Page 16 of Sinful Storms

“I’m fine. Promise.”

This time, she believed me, the furrow in her brow disappearing, and she turned to Roman, tilting her face for a kiss. The way he looked at her warmed something inside my cold heart…not that I wanted that for myself, but it was sweet, and I was happy for her.

“All alone over there, Aria? Want me to come and keep you company?”

I threw up my middle finger at Tristan, not even bothering with a reply to his mocking comment. A minute later, three more girls joined us, trailed by two of the lacrosse team, and that was enough for me.

Swiping the rest of my uneaten sandwich from my plate, I rose to my feet. “I left my textbook in my room,” I said, addressing Quinn and Elena. They exchanged glances, but before they could suggest coming with me, I shook my head. I grabbed my bag, swinging it over my shoulder.

I accidentally made eye contact with one of Tristan’s groupies, and before I could escape, her gaze dropped to my throat. “Hey, Aria. What’s that on your neck?”

Every. Single. Person at the table turned to look at me.

Fuck.

“Hmm. Looks a bit like a handprint. Who knew you’d enjoy a little light choking in your spare time?” Tristan smirked at me, and I gritted my teeth.

I would not let him get to me.

The only way I could avoid more scrutiny was to play it casual. I shrugged. “I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

“Who were you with last night? That wasn’t Tyrell, was it?”

“No, he ended up with Harriet.”

“Again? Why do they even bother splitting up? They always do this.”

Rolling my eyes, I left the table to their gossip.

My sandwich was gone by the time I made it back to my dorm room, and after dusting the crumbs from my hands, I studied my throat in the mirror. I hadn’t even thought about marks, but there they were—only a couple, and they were very faint but obviously noticeable enough for someone to comment on them. Fucking Tristan. Releasing my hair from its ponytail, I brushed it out, arranging it so it was falling over my shoulders. Hopefully, that would be enough to stop people from staring at my neck.

That done, I made my way over to my bed, crouching down to fish the book out of its hiding place in one of my shoeboxes.The first pages were lists of names. Some were crossed out, others had question marks next to them, and several were underlined.

It was the names that had stopped me in my tracks to begin with because there were three I recognised.

Tristan’s grandfather.

Knox’s grandfather.

And finally, my great-uncle, with a question mark next to his name.

INTERLUDE

The cloaked, hooded figures gathered in the bell tower. Candlelight flickered, sending shadows dancing across the stone walls. Rain battered against the leaded glass of the windows, the wind howling angrily, denied entrance to their inner sanctum.

One of the figures dipped the pen into the ink pot, their pen scratching across the parchment as they wrote out the name.

The chant started softly, repeated three times, as was the custom.

“So it is written. So it is decided.”

One of the figures spoke. “He will need to prove his worth.”

“Yes. He will complete the full ritual. First, the oath of allegiance. Then, the initiation challenge. Finally, the blood pact will complete the ritual.”

“It is dangerous.”

“Yes. The challenge must ensure he is worthy of belonging. He has more to prove than most. He is not…one of us.”

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