Prologue
The abandoned streets of Darling Valley are as silent as the dead, and despite the name, this place is anything but darling. The buildings are covered in graffiti, and the smell of urine travels unfiltered through the area.
Potholes and rubbish litter the sidewalks and what little trees are seen in the city are wild, untamed messes, leaning or dented from car crashes with roots travelling deep and breaking the asphalt roads.
Blood coats my hands as I hold my boning knife to the back of my victim’s neck, digging it to the groove below his skull. He’s unimportant, scum of the earth. I hope to forget about him the second his body collapses to the ground, scrubbing his name from existence and my mind.
He’s a worker at the group home and he tried to trap me into exchanging sexual favors for basic necessities, and when that didn’t work, he tried to take it. Fucking dickhead.
How many children has he lured into his bed with the promise of a hot meal that he’s supposed to already be providing? How many have lost their innocence by his forceful tactics? No one will miss him, and better yet, no one will look for him.
Despite his initial screams and yells for help, no one in the nearby houses dare come outside. Darling Valley is not a safe place to be, and at night you know to hear and see nothing. If it’s not your business, do not under any circumstances interfere. So here I am, in an alleyway, gripping the base of his neck bracing my hand and providing the much-needed pressure for when I end this twisted fuck.
“Finish this, Briar. Gut this worthless, sack of shit, he doesn’t deserve the air to breathe.” Clarke’s breath feathers against my ear as he sweeps my hair back and positions it over my shoulder, placing a possessive kiss on the crook of my neck, his hands tightening their grip on my hips as he edges me to commit murder.
Despite the harshness of his words, Clarke’s voice is gentle as it always is when he speaks to me. Melodic tones that make most women drop their panties without hesitation. Most women. I shudder in revolution as he steps closer into me, his body flush against my back and I feel what the sight before us is doing to him.
I look into the rich brown eyes of my first friend and wonder how we strayed so far. Those beautiful eyes that used to star in my dreams, now haunt my nightmares. But he still gives me with a false sense of security, a feeling of being protected, wanted, even in his own sadistic way. Wanted isn’t a feeling I’m used to.
After being bounced from group home to group home, I found myself firmly placed in the secure embrace of Clarke Denshire. He’s only two years older than I am but life has worn him down and the distance between the sweet boy I met and the ruthless man he now is feels chasmic.
Even knowing him since I was 10 years old, I feel like I know both nothing and everything about him. He never let me in, not truly, not like I did him.
The muscles in his arms tense as a savage grin spreads over his beautiful mouth, flashing white teeth that is stark in comparison to his naturally bronzed skin. His toffee blonde hair falls in waves around his face, with a tendril landing in front of his piercing iris’s.
No matter how much he pushes it out of the way, it falls straight back in front of his eyes. He truly is beautiful. But of course, he is, how else does the devil lure you in if not by temptation?
I can see the cogs in his mind churning about just how he would rip this predator apart. I’ve seen his tricks over the years, I know how he likes to dissect his prey, the ways he likes to torture and get the most screams out of them.
He’s been teaching me, molding me into someone as vicious as he is. To show no mercy to my enemies… and being associated with Clarke is producing a lot of enemies.Fuck.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Gritting my teeth, snapping open my eyes and slicing my knife at the back on his neck, severing his spinal cord. The worthless scum slumps forward and I let him fall into a heap at my feet. Blood covers every inch of my camisole and skirt. My ballet flats are beyond saving and I’m furious that I’ll have to throw them out.Priorities.
Clarke steps past me and closer to the dead body at his feet, all the savagery and obsession he hides so well leaking to the surface. He stares at him like he wishes he could resurrect him and do it all over again, slowly, dragging it out before slicing through the man himself. I wish he had, well, not the torture part but the killing.
I’ve never killed someone before, and my hands are shaking pitifully. But I will do whatever I need to survive, no matter what that means. I pray I don’t lose my fucking soul in the process.
“You tried to touch what is mine.” He growls low and deadly, spitting on the dead man.
“I am no one’s but my own.” I murmur back to him, sounding calm with a bravado I don’t feel. Lacing my fingers together, tightening my hold around the knife so he won’t notice the tremor.
The force of his backhand knocks me off my feet and sends me sprawling to the ground. I can feel the blood starting to pour from my nose. I don’t dare wipe it away or look anywhere but at Clarke’s face as he stalks over to me and wraps his fingers in my long dark brown hair, tugging it back harshly to the point of pain, so my eyes meet his.
The look on his face is manic and wild, and I can see just how much he wants to dominate me, bend me to his will. I hold his gaze, trying not to challenge him but not cowering away. I know he wouldn’t like that, and I don’t want to see what he’ll do to me if I anger him further.
“You’re mine. Say it! Mine. Tell me, Rose, that you belong to me.” The fire in his words broker no room for argument. I swallow back the dread crawling under my skin before smiling sweetly up at him.
“I’m yours Clarke. Always yours.”
Chapter One
1 year later
I’m standing outside the wrought iron gates of Fairwater Academy, the castle-like building gleaming over me like a fairytale. It truly is magnificent. The sandstone walls of the building are accented by the floor to ceiling cathedral windows, decorated around the top of the arch in colored panels.
The light reflects through the windows and shines on the marble floors and the roof peaks are adorned with angel statues that are almost as tall as I am. Wait, is that a tower? Jesus Christ. It’s ostentatious as fuck, but truly a sight to see.
The lawns are beautifully manicured in a technicolored green so bright that it looks fake, not a stray weed or unpruned tree to be seen. The path is made out of white stone, spotted in glistening pools of rain, which somehow adds to the enchanted feeling of the place. I’m suddenly terrified to walk into the building.