Page 28 of Love to Defy You
A knot of dread forms in my stomach as I pick it up. I sink into a seat at the kitchen island before sliding the heavy cardstock from the envelope. It’s a printed invitation with gold embossed lettering on black paper.
Your presence is requested at the Trial of Mortality on Saturday evening. Please arrive at the Weltner College quadrangle before midnight. Failure to appear will result in the ultimate sacrifice.
In death, we become gods. We are gods among men.
At the bottom of the card is a symbol—a lyre surrounded by a circle, with an arrow piercing through it at an angle.
“I’ve seen this symbol before,” I murmur.
Willow lifts the bacon out of the pan and drops it onto each of our plates. She carries them over to the island and slides one in front of me before taking her seat. Her brows knit together as she stares at the invitation. “Hold on, that’s the same as Mikhail’s tattoo.”
“Fuck, you’re right.” I hold the invitation closer to my face.
Mikhail didn’t always have that tattoo, and to be honest, I didn’t even notice it until Willow pointed it out. The guy gets new ink every other month.
But if Mikhail has this symbol on his arm, does that mean he’s involved with this secret fight club below the school? If he were, surely he would have warned me.
Except my father didn’t warn me, either.
If my father were a part of this like they claim, would he have had a tattoo as well? I think back, but I can’t recall a single time I saw my father with short sleeves. He never wore casual clothing in my presence; I only saw him in a suit or his military uniform. Even on summer holidays, he wore a white button-up shirt.
The more I try to deny it, the more questions arise.
Willow plucks the invitation out of my hand and reads it. “I don’t think you should go to this. Not after what happened.” She runs her thumb over my lip, but the wound is still tender, and I shake her off.
“Let me call Mikhail.” I stand up from my seat and pop a piece of bacon into my mouth. “Mmm, this is actually pretty good.”
“Did you think my cooking would suck?” She narrows her gaze at me.
“My love, you are talented at many things, but you have never shown a speck of interest in the domestic arts since I met you.”
Before she gets a chance to smack me, I head down the hall and retreat to the bedroom. My phone sits on the charger on my nightstand, and I yank out the cord before pulling up Mikhail’s name in my contacts.
But when I call, it rings and rings.
“Come on, asshole, pick up,” I mutter.
The call goes to voicemail.
“Call me, fucker. I need to talk to you.Now.”
The last time I was on campus, it was in the middle of the night. The courtyard was empty then, but this morning, it’s bustling with activity—students rushing to class, reading under trees, or tossing flying discs on the lawn. An idyllic picture of academia.
All of them are blissfully unaware of the cellar door hiding in the brush or the underground tunnels beneath our very feet.
Willow squeezes my hand. “Hey, are you okay?”
I tear my gaze from the bushes and glance down at her. “Of course.”
She dabs at the concealer she applied to my eye this morning to touch it up. “Okay, well, see you at lunch?”
“Yes, I’ll see you then.” I lean over and kiss her mouth.
When she pulls away, the worry is wiped from her features. She adjusts her backpack and heads off toward her first class.
With one last glance at the brush, I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and head to my first class in the business school.
The building itself looks much like the rest of them with its stone architecture. Thick ivy crawls up the façade, and when I reach the top of the front steps, I pass beneath a giant stone archway leading to the entry doors made of dark, thick wood.
