3

Blair

Present

Sanguis, cerebrum, anima.

I scan the words printed on the strange invitation one last time as I sit in the back of the cab I ordered discreetly, picking it up a block from my house.

I went to the kind of fancy private school that teaches Latin. Asher always used to tease me for that. When are you ever gonna need to speak some dead-ass ancient language, sugar? He was correct, as usual. Up until right now. I know what those words mean: blood, brain, soul. Something about them chills me right through to the bone.

The car winds through the city, finally stopping at the address from the card. I step out, closing the door softly behind me. The fall California air is still warm as it kisses my face, even in the darkness.

I scan the area, taking in the rows of warehouses by the river, rundown and abandoned. I’m not totally naive. I looked up the location online.

Not my usual scene, to put it one way.

Even from outside Warehouse 2, I can hear the pounding of music through the walls, vibrating through the ground beneath my feet. For a moment, doubt pierces through my determination. Is this just some DJ’s rave? A cheap invitation gimmick to lure people to a random party? I feel a mix of relief and disappointment at the thought. This could be just another Los Angeles trick to make people feel exclusive and part them with their money. Maybe Mackenzie or Lindsey signed me up as a joke.

I hesitate. But if there’s any chance this is real, I have to take it.

As I approach the entrance, I notice a short line in front of a security booth. Two guys ahead of me are being searched before they’re let in.

My turn. The security guard is a beefy, dark-haired guy with tattoos across his arms and a gun holstered at his side. My eye catches a symbol printed on the chest of his jacket: the club insignia of a skull, just like on the invitation. I swallow, trying not to show how intimidated and out of my element I am before I even get through the door.

“Invitation,” he barks.

“Here,” I say, barely managing not to stammer as I hold up the card.

The guard glances at it, then does a double-take, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Player?” he reads, incredulous.

I hesitantly nod, wishing a hole would open up and swallow me into the earth.

A laugh rumbles out of him, harsh and mocking. “No shit.”

“Look, it’s… it’s my first time here,” I say quickly. “So, what is this? Just a DJ set or something? Or is what the invite said actually real?”

He looks at me in disbelief. “You’re here as a player, and you don’t know what the Mortalis Society is?”

I bite my lip, nodding. His disbelief breaks into another laugh, wheezing this time. “Yeah, it’s a party, kid. You could put it that way.”

Before I can decide whether to turn around and walk out, another huge security guard is patting me down and ushering me through a metal detector. He grabs my arm and leads me down a dimly lit hallway.

“Players wait here till we call you,” the guard says gruffly, nodding at a large black door ahead.

“Hey!” I gasp as he pushes me through the doorway. The door shuts with a resounding clang and locks behind me.

I quickly forget his rudeness as I scan the room in front of me. I’ve never been tall at five foot three, but now I feel miniscule. The room is like a concrete box with a flickering fluorescent light, but there must be twenty other people in here, and they uniformly tower over me.

I instinctively grab the handle and try to open the door, but it doesn’t budge. I turn back slowly, taking a shaky breath.

The people in the room are staring at me now, conversation and laughter fading.

The “ players ,” as the guard called us. They’re tall and tattooed, piercings glinting in the dim light. Dark hair, bleached streaks, shaved heads. Some have scars. There are a couple of girls in here too, but they don’t look anything like me. Big black boots, fishnet stockings, nose piercings. Withering, eviscerating gazes.

I glance down, feeling absurd in my clean white t-shirt and pastel pink skirt. I do have one tattoo, hidden away, a reminder of something I’ve tried hard to forget. But that’s it.

I drop my gaze to my white sneakers, staring at them like they’re the most interesting thing in the world, waiting until I hear the others resume their conversation. The music from somewhere deeper in the warehouse thrums against the walls.

What the heck have I gotten myself into?

After a minute, I manage to calm my breathing. I sneak a glance up.

That’s when I see it— him .

My heart plummets.

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

But he doesn’t disappear. This is no nightmare.

It’s him. The boy who once tore my heart in two as easily as I could rip up the invitation card still clutched in my hand.

It’s like seeing a ghost. Across the room, I recognize echoes of the boy I once knew. The boy I once loved. But now he’s completely different. Taller, more muscular, more terrifying. Now he’s completely, unmistakably, a man.

He’s not nervous like I am. He’s laughing, talking to one of the other players, looking completely at ease.

Maybe he feels my gaze on his skin, because his dark brown eyes rise to meet mine before I can even try to hide.

His eyes go inky black. His smile drops. Only cruelty is left.

Asher Stone is here.