Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(68)

The more, the merrier.

Yeah… that’s not going to happen.

She’d surely lose her shit.

Rolling my eyes, I smile widely, completely flustered. My pulse races, and my chest constricts. My stomach feels light while I struggle to find the right response.

And although we’ve grown to become not only mother and daughter, but also best friends, I can’t find it in me to tell her about me being with all of them.

“Okay.” She sighs, as I take a long sip of our favorite wine. “I won’t intrude.”

“Yes. You’re right,” I confess, adoring every second of her excitement. I’ve never brought a guy home before. I’ve always just kept to myself. Until now. “So, there’s… this guy…”

“And you really, really like him,” she observes. “It’s written all over your face, sweetheart. You’re falling in love.”

My heart instantly jumps. “No way. It’s too soon to use that word,” I object, hesitating for a moment. “Isn’t it?”

She shakes her head, and her eyes soften. My stomach drops. I know that look. “I swear, your father and I fell in love on our first date,” she explains, as I reach across the counter to take her hand. “It was magical. Every single second of it. He gave me this feeling. I just knew.”

Tears spring to my eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I faintly say.

“What for, sweetheart?” she asks, quickly brushing it off. “We spent twenty wonderful years together, and even though he’s no longer here, he’s still with me. With us.”

“I really miss him.”

“Me, too,” she quietly replies, before the light returns to her eyes. “But enough of that. You look so happy! This is exciting!”

“Please stop,” I jokingly rush out, filling my glass nearly to the rim.

“Come on. I want to hear all about this guy!”

I sigh defeatedly. “Well, first, his name is Damien—”

“Damien, what?” she interrupts.

“Damien Sylvester—”

“Sylvester,” she echoes.

When I look at her, I can’t help but freeze in place. There’s something about the way she’s staring at me that makes me feel uneasy. Her jaw visibly tightens, and she clears her throat before turning away to open the door to the fridge.

“How long have you been seeing him?” she absently asks, standing completely motionless.

“A few weeks,” I carefully let out, shaking my head in dismay. “Wait, do you know him or something?”

Suddenly, she chuckles. “How would I know him, sweetheart?”

“I’m really confused. You’re acting weird.”

“Weird, how?” she wonders.

“Well, you’ve been staring into the fridge for the last minute for no apparent reason,” I retort, with nervous laughter.

“It’s just a difficult day,” she murmurs, shutting the door and locking her eyes with mine. She steps forward, resting her arms on the countertop with a grin. “You know. Holidays.”

“I know,” I agree.

She weakly grins. “How did the two of you meet?”

“At a Halloween party.”

She nods, uninterested. “And, he treats you well?”

“Yes. Like a princess.”

“Just promise me that you will be safe, Quinn.”

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

Suspicion rises, and there’s a sudden feeling of tension in the air. I can feel it deep in my bones. The word safe has been on replay in my mind for weeks now, after hearing it countless times from Damien, Jensen, and Micah.

And now my mother?

Not to mention, that she clearly flinched at his name.

“No worries, Mom. I’ll be safe.” Whatever that means. Gulping down the rest of my wine, I force a grin, trying my best to brush it off as a weird coincidence. “I promise.”





Once I get back to school, my exams slowly pass by.

Then finally, it’s the end of the semester. Somehow, I’m the first one to wake up in the sorority house. I make my way downstairs in desperate need of some hot coffee, especially before I attempt to finish packing.

The house feels extra cold this morning, and when I reach the bottom of the stairs, my attention is drawn to the front door.

Suddenly, I get the feeling that I’m being watched.

The last few days, something just hasn’t been right.

“Quinn?” I hear from the top of the stairs, only to notice Jenna leaning over the railing. “Is someone here?”

“I don’t think so,” I say, shifting my gaze back to the door.

“Okay,” she laughs. “Then, what are you doing?”

Joining in on the laughter, I head for the door to ease the feeling in the pit of my stomach. When I pull it open, and lower my gaze to the ground, my heart drops.

I scream bloody murder, falling backward and landing hard on my ass. A severed pig’s head is displayed on the porch about a foot away from the door. Its eyes have been carved out, gruesomely, might I add. Frost is already forming on its leathery, pink skin, keeping the insects and flies at bay…

Although, it’s not hard to miss the symbol that has been precisely cut into its flesh.