The Preacher’s Pet (Verona Falls University #7)

1. Ophelia

OPHELIA

My feet strike the forest floor, the rapid thuds matching the racing beat of my heart.

“Ophelia!”

The shout of my name comes from behind me. It’s distant as I put space between myself and the boy from my past…no, not a boy. He’s a man now. A massive, terrifying man.

Cain Lockwood.

Over the pounding of my heart and the rush of my breath, I hear him, crashing through the bushes and undergrowth as he gives chase, sounding like a wild animal. A predator.

There are others with him, too, but I can’t think about them. All I can focus on is getting away.

I wish I wasn’t wearing all white. It’ll make me easier to follow, even in the dark.

There’s a crescent moon overhead, but the pale light struggles to penetrate the canopy.

White is a safe color for me and the reason I chose the dress.

Certain other colors trigger me. I regret that decision right now.

I might as well be wearing neon clothes with a flashing sign overhead.

I’ve got no idea what direction I’m heading. I’m just moving, driven by fear.

The soles of my white ballet flats are too thin for this terrain, and I cry out as a particularly sharp rock stabs into the bottom of my foot. Immediately, I clamp my hand across my mouth, praying the man—or possibly men—didn’t hear me.

I think I’ve lost my way, but then there’s a break in the trees, and the gothic building of Verona Falls University appears against the moonlit skyline. It’s imposing and intimidating, but right now it feels like safety.

What had my parents been thinking, sending me here? I’m clearly not ready.

I miss my footing and fall to my knees. Within seconds, I scramble back up again, whipping my pale hair out of my face.

I always wear it down these days. In part, it’s a tiny rebellion against the rules I used to live my life by, but, mainly, it’s because my hair hides the hideous scar that runs down the side of my face, dangerously close to my eye.

I can’t believe Cain is here. When I last saw him, I’d been only twelve years old, and Cain hadn’t been much older, but the moment he’d removed that terrifying mask, I’d recognized him.

It had been instantaneous, and despite my scar, I’d watched the same recognition sparking in his blue eyes the moment his gaze had landed on me.

It had been like someone had punched me in the chest, stealing my breath.

I haven’t even thought about him, I realize. All these years, and he’s never crossed my mind.

So why had I run from him—am still running now? My scar? His size? The mask?

My emotions had already been on high alert from being at the college party in the strange old house in the middle of the woods. So odd to see that dwelling just sitting there, on Verona Falls’ grounds.

Camile, a student assigned to show me around, had taken me to the party.

Perhaps she’d thought she was doing me a favor by taking me to a social event, but I’d been completely overwhelmed.

There were so many people there, and they’d all seemed to know exactly where they stood in the world, completely comfortable and confident in their own skin—especially the ones whose party it had been.

The shock I’d felt at seeing the girl with the tattoos with those three men had been seismic.

I hadn’t known relationships like that existed.

In the world that had been my prison during my formative years, it was the men who had multiple wives.

The women were taught to be meek and subservient.

They certainly didn’t have tattoos like the girl who’d been worshipped at the party.

I’d only come in at the tail end of it, but I’d seen enough.

I must admit, I’d felt a twinge of jealousy, too.

Then I had seen him .

Cain Lockwood had seemed the same in some ways, and yet somehow been completely different. Seeing him and his two friends, all masked, had thrown me right back into the terrible time I’d spent away. Why had he been wearing that thing over his face?

What had happened to the sweet boy from my childhood?

For a moment, I slow, unsure why I’m running from him, but the sounds of the forest around me, the barely there moonlight, and the memory of those masks send my feet propelling me forward again.

I reach a springier patch of ground, soft with moss cover instead of sharp stones.

I find myself running with ease, but I’m always aware that at any moment I could trip.

Whiplike branches lash at my arms and face, and I duck to avoid them.

One catches my cheek with a flash of pain, and I hiss air over my teeth.

I’m sure it must have cut me, but I don’t have the luxury of time to check.

I want to reach the safety of the main building.

Men aren’t to be trusted, not even childhood friends.

My teenage years have taught me as much.

They’re dangerous animals and must be avoided at all costs.

Right now, I’m avoiding one by running from him.

My long white dress catches in the foliage, and a ragged riiiip tears through the air.

I don’t even care. All I can think about is getting back to my room and having a solid door between myself and the man chasing me.

Are his friends with him, too? What do they plan to do to me when they catch me?

I don’t know this grown-up version of Cain, who is the size of a house and wears scary masks.

No good man would wear a mask like that. Surely.

I’m dizzy with panic and adrenaline as I keep moving, the fear powering me through physical exhaustion.

The wind rustles in the trees like a whisper… Ophelia…

I glance over my shoulder, my heart beating ever harder.

I’m certain a man has spoken my name, so close to my ear, I felt his heated breath against my lobe.

Not Cain nor his friends. No, this is a different man, one I know isn’t really here.

One I will never escape. Deep down, in my rational mind, I know that is impossible, yet no matter how much everyone has told me it’s over, I can never shake the feeling that he’s always with me.

Always watching, always knowing every little thought that goes through my head, every emotion in my heart, every flicker of doubt or impure thought.

I’m being haunted by a ghost, except this man is not dead.

He never will be. We were taught that much. The Prophet can never die.

My parents had worried about me upon my return, understandably.

Though physically I appeared unharmed, the emotional and psychological strain of what I’d lived through had left its mark.

The therapist had told them to be patient, and that time was a healer, but they’d been wrong.

Over time, I hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, I’d grown worse.

The anxiety and panic attacks and agoraphobia had become overwhelming.

My folks thought they’d been doing the right thing by keeping me closeted away, wanting to protect me, but it hadn’t helped.

It had only reinforced my belief—and what I’d been taught—that the outside world was a dangerous place.

The world is dangerous. For me, it was proven when a man saw a young girl one day and simply took her. All my family’s power, and the fear they provoked in others, wasn’t enough to keep me safe, so how am I supposed to be unafraid?

In the end, a new therapist was brought in, and she claimed I needed to face my fears.

A form of exposure therapy. Instead of letting me hide away, I needed to be forced to socialize.

To mix with my peers. Yet my family still had to be sure there would be extra security, which is why they chose to send me here, to Verona Falls University.

It’s one place that understands the needs of people like us.

Crime families. Mafia. Words that are rarely uttered but are the truth of our lives.

The dean has promised my parents he’s able to keep me safe, and with the guards and the drones, I’m hoping that’s true. But I’ve barely been here five minutes, and already I’m running.

I just want to get back to the safety of my room, to slam the door behind me and engage the lock. Within four walls and beyond a locked door, I’ll be able to breathe again.

An owl hoots and the breeze ripples the branches again, a chill ghosting over my skin. Goosebumps erupt across my arms, and my nipples tighten and harden. I want to find my way back to safety.

Heavy footfalls crash behind me.

“Ophelia, wait up!”

All my musing about the past must have slowed my run. He’s closer now.

A part of me is tempted to stop, but the panic is stronger than the sensible side of me.

I can’t stop. What will happen to me if I do?

It’s clear the boy I once knew is now a man, and, from my experience, men like him mean danger.

Just because we have a shared history doesn’t mean he’ll be kind.

Seeing him in that mask had been terrifying, and what about the others he’d been with?

They’d been as scary as Cain, with their masks hiding their faces.

I was sure one of them—the one with the jet-black hair and the long leather coat—had even been wearing black nail polish.

I keep going, pushing on, my breath rasping in and out of my lungs.

The view of the university building vanishes behind the thick swathe of trees once more, and I pray I’m still heading in the right direction.

My muscles burn with lactic acid, and a stitch in my side threatens to take hold. I dare not stop.

Finally, I burst into the open. Beneath my feet is asphalt instead of mud and grass and twigs.

Directly ahead of me is the northern wing of the university—the house that I’ve been assigned to.

External lighting illuminates the grounds closest to the building, and I recall there are security cameras, too.

I lock in on a door at the bottom of the tower.

I’m sure it’s the same one I’d exited through with the girl who’d been unlucky enough to be landed with showing me around—Camile.

Oh, thank God. I’ve found my way back to where I need to be.

I experience a twinge of guilt for running off on Camile with no explanation. I hope she’s not going to get in trouble for losing me. But I can’t worry about that now. The men chasing me are getting closer, and I’m terrified about what will happen if they catch me.

It isn’t the possibility of them putting their hands on me that scares me the most, even though it should.

No, it’s even worse than that. It’s the idea of all the questions.

Cain will want to know what happened to me.

He’ll demand an explanation about why I just vanished out of his life all those years ago, and there’s no way I’m ready to talk.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.