Page 34 of Love to Defy You
But the other candidates panic. Their frenzied voices create a discordant string of curses and horrified cries. But when they try to scramble away, the hooded figures keep them in place, forcing them to witness the consequences of going against the Order.
It dawns on us how real this is, how real the danger is that we’re now enmeshed in—with no way to escape it.
“In death, we become gods!” Mikhail’s voice rings in my ears above the other hooded figures shouting in chorus. “We are gods among men!”
I’m in such a daze I don’t remember walking home, but I find myself standing in front of my apartment door. My hands shake so hard I struggle to fit the keycard into the reader, so it takes a few tries to insert it. When the lock clicks, I push the door open and stumble inside.
Before the door has a chance to shut behind me, Willow rushes around the corner, but when she sees me, she stops short.
Her gaze drops to my shirt. “Why are you covered in dirt?” She sniffs the air. “Ew, is that fertilizer?”
“Yeah.” I pull off my shirt and ball it up to avoid making a mess on the rug. Hopefully, there aren’t any earthworms stuck to my clothes. My neck prickles at the repulsive thought.
“So?” She leans against the wall. “What happened?”
What do I tell her? That a secret underground society on campus slit a student’s throat tonight in front of dozens of witnesses? Saying it aloud would sound ludicrous.
Instead, I say nothing as I slip off my shoes and strip down to my boxers.
Willow scans my body, lingering a moment longer on my groin. One salacious look from Willow always gets me hard, but I doubt I could even get it up tonight after what I witnessed.
She purses her lips together. “Well, at least you don’t appear injured. But why are you covered in fertilizer?”
I push past Willow and head toward the kitchen. Instead of washing my clothes, I throw them in the trash. If I don’t, I’d think of graves and worms every time I put them on again,and even if I got the stench of ammonia out of the fabric, the phantom scent would endure in my mind.
I veer down the hall toward our bedroom. As expected, Willow follows me like a curious kitten. But you know what they say about curiosity and cats, and in this case, it’s the truth.
“Alek?” Willow follows me down the hall. “Hey, talk to me.”
I make a beeline for the bathroom and turn on the shower faucet to let the water heat up. When I slip off my boxers, I feel her presence in the doorway staring at the scar on my ass.
I never told Willow the vile, lecherous things Grigor Kurochkin said about her the night he inflicted it on me with his belt. Not because I enjoy keeping secrets from her, but because I wanted to protect her.
“We made a deal, remember?” she says, and I don’t miss the hurt in her voice. “You promised me you’d let me in on what you’re going through. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what that frat is doing to you.”
The only time I’ve broken a promise to Willow was to protect her, and I’m about to do it again. If the Order of Apollo kills people for not showing up when summoned, what will they do to those who discover their secrets?
I know Willow, and if she finds out that a cult is murdering people beneath the school, she’ll never let it go. The less she knows about the Order, the safer she’ll be.
I’m starting to understand why Mikhail is afraid to tell me anything. Was my father also afraid of the Order of Apollo? It’s hard to imagine Grigor Kurochkin being afraid of anyone, but I’m learning a lot of new things about my father these days. Every interaction I’ve had with him takes on new meaning when I look at it through the lens of the Order.
Without looking at Willow, I step into the shower. “All they did was haze us initiates a little. It’s nothing to get upset about.”
My back is stiff from lying in that coffin, and as the water rolls over my skin, I sigh. The lie tastes bitter, so instead, I focus my energy on scrubbing the dirt from my arms.
Willow shifts on the other side of the glass in my peripheral, but I don’t meet her eye.
She’s quiet for a long stretch, and I wonder whether or not she’ll buy my story.
“Are you coming to bed when you’re done?” she asks.
“No. I have work to do. I’ll be in my office.” I double down on scrubbing until my skin turns raw. “Don’t wait up for me.”
She doesn’t move, and her intense gaze is making me agitated.
“Go to bed, Willow.” My tone is harsher this time. She doesn’t like it when I call her by her name, so I only use it sparingly to shut down the conversation.
It has the intended effect, and she turns her back on me to storm out of the bathroom. She slams the door shut behind her, leaving me alone at last with the dark images plaguing my mind.
