The Ritual

“You’re hurting me.” I try to pull away, but he yanks me closer to him.

Lowering his face to mine, he snaps, “You better be joking, Blakely. I swear to God …”

“Problem?”

I look over to see Ryat has joined the conversation, now standing next to us.

Matt growls at him. “Go away.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you.” His green eyes meet mine, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is this man bothering you?” The tone of his voice doesn’t sound concerned in the least. A total contradiction to his question.

Matt snorts. “I’m her boyfriend. You know that. Now fuck off, Ryat.”

“No, you’re not. And yes, he is,” I answer him. Finally able to yank my arm free of Matt’s grip, rubbing the sensitive skin.

“You just admitted to cheating on me, and you’re saying I’m the problem?” Matt shouts, getting everyone’s attention.

“You were cheating on me.” I shove my finger into his hard chest. “And that’s why I dumped your lying ass.”

He runs his hands through his hair, releasing a deep breath. His body is tense, and he looks like he’s about to punch something. “I knew you’d be just another fucking whore. You’ve been throwing yourself at me for years.”

I want to be embarrassed that he just said I beg him for sex, but I can’t. I’m in too much shock that he’s mad I cheated on him when he was the one who was actually cheating. I broke up with him, then messed around with a stranger. Not the other way around.

Ryat looks back at Matt and tilts his head to the side. “Looks like someone chose your bitch.” He shrugs carelessly. “Told you that would happen.”

“You son of …”

“Matt?”

What the actual fuck? His girlfriend also joins our conversation. Does she go to Barrington? If so, what year is she? “What’s going on?” she asks, coming up to us, her eyes searching all of ours.

Matt thins his lips. I wait for him to push her away, to explain all of this to me. He said we needed to talk, so now is his best chance if I’ve ever seen one. He can fill her in on us, and I can find out just how long he’s been screwing her.

Instead, he takes her hand and yanks her down the hall. She throws a look of concern over her shoulder at me, and I have a second of pity for her. I bet she didn’t even know about me.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter to myself, a laugh escaping my lips. What did I really expect from Matt, though? He has already proven to me what kind of man he is. I just never paid much attention. Now my eyes are wide open.

I see Ryat lower his lips to my ear out of the corner of my eye. My laughter stops, and I hold my breath as he whispers, “Told you he was over you.”

I inhale sharply as he pulls away. Reaching up, he slowly runs his hand through my hair while his eyes search mine. Blood is rushing in my ears, heart hammering in my chest. I’m speechless. No! It can’t be. Can it?

It was Ryat? If so, did he plan that? Was it because of his hatred for Matt?

Tilting his head to the side, he drops his eyes to my lips. “You’ve been asking about a chosen.” His eyes come back to mine. “All you need to know is this …” Stepping into me, he gently pulls my head back by my hair, forcing me to look up at him. I swallow nervously. “It means that what I did to you was just the beginning.” Lowering his lips to my ear, he adds, “I’ll own you, Blake.” He shortens my name, his free hand comes up, and he trails a finger down my neck over my racing pulse, making my body break out in goose bumps. “And I think that’s exactly what you want.” With that, he takes a step back, leaving me to watch him walk away, my pussy now wet and shocked that it was him.

RYAT

IT’S BEEN A week since the party at the house of Lords, and she’s been on my mind every second of every day. I see her here and there, but I don’t approach her. I don’t have to. The way she avoids me tells me exactly what I need to know—she thinks of me. I doubt she remembers much from that night. She was wasted, and in a sense, I took advantage of her in more ways than one. I’m not even sorry.

Making my way up the stairs to the third floor, I enter the library at Barrington. It’s after ten o’clock on a Friday night, and she’s here studying like the good little girl she is.

Looking around, I scan the rows of tables and empty chairs. The students are getting drunk and fucking. No one here has to study. Parents pay for their kids to attend this college, knowing it guarantees them perfect grades. But Blakely—I know she’s here—I know where she’s at all the time. If I’m not following her, I’m watching her.