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PROLOGUE

TEN YEARS EARLIER

LONI

“Just the tip,” pants Desmond against my lips, fingers tugging my hair, his body pinning me down on the bed. “You can trust me, baby. Just the tip… just to feel what it’s like.”

My lashes flutter. “Don’t ask me that.”

“If you loved me, you would?—”

Then it’s a good thing that I don’t. That letting him guide me into one of the bedrooms in the Reynolds family’s massive house has nothing to do with this farce of a relationship of ours, and is only because I couldn’t refuse a future Owed when he asked me out two months ago. Somehow we’ve become the most gossiped-about couple at Harmony Heights High ever since. I just have to hold out a little longer. With graduation only a week away—and the Claiming ceremony coming in August—this can’t be anything more than a fling.

Unless Desmond Claims me. Unless I’m his Offering, and the idea of that turns my guts cold even as he does everything he can think of to get me hot.

Hot enough to forget the last seventeen years of training. I’ve been taught from the cradle that, one day, I would be meant for a member of the secret society that rules our town. That comes with expectations that we both know, and I’m more than happy to remind him.

Anything to jerk away from his sloppy kisses and wandering hands…

One of them thumbs the button on my jeans. I slap at it. “You know I can’t.”

His free hand lands on the side of my jaw, turning my head so that I can’t miss the lust in his deep blue eyes. His dark hair is slicked back, unruffled, mainly because he might be desperate to touch me, but I’m only clutching the comforter underneath us.

He blows out a breath once he sees the determination written on my face. This isn’t the first time he tried to push me to go past just making out with him, and I’m guessing the taste of beer on his tongue and the high of the graduation party that Sebastien Reynolds is hosting for the entire senior class has convinced Desmond that I might give in tonight.

Until I thin my lips, and he scowls, flopping onto his back next to me.

Sebastien’s parents are out of town. So is his older brother, Alexandre. The party started three hours ago, but has probably been raging for about two. I know we’re not the only ones making use of the countless guest rooms, even if I wince a little to see how much we’ve rumpled the bedding.

Desmond told me he just wanted to talk somewhere that it was quiet.Talk… right. When all he ever does is talk about the position waiting for him at his father’s firm, how he’ll be inducted into the Order once school’s done, and how he wants toenjoy the rest of his time before then.Talkwhen, the second he had me behind closed doors, his hands were on my ass, mouth finding mine, backing me up until I had nowhere to go but flat on my back on some expensive-looking, rarely-used bed.

But Desmond… he stood up for me. In a town where my last name should mean I’m part of the inner circle, one of the founders’ boys made it so that I’ve forever been an outcast. Until Desmond decided he’d had enough of the bullying and teasing and the sly comments coming from the Heirs’ table—my name for the five boys in my class who think they’re better than the rest of us—and sat with me.

He stood up for me, and I thought I finally made my second friend other than Haven. Only he didn’t want to be friends. He wanted to bemore, and for weeks now, I’ve let him for reasons I only wish I understood.

That Loni Dougherty. Easy pickings, huh? She should be grateful for any attention, but if he knew the truth?—

Desmond takes a lock of my hair between his fingers, giving it a gentle tug. “That shit is so outdated. Do you really think the Owed stay virgins until their wedding night?”

I know better. “No, but that’s different.”

His brow furrows. “How?”

Can he really be that clueless? Considering he’s convinced himself that I’m not using him the same way he targeted me, good chance.

“You’re a guy, Des. They’ll expect you to have experience. But if I do…”

I won’t be an Offering. I won’t be a wife.

I’ll be a mistress. A toy.

One of the Used.

“Who would know?”

“The man they make me marry might have an idea.”

I really, really hope he won’t. Then again, by the time I’ve been married off, I’m just hoping the new generation of the Owed are like Desmond here and don’t give a shit about the old traditions.