Page 2 of Nothing to Fear (Wicked Games #1)

Asher

T he wind howls as it whips around my face, flinging my scarf from my neck and nearly choking me with the fabric. I roughly grip it, yanking it back in place, tucking the loose ends into my jacket with a huff.

“Fucking Corvus. I swear, this place is as haunted as it gets.”

Parker chuckles as we walk in tandem toward our residence hall, Crimson Keep. “It’s our last year here, Ash, you’ve got to cut the shit when it comes to saying that.”

“Are you kidding me with that bullshit right now? This college is totally haunted. Our building is literally named after the bloodshed that seeped into the ground before it was built.”

“Receipts or it didn’t happen.”

I roll my eyes at my best friend. It’s the same argument every school year.

The wind whips again, knocking Parker’s hat from his head, as if to prove my point.

He groans loudly, his hat flipping around on the invisible wisps of wind as he jogs to chase it.

A laugh bubbles free from me as he finally snatches it, jogging back over to the path with an exaggerated eye roll.

“What was it you were saying about this place not being haunted?”

“Shove it, Asher. Let’s get inside before I freeze to death.”

It’s October in Massachusetts, which means it’s not “freeze to death” weather. Parker just happens to be from Hawaii, where it’s eternal summer, so the rare forty degrees we’re feeling today isn’t going to kill him. Not to mention how overly dramatic he tends to be.

“Did you hear about Professor Mortwood?”

“What about her? I’m in her Fear and Ink course. Easiest one on my schedule because she’s so chill.”

Parker turns his head to look at me, his eyes saying everything before his mouth does. “She quit, man. No notice, just packed up and left.”

My head whips in his direction. “What the hell? Seriously?”

“Man, you really live under a rock.”

“Well, I kinda rely on you to fill me in on this kind of shit, Park. My head is usually buried in books, and I’ve been in class all day.”

“Well, she doesn’t teach here anymore. Rumor mill is working in overdrive, like always.”

The news irks me. I don’t know Professor Mortwood well, but I was in her class my sophomore year, and I’ve been in her advanced literature course since August. She truly is so laid back; it was going to be a course I could get through with my eyes closed.

The wind caresses over me again, pushing me slightly off the cobblestone path in the quad, an eerie sensation worming its way through my veins. Something unsettling, as if the air has shifted.

“Shit. Who are they replacing her with?” I ask, bringing my thumb and forefinger to the bridge of my nose and rubbing.

“They aren’t. All of Mortwood’s classes are being absorbed by Professor Thorne,” he says with a wince.

That feeling thrums a little louder, vibrations humming through me, becoming harder to ignore.

Professor Thorne is famously brutal in his methods, and I’ve been lucky enough not to have one of his courses . . . until now.

“Well, this is going to get real, real fast, I guess.” I shrug.

“I’m surprised you never vied for one of his courses; seems like just the challenge you’d enjoy,” Parker jests.

I laugh at him, vehemently shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”

But I do know. Professor Thorne is a direct descendant of one of the families that founded Corvus College over three hundred years ago.

Each original founding family—Ashcroft, Grimsley, Mortwood, Harrow, and Thorne—has descendants who work at the school.

They all have quite a severe aura, brutal in their teachings and strict with their expectations.

Professor Thorne, however, is the most chilling.

Everyone keeps their distance, including me, and since I strive to be the best here, I never wanted to have his eyes on me.

“Hey, where’d you sneak off to at Fright Night?

Saw you on the dance floor getting busy with it, then you disappeared.

Oh, shit! Ash, watch—” Parker’s words are cut off as the wind is quite literally knocked from my lungs.

The weight of a massive body slamming into mine hits me like a solid brick wall.

We crash to the cold, hard ground as an inhuman noise breaks free from my throat.

“What the fuck, Silas?” Parker’s voice breaks through the current ringing between my ears as I struggle to breathe.

The assailant shoves off of me, pressing my body further into the ground as he goes, the inconsiderate ass.

A silent grunt tries to break free against the pressure in my chest as I gasp to pull precious air into my lungs, willing them to start working again.

“Whoops. Didn’t see you.” His voice is a deep baritone, gruff and domineering. But there’s no missing the douchery that his tone is laced with. Silas fucking Blackwood.

“You didn’t see the two humans walking through the quad?” Parker snaps with venom.

I roll to my side, taking a moment to let the sharp, throbbing pain in my ribs subside, doing my best not to flop around like a fish out of water. Doesn’t matter how old you get, having the wind knocked from your lungs hurts like a motherfucker.

“Not you two. Why don’t you help your buddy off the ground, Parker? He seems to need it.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Silas, you know that?”

Silas starts to walk away, clutching his stupid-ass rugby ball in his hand, flipping his middle finger up in the air as he yells back at us. “Piss off, losers!”

“You first, slacker!” I yell back, my voice strained as it pushes me into a coughing fit.

Parker reaches down and grabs my hand, helping me stand. I brush the dirt and crushed leaves off my coat and pants, huffing.

“Fucking hate that guy. You okay?”

“Yeah, lungs are working again. Ribs hurt like a bitch, though.”

“Maybe someone will snap his neck at the next game, and we won’t have to deal with him again.”

“We won’t have to deal with him after this year, regardless. Better to just ignore him. It’s not like we have any classes with the slacker.”

“You sure you’re good? That was a hard hit.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just get to the dorm. I’ve got shit to do.”

Nothing like a big dumb jock to start my evening. At least I’m done with classes for the day, and I can spend the evening studying .

Silas Blackwood has been an irritation for the last three years at Corvus College.

He and his stupid rugby buddies act like they’re Corvus Elite, when in reality, their lack of academic ability is going to affect them in the long run, and their glory days of playing a collegiate sport are going to be just that—the glory days.

I try to shake off my piss-poor mood after being tackled to the hard ground as Parker and I walk into our residence hall, nodding our heads at friends as we pass by.

The towering, castle-like building houses multiple communal rooms that give us everything we need—kitchen, laundry room, and two large living rooms on the first floor.

The remaining floors host rooms for two occupants, plus single and double apartments.

Parker and I share an apartment this year, and the extra space—combined with the privacy—has been more than ideal.

I’m spoiled during the school year at Corvus.

Being raised by a single mom in Boston, I’m used to living in cramped quarters.

My sister and I shared a room in a tiny two-bedroom apartment until we were too old to comfortably do so anymore.

Then we moved in with my nana to a quaint house that she and my grandfather built in their twenties.

We were still squashed, but at least I had my own room, even if it was a storage closet that we turned into a bedroom.

It worked, and my sister and I were both grateful to have our own spaces.

But living at Corvus? Whole different vibe. Doesn’t mean I allow myself to get too comfortable. I’ll never forget my roots and my motivations for being here to begin with.

“I’m going to head to my room and study, especially now that life just got that much harder with my course change. Meet up for dinner in a bit?”

“Sounds good. Later,” Parker replies as he collapses onto our couch.

I drop my backpack by my bedroom door and pull out my laptop, wanting to get an hour of work in before needing to get food.

Attending Corvus College has been a dream of mine since I was a kid.

When I was seven, a postcard came in the mail with a photo of large iron gates in front of a long dirt road, and massive trees leading to what looked like a castle.

I don’t remember much else about the card, why we got it, or what it was for, but from that moment on, I wanted to attend.

A feeling of wholeness filled my chest any time I looked at the card; it felt like it came to me for a reason, that I was supposed to be here. There was never another option.

The college is a hidden gem concealed deep in middle-of-nowhere, Massachusetts. It boasts extremely selective admissions, academic prestige, and a rich history. It’s one of the first colleges created in America—even if the history books hardly recognize it.

While Harvard was created by the Massachusetts Bay Colony, Corvus was created by a group of five families that are rumored to have been a part of a secret society.

Crimson Keep was the first structure built here, and it’s believed that their blood sacrifices happened right under where I’m sitting now.

I’ve read the stories myself, but most choose to believe the texts were ramblings of old men who had long lost their minds—fictional stories fabricated to entice the reader into believing something nefarious or dark happened here.

I choose to believe there’s truth hidden between the lines; the reader just has to look hard enough to see it.

Secret societies have existed forever; why would this one be any different?