Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies #1)(4)

Turning a corner, the long sidewalk wound between buildings. In the distance, she could see the lights that illuminated the parking lot.

Rubbing her arms with her hands, she moved through the shadows.

Music, jarring with its tribal beat, glided on the night wind, where it swirled around her. Tilting her head, she listened. The music grew louder as she concentrated. For some reason, she felt drawn to the pulsating beat. Turning toward the source, she saw that it was one of the fraternity houses that sat on the edges of the campus. The windows were darkened, but music still drifted from the building.

Something dark and desperate whispered through her mind that she needed to go there. It was important. It would make her feel better.



It would make her feel real.

Scowling slightly, she moved across the wide green lawn, toward the old Georgian style house. Her heels sunk into the damp earth. The smell of dew filled her nostrils. Her drying hair flowed around her shoulders and down her back as she walked.

Again, a slow chill slid down her spine and she turned sharply. Only shadows trailed over the sidewalk. There was no sign of anyone anywhere, and yet, she knew, deep inside, she was being watched.

With that horrible feeling tormenting her, she made haste toward the fraternity house. Ducking under tree branches that lined the side yard, she maneuvered cautiously over the roots gnarled at the base of the trees. Her heels crunched across the gravel drive as she followed the sound of the compelling music. Moving into the darkness looming around the structure, she easily found the side door to the imposing house. It opened easily for her and she slipped inside. A large, very dirty kitchen greeted her, but it gave her no feeling of belonging.

There was no sense of familiarity at all. And yet she felt drawn to go deeper into the house.

She stepped into the hallway that led from the kitchen and looked up as she realized the music was coming from above. Moving through the darkness, she found her way to a staircase and slowly ascended.

Another tremor rolled up through her body. She gripped the banister as her vision swam. She needed to eat soon. She was famished. Her stomach clenched inside of her. It hurt so terribly she could barely concentrate.

If I'm hungry, I should go to the kitchen.

But the driving force inside of her told her otherwise. She began to climb the stairs again. The hallway at the top of the stairs was dark and empty. All the doors leading off of it were closed. Hesitantly, she took a step forward, not sure where to go. The music was louder now, but all she could hear was its heavy tribal beat.



This place was not familiar, yet she knew she had to be here.

Something here held the answer to what was happening to her.

Turning her head, she suddenly knew where the music was coming from. She could feel it in her jawbone and in her fingertips. The sensation was odd, almost painful.

Walking down the hall, her gaze fell on a large oak bookcase at the end of it. It was loaded up with books, DVDs and magazines. As she drew near, she felt the music began to pulse in her chest. She slowly ran her fingertips over her lips. Looking behind her, she stared down the hallway to the other end. The door on the other side was closed and solitary.

Her gaze returned to the bookcase. She reached out to grip the side of it. She pulled and it slowly swung forward, like a door. Though not visible from the front, there were wheels under the bottom of the bookcase. As it rolled away from the wall, a doorway became visible.

Biting her bottom lip, she touched the doorknob. She could feel the beat of the music pulsating through it. Gripping the knob tightly, she tried to turn it, but it resisted. She tried again, and still, it resisted.

Desperation gripped her, nonsensical but overwhelming. She banged her hands against the door.

“Please,” she whispered, but did not know what she was asking for.

The door swung open from within. A striking black man stared out at her. His brow crinkled as he studied her, obviously mystified by her presence.

“What the hell are you doing here, freak?”

She parted her lips to answer, but the words would not come. She wasn't even sure why she was here. All she knew was that whatever was in this room, she needed it. Reaching out, she gripped the back of his neck with one long hand and leaned into him. He looked startled, but did not resist her.

“I need,” was all she could manage to say.

“Damn, girl. What are you on?” He stared at her face, into her eyes, then slowly smiled. “Well, who invited you?”

His skin felt warm and inviting under her hand. She slowly became aware of the fact that he was only wearing a very skimpy silk thong.

She stared down at the obvious erection pressing against the fabric, then slowly dragged her gaze over his muscled chest, up to his face.

“You,” she answered.

Grinning, he drew her into the room and shut the door.

“Well, I always thought you looked kinda freaky with all your tats and piercings. But tonight, damn Amal, you look hot. What did you do to yourself?” His hands were sliding up and down over her body as he pulled her further into the room.

It was full of people in various states of undress or just plain nude.

The smell of wine, pot and sex filled her nostrils. A red glow filled the room. She realized that the source was all the crimson light bulbs in the lamps and overhead lights. The sheets on two massive king-size beds shoved together were also crimson. All around her bodies were writhing and intertwining.