Wicked Royals (Elites of Macedon High 1)

Prologue

Alex

Summer heat slicks my skin, humidity prickling my cool flesh as I slip quietly into the garden. When the door clicks shut behind me, I close my eyes briefly, a momentary relief from the food, fun, and fanciful evening. The faded sounds of the party reach my ears, barely audible, hardly noticeable with how loud the bugs are chirping out here.

Privacy. Finally.

Solar lamps glow from the bushes flanking either side of the paved walkway. The path curls toward a stone fountain that boasts glittering silver bulbs in the water, with angels sprouting from the center caught in mid-flight. Behind them follows a massive maw that threatens to swallow them.

My throat clicks as I swallow.

Like me. Just like me.

Heart still hammering from encountering my uncle’s friends, I step forward, heels clicking over the stone path. I pause, snap my heels from my ankles, and sigh when the warm stone greets my bare feet. Stars glimmer above, inviting my gaze. For a moment, I lean into the orchestra of life erupting around me. Evergreen tree branches rustle with the breeze, the wind caressing my cheek in such a comforting way that reminds me of my father.

My mouth tightens as I recall his violent death. No one could comfort me like my father. His charming personality and doting hands gave me the kind of life that any girl could get used to.

You know, until it was ripped away like a childhood bully yanking a lollipop from my hands.

Suddenly, things became precarious.

The usual riches and comforts now hang in a delicate balance, the kind of thread that threatens to snap with the slightest pressure. It’s me—I’m what’s going to break under the slightest pressure. And with the way my mother is acting, I just have to stay away from her.

Hence the temporary retreat to my uncle’s vacation house.

Once the heat dies down, once things get back into a settled routine, I can return. But until then, I just need to be on my own. I need to figure out a way to get to safety. The sharks are circling. I can feel them moving in the water around me, the blood from between my legs drawing them easily.

A shuddering breath roots me back into the present.

Fuck it, I’m going for a walk.

The path winds around the fountain and toward a maze, the leafy green walls granting me a sense of privacy away from the party. As I wander, the sounds fade even more until they’re swallowed entirely by the crickets and frogs boasting of their musical skills. The heels hanging from my right hand produce a light clicking sound as they collide, a muted yet predictable sound that provides comfort.

But not like my father. Never like him.

I pause near the mouth of the maze, wondering if getting lost inside it will give me what I need. Who am I kidding? No one can give me what I need. My security is gone, my life now tipping over a precipice with all my worries, causing my feet to skitter over the edge. I can feel the anticipatory drop, the wind picking up at my back to launch me forward.

No, that’s not the wind. That’s a hand.

A warm hand.

Gasping, I spring away from the uninvited touch, focusing my dark gaze on the stranger who followed me into the garden. The portly man sports salt and pepper hair, a clean-shaven face, and the kind of clothes tailored by big money. Illegal money. The scent of bourbon assaults my nostrils and I recoil, not sure where I’m heading.

Doesn’t matter. I just need to get away from this creep.

He hums curiously as his eyes rove my body, the lecherous movement of his tongue behind his lips producing crimson heat in my cheeks. The wind roams over my shoulders, producing goose bumps that swamp my chest and harden my nipples from the sudden chill. His eyes brighten.

Great, he noticed.

“Alexandra Moretti,” he slurs, using his partially empty glass to gesture toward me. “A fully grown woman. My goodness, how you’ve blossomed.”

“Fuck off.”

My upper lip curls in disgust as I turn on my heel and march into the maze. Fuck, bad idea. This isn’t the kind of place where a leech would be deterred from following me. If anything, he’s even more likely to follow me. Plenty of places to hide—to be assaulted.

But I can’t help myself. The satisfactory way the shadows engulf me makes me feel just a little safer, a little more in control.

Until the creep grabs my upper arm.