Page 3 of In Darkness We Claim

I walk down the long drive, approaching my Honda Blackbird motorcycle parked at the roadside. After removing my baseball cap, I place it in my bag, which I secure onto my back, before throwing my leg over the sleek chrome body, settling into the seat that by now feels like an extension of me.

As soon as my helmet is secure, I turn the bike on, smiling as it rumbles to life beneath me. I take off in a flash, not even bothering to look at what speed I’m doing. The Blackbird is fast, which is part of the reason I bought it in the first place, so I’d be doing it a disservice if I didn’t give it all the throttle I can.

I arrive back at Crowhurst House in next to no time, coasting my bike into the garage off to the side. I have to weave around several abandoned cars, as the annual Crow’s Welcome Party is already in full swing.

To most of the students at Shadowmere University, the Crows, alongside the Eagles, the Hawks, and the Falcons, are nothing more than the English versions of a Frat House. And this is nothing more than a wild part our House throws every year, a way to show off the new Pledges.

Whilst they don’t know about the Order, we make it clear to them that any House Pledge is untouchable. We reign as the Gods on campus, and we require respect at all times. Our popularity, and the elite reputation we’ve built over the years, is enough to create intrigue and fear.

As I stride into the large manor house that’s home to all the Crows, I run my fingers through my dark, messy hair before sliding my baseball cap on backwards. The old wooden floorboards creak beneath my feet as I dodge the barely-dressed partygoers who seem to fill every available space.

The bass of the loud music vibrates through me with each step I take, but thankfully, it gets quieter as I approach my destination. The DJ will have set up outside, so the deeper into the house I get, the fainter the music is. Given how many people are in attendance, the extensive garden area that backs onto Shadowmere Woods is the best place to house a dancefloor big enough for everyone.

I push open the dining room door, unsurprised to find it is also full of people, though they are gathered for a different reason. As I expected, every Crow Pledge from this year, and a few from other years, are hovering around the ranking board on the wall.

The wooden plaque is one of three that take up most of the wall. It’s titled First Year Crow Pledges—whilst the other two are for the second and final year Pledges—and has rows of slats with some gold plaques already in place.

This is how the Order keeps track of us, how it ranks us. Every Pledge who passes initiation will have their name on this board, and whether you’re at the top or the bottom depends on how well you completed your assignment.

Every job we do is graded, and we are continuously being assessed. Being at the very top means you’re the High Crow, which, of course, is where everyone wants to be. If you hold that spot at the end of your third year, it pretty much guarantees you your chosen position when you join the Order after graduation.

If your name isn’t on the board at all, you have failed your assignment, and you’ll never be a Crow. This is the only time you’ll be able to fail and leave without issue. Once your name is on the board, the only way it comes off is if you die.

I look over at the enormous clock on the wall; the ticking of each second seems to ring loud as we all watch the deadline quickly approach. We had two weeks to complete our assignment to be inducted into the Crows, and the deadline ends in exactly four minutes.

Fuck, I wasn’t kidding when I said I was cutting it fine! Still, four minutes is more than enough time to get a drink, I think to myself as I make my way over to the cooler sitting on the extended dining room table.

I pull out a bottle of beer, pop the lid, and lean against the opposite wall as I take a sip of the annoyingly lukewarm drink.

More people filter into the room, eager to see what the results will be when the deadline hits. Most don’t even notice I’m there, and I can hear them muttering that the famous Radley heir hasn’t made the cut, as my name isn’t on the board. I keep my thoughts to myself as I continue sipping my drink.

The door swings open again, and I can’t help the scowl that spreads across my face when Ryan fucking Sheehan strides into the room. His dirty-blond hair, as always, is perfectly styled, and he looks exactly like the stuck-up rich kid he is. He wears cream trousers that are expertly pressed, and his light-blue polo shirt probably cost more than most people earn in a month.

Without even glancing around, he walks straight over to the rankings, and with a big grin on his face, he quickly points out that his name is in the top spot. I clutch my drink so tightly I’m worried the glass might shatter, and I have to remind myself that this is all part of my plan. I’m playing the long game, and the look on his face will be worth it in the end. This smug expression is only temporary.

“Harper! Harper, get in here,” Ryan yells towards the door, loud enough to pierce my eardrums and make me want to stab him even more.

I’ve only known him for two weeks, and my sheer fucking hatred for him grows every time he even breathes near me—he’s just that bloody annoying.

The door swings open, and for just a fraction of a second, my body tenses. The beer bottle stops only a centimetre from my lips, and without meaning to, everything just seems to move in slow motion the moment my eyes land on her.

I’ve never seen the girl before, but as she makes her way over to Ryan, it’s clear she’s the Harper he was calling for. She’s possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and that’s not a compliment I hand out lightly.

She’s at least a foot shorter than me, making her about five-foot-two, and the flowery summer dress she’s wearing seems to cling to her gorgeous curves—which she has in all the right places.

As she strides into the room, her long, strawberry-blonde curls flow behind her, trailing all the way down her back. Although her milky skin is pale, even from here I can see the splattering of freckles that glitter her nose and cheeks.

Her plump pink lips are turned up into a smile, and anger ripples through my veins like lava that Ryan is the recipient. But when she does a quick glance around the room, and her gaze lands on me, I freeze, as does my heartbeat and my breathing.

Her piercing blue eyes meet mine, and at first, I think she’s just going to continue scanning the room, barely giving me a look, but she doesn’t. Her gaze locks with mine, and it feels like everything around us melts away until we’re the only two people left.

Blush spreads over her cheeks, as if she’s embarrassed to be caught staring at me, but she doesn’t look away. After what feels like ages, she gives me the sweetest little shy smile before turning her attention back to Ryan, shattering the weird bubble that seemed to have formed around us.

I have to shake myself off, wondering what the hell just happened. I’m not a fucking monk. I’ve seen pretty girls before, but I’ve never responded to one like that. Fuck, even when I was a teenager, who’d just discovered the joys of getting his dick wet, and every girl with a pair of tits was hot, I never felt like that.

As Ryan possessively throws his arm over Harper’s shoulders, it does nothing to quell my rage. I decide I only feel this way because of how much I hate Ryan—that douchebag doesn’t deserve a girl as gorgeous as Harper, and the way he behaves around her only confirms it.

Watching them for a couple of minutes is long enough to know she’s too fucking good for him. He wears her on his arm like a bloody trophy, and despite him being the one to call her in here, he’s not even spoken to her yet. He’s talking to everyone else in the room, and she’s just standing by his side, looking like an accessory.