Page 10 of Coveted

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” says Clara. “My demonic brother is friends with him, which is never a good sign.”

Is that what I sensed when Lucan glared at me? Is he a killer?

Something dark definitely lurked in him. I felt it whenever his eyes locked on mine, my heart thumping like I was a rabbit cornered by a fox.

Maybe the rumors are nonsense, maybe not. Either way, I have no desire to find out.

“I won’t go near him,” I say, meaning it wholeheartedly.

I have a scholarship to keep and a stalker to shake. I already have enough to cope with.

Slipping my hand into my pocket, my fingertips run over my initials engraved on the silver locket. When I was a kid, I used to trace the S.M. for comfort, but now the necklace feels like a ticking bomb.

Who sent it to me, and why?

The storm outside has eased, leaving behind a thin gray mist. The scent of wet pine needles filters through the open window.

“Sunset’s coming,” says Clara, jiggling her eyebrows. “Let’s get ready for the Founder’s Run.”

Excitement grows in me, despite everything.

It’s really happening. I’m at college, I have roommates, and I’m about to participate in my first-ever university tradition.

Nothing can ruin this feeling. Not even blue-eyed rumored murderers.

CHAPTER 3

Sadie

“Welcome to the Founder’s Run!” calls a senior student in the quad. “Rules are simple! Freshmen, cross the green and plant your pennant beneath the Darkbloom flagpole before the bells toll. But if one of us claims your pennant first—” He grins with too many teeth, like a hungry shark. “You owe your captor obedience. Once dusk falls, we will begin.”

The ivory felt pennant in my hand suddenly feels like a glaring target.

“What does he mean, we owe our captor obedience?” I ask Clara and Juliette.

Clara stretches her hamstring. “If any of the upperclassmen catch us before we plant our pennant, we have to kneel before our captor and obey a single order they give us.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Something silly.” Juliette waves a manicured hand. “Like jumping in the freezing lake.”

“Screw that,” says Clara. “I’m not dying of hypothermia.”

We wear dark-colored sweaters, leggings, and sneakers to blend into the shadows rapidly descending on the rear quad. The gothic spires and turrets of the college are at our backs, with the expansive green unrolling before us like an emerald blanket.

In the distance, a flag bearing Darkbloom’s crest snaps from the pole in a breeze.

“And if we make it to the flagpole?” I ask.

“We’re invited to eat at the Founder’s Table with upperclassmen on a night of their choosing,” says Juliette.

The sky turns to a mauve watercolor as the weak sun slides toward the treetops. A ripple of anticipation travels through the quad and into my bloodstream.

A horde of upperclassmen stands between us and the flagpole. They fan out on the green like hyenas, ready to block our paths and catch us.

Our odds don’t seem great. There are two of them for every one of us.

But if this is a much-loved Darkbloom tradition, who am I to sit out? I want to make an effort to belong at my new school.