Switching dorms mid-semester can be a struggle, especially if your new roommates aren't human, and one of them might be trying to kill you.
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Ariel is no stranger to bad luck. Life has been nothing but a constant uphill battle with an estrange...
Whoever said threats were futile had never met Clarence, or never threatened someone who crossed the line one too many times. Because if there was one thing my stepbrother was good at, it was crossing lines. Well, that and being a general pain in the ass.
Still, I'd never stood up to him, not really. Unless you counted the occasional prank, which I didn't. Hiding his stupid knife, turning off the light whenever he was in the room, or whatever else my childhood brain could think of did nothing but agitate him. I'd never dared to take things too far and somehow he'd always known that.
He'd had the upper hand for as long as I could remember. Not just because he was physically stronger than me, but rather because all that I'd held dear was slowly washed away until I was a stranger in my own home. The home I hadn't set foot in since starting my studies.
Despite its welcoming exterior, the mansion in the countryside was no longer a place of refuge. Tainted by Dad's need to replace anything and everything related to Mom, white walls and cold, carpetless floors, and my stepmother's terrible taste in decorations, including the same fake houseplants, it has lost everything that made it home. Even the space that should have been my own was invaded by someone who was supposed to be my older brother.
For a moment I was back in my childhood bedroom, staring into the untidy space with my back to the door. The open trunk at the foot of my bed gaped at me, the void inside threatening to pull me into its inescapable darkness. Clarence's childish laughter, high-pitched and taunting, echoed through the room.
I shook my head and the memory vanished. For now. Still, my thumb lingered on the old scar on my wrist a little too long.
With a face far too kind, I hadn't always been scared of him. No, that had only started a few months after he'd first stepped foot into that house. And it hadn't ended until... Right, it hadn't ended.
But it would.
Seeing his eyes widen and his jaw drop—seeing him falter—had done something. To me. But that wasn't all.
Maybe it was being poisoned by one of the most lethal substances out there. Maybe it was being chased through a dark forest by a monster with teeth the size of daggers. Who knew? In the end, it didn't matter. I was alive.
Starting a fight I might not be able to win wasn't wise, but backing down was no longer an option, not since it was all I'd done my entire life. Nope, I was done being anyone's punching bag—done being pushed around even if that meant exposing myself to new and different threats.
We weren't kids anymore.
I wasn't helpless anymore.
And hell if I was going to let someone—whoever it might be—choose when my life ended.
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With my newly written, neatly folded suspect list tucked into the hidden pocket in my backpack, I stopped in front of the red door. The same smudge still graced the middle number. This time I wiped it off. Straightening my shoulders, I took one last deep breath before stepping inside.
