Page 2 of Unhinged Obsession

Jonathan glares at him.

“You’re an asshole,” Jonathan snaps, wobbling, leaning forward and then back, trying not to lose his balance.

Noah doesn’t even look offended. If anything, he looks pleased with himself, like he’s been waiting all day to be cursed.

“I’ve actually been told I’m delightful,” he says brightly, completely unbothered as he rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands into his pockets.

Jonathan stares at him like he’s seriously reconsidering every life choice that led him to this moment. I don’t particularly care for Johnathan, especially now that we’re older, but I feel it. How did we all end up here?

“Will all of you annoying wastes of space please stop screaming? We could hear you all the way over in the yard with music playing,” Benjamin, the final Moretti triplet, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his arm wrapping around Paris. Even in his annoyance with us, he’s worried his stepsister might slip on the rocks.

I feel Elijah’s fingers flex, his thumb sliding over the sensitive spot on my wrist. It feels like an electric jolt between my thighs, and I realize I’m being beaten at my own game.

Annabell groans under her breath while Paris giggles, brushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder and giving me a smile. Aside from Elijah, Paris Hastings is my only friend, the only other person I trust with my whole heart.

“We’re literally just talking,” Annabell slurs, and her legs shake as she tries to cross over to my side of the rocky foundation. “You don’t have to be such a buzzkill just because you want to fuck your sister and no one will let you. At least your mommy isn’t around to see what’s become of her baby boy.”

Benjamin’s stare turns to ice, and I watch as Paris moves to stand in front of him. She knows he won’t put her in danger, even if he’s livid. Benjamin found Mrs. Moretti when she was murdered. He was only seven, and he hasn’t recovered from what he saw that day.

If he shoved Annabell into the water, I wouldn’t blame him. What she said was cruel, even for her.

“You need to watch your mouth,” Paris says, and her voice is so sweet, it doesn’t sound like a threat. “Leave him alone, or I’ll ruin your fucking life more than you already have.”

I know Paris almost as well as Benjamin does, and she’s not lying. She’s the sweetest girl if you’re a good person and she likes you. But if you cross someone she cares about? She’ll make Regina George look like Polly Pocket.

“Come talk to me,” Elijah’s deep voice startles me, and I look up at him. Before I can answer him, he’s carefully leading me away from the group, my hand still tightly clasped in his.

BLAIR

CHAPTER TWO

Idon't realize Elijah is stopping until he gently bumps his arm against mine. It's kind of a sweetly playful gesture for a hotheaded hockey player like him.

"What are you worried about?" he asks, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry beyond the space between us.

I glance away, forcing my shoulders into something that feels casual even though nothing about me feels casual right now. “Nothing important, really,” I say, because it’s easier than explaining the way my thoughts have been circling the same point all afternoon, tightening and tightening until I can barely breathe around them.

Elijah lets out a quiet snort, and I know that means he doesn’t believe me for a second. “You’ve been chewing on your bottom lip for the last twenty minutes.”

My hand immediately flies to my mouth. “I have not.”

“I haven’t taken my eyes off of you all night,” he says, and there’s a faint edge of amusement in his voice now, like he can sense the heat rushing to my face at his admission.

“Even when you were ready to pummel Jonathan?” I shoot back at him, and I have to curb my laughter when his nostrils flare and he twists his neck, looking behind us where the group is still bickering.

“I would have fucking murdered him if he said you were going to be his Chosen One again.” I push up on my toes and brush the wavy dark hair out of Elijah’s eyes.

Gosh, he’s just absolutely stunning.

Elijah’s long fingers come up to cup my face, ensuring that I can’t look away from him. “I want all of your attention right now…” he trails off, like he wants to add something, but settles on, “what’s bothering you, little dove? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”

A sigh slips out of me before I can stop it, heavier than I mean it to be. The words feel lodged somewhere behind my ribs, like they’ve been waiting for the right moment to bubble out all day and I’ve finally run out of ways to keep them buried. “I got my letter from the Society today.”

The shift in Elijah’s mood is immediate.

Whatever teasing warmth had been in his expression drains away so quickly it almost feels like watching a light go out. He doesn’t ask me what the letter said. He doesn’t need to. We share a quiet, resigned understanding that comes from growing up in the same world, under the same rules, where certain things are never questioned because they’ve always been inevitable.

Of course he knows what that means. He and Jonathan both are going to be in the first ceremony of the year, which means I could be paired with either one of them. Or one of the other eight Saints initiates.