dish from.

I watch Maddox scramble into his driver’s seat and start up his engine. Sweat and distress settle on his brow as the magic I wielded against him minutes ago leaves him and the realization that he was in danger fills him with dread. There is no mystery in how he’s feeling. Being prey my entire life has made me all too acquainted with the deeply ingrained feeling of knowing you’re being hunted for sport. Instilling that fear into one man, knowing he’s about to infect the others is satisfaction I’ve been dreaming of for years.

Thorne will realize that he and Maddox have both had the pleasure of meeting me. But the other two will talk them down. Explain away the sudden onset of obsession as me being a pretty girl who didn’t offer to bend over for them the second we met. Asher and Fox will need proof that I am the threat that Maddox claims. Lucky for Asher, we have class tomorrow.

Hours and a full class day later, I stroll into my apartment off campus, holding my head a bit higher than usual. Thorne and Maddox have texted me, obviously figuring out that they both have my number.

Maddox Elwell

Italian or Japanese for dinner on Saturday?

I haven’t answered. It’s a trap made only more obvious by the text I get an hour later from Thorne.

Hawthorne Bishop