The Oracle's Locket Read online

  But I still couldn’t fully trust them. I stepped away a bit, memory of what Aunt Maria had said sloshing through my head. Trust. No one. Watch. Your. Back.

  I had to keep it with me always.

  “Merry Christmas, Ivy,” Ezra said. He cut a beautiful, almost sarcastic smile, then arched his brow playfully. “We didn’t want you to spend it all alone.”

  I couldn’t believe this completely. I scoffed and turned my eyes toward the door. I wanted to tell them to leave. But another part—a darker, lonelier part—forced me to hold my tongue. I took a slight step toward Quintin, inhaling the smell of him—forest and ash and something else, something that reminded me of that night we’d spent together, pressed up naked, in one another’s arms. When I gazed into his eyes, I could feel him thinking about it, too. It was like I could skate through his memories. Feel them the way he did.

  And he had nothing but want for me.

  And yearning to protect me.

  I could sense it.

  But still, could I fully trust myself?

  “We have a gift for you,” Raphael said suddenly.

  I lifted my eyes toward his, feeling a stone form in my stomach.

  “The last time I thought one of you had given me a gift, I’d nearly ended up dead,” I said.

  “As we’ve said, we had nothing to do with that,” Ezra affirmed.

  I knew, then, never to bring it up again. It was inconsiderate. It belittled what they wanted to do now.

  Which was make me one of their own.

  Raphael produced the small, red package from his backpack. The silver ribbon around it glowed. My heart thudded. I’d never received a gift from a boy like this—let alone, three boys at once. I took a small step toward it, then wrapped my hands around the bottom and held it against my stomach.

  “Won’t you open it?” Raphael asked.

  Time felt like it stood still. I sat on the rug by the fire, while Raphael and Quintin sat on the couch directly in front of me. To the side, Ezra spread his legs out on the rug and leaned against the side of another chair. He was closest to me—the man amongst them who’d generally alluded me since our big return after Thanksgiving. My eyes flickered across the tattoo, shown now under the t-shirt on his arm, and up to his absolutely handsome face, the cut cheekbones and the flashing blue eyes.

  “Go on,” he instructed me. “Christmas only lasts 24 hours, you know.”

  I had to do what I was told.

  Slowly, I unwrapped the present—careful not to tear the wrapping paper. It seemed obscene to open the present like a little kid would, making a mess. When I finally unwrapped it, I revealed a little black box. With a subtle motion, I shook the box out from under the lid and then peered down at the most beautiful locket I’d ever seen in my life—gold, with a W engraved on the back.

  “It’s for Whitestone,” Quintin said.

  I lifted the golden locket from within its case and held it aloft so that the little heart shook from side to side. I could hardly breathe. Something about the locket had fallen over me: a kind of softness, assuredness. This was no ordinary locket. It had given me something else along with it—a clear sense of power and light.

  “What is this?” I whispered, knowing that they understood what I meant.

  “It’s infused with protective magic,” Ezra explained. He brought his hand out and for the first time, I noticed that he, Raphael, and Quintin all wore identical golden bracelets. They were incredibly thin, just shiny enough for my eyes to catch them. “All of our bracelets were forged from the same gold and infused with the same magic.”

  My lips opened with confusion. I still held the locket out, unsure if I wanted to slip it over my neck. There was still so much of this supernatural world that I didn’t understand.

  “But why would you have these made?” I asked, my voice only a whisper.

  Again, I needed to make sure that they weren’t forcing me down some kind of rabbit hole of vengeance. Trust. No. One.

  “We want to protect you,” Quintin said. He leaned down so that his face was only an inch or so from mine. “We want to make sure that everywhere you go, we can know if you’re in danger. We already have this bond.”

  “When we arrived back from Thanksgiving break,” Ezra said. “It was overwhelming what we all felt at the same time. It’s nothing we can even describe, despite having grown up in this supernatural world. This connection makes the magic in this gold even stronger—every hour that we wear them together, they grow stronger.”

  I arched my brow, still a bit wary. But their words remained so sure, so fiery. Raphael lifted his hands and took the locket from my fingers. With a flourish, he wrapped himself around the back of me and then linked the locket together at the base of my neck. The locket fell with a thud on my chest.

  Again, I was overwhelmed with so many feelings. I gasped and wrapped my hand around the locket, gazing at all of them, eyes wide.

  How was this possible?

  How could I feel so deeply for them? How could I give them everything in this moment?

  “But the strength grows even more powerful with other additions,” Ezra said.

  “What sort of additions?” I asked.

  Raphael’s hand wrapped around my shoulder, massaging it. Immediately, a feeling of calm fell over me. I rolled my head to the side slowly, my eyes closed.

  Fuck. That felt so good.

  “Physical connections give the gold increased power,” Raphael said, his voice booming in my ear.

  “Physical connections...” I repeated.

  Raphael’s lips found my neck and traced a line of kisses, from the back, up to my ear. I turned slowly, feeling a slow thud between my legs. I kissed him as he sat on his knees behind me, his hands picking up the pace down my sides, over my breasts. I’d worn a little day dress, just something I’d been able to fling over my shoulders when the boys had arrived. He discovered the buttons at the front and slowly separated them, piecing the little dress apart so that my breasts spilled out into the light that twinkled in from the fire.

  I felt all of their eyes on me. Hungry for me, owning me. Now, with the locket around my neck, I felt our connection more than ever. I turned into Raphael and kissed him fully, my eyes closed. His lips opened wide, guiding mine, and then his tongue thrust itself inside me as my fingers scrambled over his shirt, drawing it up over his broad shoulders. When our lips parted, I found myself staring at his thick and muscular upper chest, and I pressed my breasts against his skin and kissed him harder as I urgently drew apart his belt and shot his jeans down toward his knees. His cock was thick and firm, a huge rod beneath his boxers, and my hand traced over it as a slow moan escaped his lips.

  But that gave me too much control. And Raphael didn’t want that. None of them did. Not then.

  Suddenly, Raphael grabbed my waist and flipped me over and spread my legs out wide. In just his boxers, his cock surging against the fabric, he bowed between my legs and slowly, delicately, dotted his tongue directly at the clit. I cried out and grabbed his long curls and gyrated against his mouth, forcing his tongue to go harder, faster against my pussy. My juices rolled over his lips, his chin, his cheeks, and he fucked me hard with his mouth.

  My eyes closed with concentration. But suddenly, Ezra’s mouth latched onto mine, kissing me and forcing my lips open. The impact of him pushed me over the edge. I came harder than I’d ever come before—thrusting myself into Raphael’s mouth a final time. It was a chaotic and colorful orgasm. I was lifted somewhere else for a moment; my hand wrapped tight around Ezra’s t-shirt like I feared I would be taken into the sky never to return.

  Raphael drew himself over me and kissed me so that I tasted my own pussy against his lips and tongue. I wanted to touch him—to feel him with my fingers—but I was frightened that it would take me all out of it. When I broke free, I rushed to my room and grabbed my little pair of gloves and then dropped back to my knees, my breasts bouncing, and kissed first Raphael, then Ezra, then Quintin. Ezra then presse
d his hand against my chest and thrust me back. He removed his cock: different from Raphael’s, thick and somehow more violent. He plunged inside me, and my back arched as I cried his name and placed my hands over his back. I lost myself for a long time as he thrust himself into me, his grunts growing chaotic and loud in my ear. Unable to stabilize myself, I reached out to the side and grabbed one of the legs of a nearby chair and it cranked as he fucked me harder.

  “Yes, baby. You feel so fucking good.” he murmured, his voice gruff.

  My locket glowed across my chest, just a bit of warmth flowing over my breasts and upper stomach. When I felt brave enough, I looked up into Ezra’s impossibly blue eyes. The connection between all of us felt too real, almost too difficult to face. His blue eyes were brave enough to stare directly back.

  For some reason, in the deep folds of my mind, I felt the truth for the first time; that I could very well fall in love with them—with all of them.

  When Ezra did cum, he seemed to try to make his face calm, without showing just how much he wanted this—how much his body needed to fuck mine. But I could see it reflected back in his eyes. The second he came, I felt myself come a second time—my pussy spasming against his rock-hard cock, just seconds before it softened again.

  After it was over, Ezra dotted little kisses down my cheek, across my chin, down toward my breasts. His tongue drew little circles around my still-hard nipples, and my hand traced through his hair.

  It had been a much more delicious Christmas than I could have imagined.

  I had to bet that I would never forget this one. Not for the rest of my life—however long that was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  We woke up on Christmas evening at six. Quintin lay beside me, naked, my hand stretched out over his broad chest, and Raphael was curled up on the floor, his head tilted back and his hair splayed out around him. I rubbed my eyes, groggy, and tip-toed out into the dorm living area to find Ezra, already awake, in only his boxers. He leaned forward, his blue eyes straight ahead, deep in thought. I didn’t want to interrupt him. He looked statuesque, important, seething. Several months ago, when we’d been at war, I’d touched him and felt the horrible reality of his life—that he and his father had decided to change him at this age. I was sure there were things he could take, potions that would age him up into his twenties and thirties if he wanted it. But this had meant that his father had been the one to gash his neck, force him to drink his own blood.

  I wasn’t sure I could ever get over that.

  Then again, I had my own shit to get over—or deal with.

  “Hey,” I said, my voice soft. I startled him, but he didn’t jump. He was too cool for that. Too in control.

  “Hey,” he returned. He shifted to the side and I sat beside him, huddled against him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and cradled me close. I reached for the gloves, which I’d left on the floor, apparently, and then stretched my hand out over Ezra’s chest. For some reason, I could touch Quintin without much damage—but Ezra gave me really strange premonitions, dark images that stuck with me for days.

  “You should eat something,” Ezra said suddenly. “It’s Christmas.”

  I bucked my head up. I realized I’d forgotten, for a brief moment, what day it was.

  “The dining hall has plenty of food for people who stayed behind,” Ezra said.

  I popped up and dressed quickly my smile widening. Ezra laughed and said, “I take it you’re really into Christmas?”

  I didn’t want to tell him how shitty I’d thought that Christmas would be. I didn’t want to reveal just how much it had meant that the three of them had come to find me, to be with me. I wrapped my hand around the locket and beamed, then dropped down to kiss him tenderly on the lips.

  “Come with me? We can gather enough for Quintin and Raph.”

  Ezra dressed again in his sleek black t-shirt, his black jeans. He donned a jacket, then wrapped his hand through my gloved one. When he smiled, his fangs glinted. We stepped out together into the 50-degree chill of Christmas day and headed off for the dining hall.

  On the way, Ezra said, “I actually have a present from my parents. Do you mind if I stop by my dorm quickly to pick it up?”

  “Sure,” I said. I was curious since I’d never seen any of their bedrooms. We stepped into the boys’ dormitory building, which seemed identical to the girls’. Then, we walked up the circular staircase and entered their living quarters. Ezra’s bedroom was on the far end, in the corner, just like mine was in the other building. When he pressed open the door, he revealed a bedroom with similar artistry and glamor to mine, with darker details. Beyond that, there was a very thick curtain that hung across the window. Although I knew that Ezra took some kind of medicine to be able to exist in the daylight with the rest of us, I imagined that a thick curtain like that was essential for a vampire—when the sunlight got to be too much. It tired him out.

  Ezra brought a tiny box down from the top of his wardrobe and examined the contents. He then lifted a little syringe into the light. “It’s a new vampire invention,” he said, his voice sounding far away. “Apparently, just a tiny bit inserted into the veins allows a vampire to eat and digest food, if only for a few hours. I figured—Christmas Day is as good a time as any to try it out.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’re telling me that today might be the first day you’ve tasted real food since your transformation?”

  Ezra shrugged, ever the cool guy. “I wouldn’t mind a piece of pie or something.” He lifted the syringe toward me and said, “Do you mind doing it for me?”

  I couldn’t say no. There was a level of closeness developing between us—a trust that I couldn’t ignore and had to answer in kind. I stepped toward him and grabbed his arm to steady it, grateful that I’d remembered my gloves. I then turned his arm delicately so that the blue veins stretched close to the top of his skin.

  “Just do it,” Ezra said, coaxingly. “I don’t have the ability to feel much pain.”

  Without waiting another second, I took a deep breath and plunged the needle into his arm, then shoved the end down to insert the medicine. The whole thing felt too violent, and I blinked up to look at Ezra’s face, assuming he’d look panicked or stricken. But nope. He looked like all I’d done was pinch him. Slowly, I took the needle back out and handed it back to him. My hand shook.

  “Thank you,” he said. He sniffed and then gave a little shrug. “Well. It’s supposed to kick in in about twenty minutes. Let’s see what happens. Hope it doesn’t kill me!”

  Ezra and I gathered as much food as we could in the dining hall. It was a weird time—late in a delirious and grey and sleepy day. This meant the dining hall was largely empty, with only a few students lurking on the outer edge, inhaling stuffing and pie. I only vaguely recognized them but was glad to be there with Ezra. I couldn't trust anyone, but I'd begun to slowly, maybe start to trust Ezra and Raphael, and Quintin.

  Ezra said that mid-way through our selection process, he began to feel hungry in a way he couldn’t even remember feeling. This led to even more slabs of turkey, us stealing two entire pies—a pumpkin and a pecan—along with a half of an apple pie, several Christmas cookies, buckets of stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and a huge vat of hummus, which Ezra laughed about. “Who eats hummus on Christmas? Whatever, I haven’t had it in years. I might as well take in as much as I can.”

  When we arrived back to the girls’ dorm, Quintin and Raphael were groggy, rubbing their eyes and coming out of my bedroom. When they saw what we had, piled up in containers and baskets we’d taken from the kitchen, they were insanely happy. Quintin gave me a sloppy kiss and grabbed several boxes from my hands. We spread them out on various platters that the little kitchenette had, and spread out across the rug in front of the fire. Raphael played music on small speakers—starting with cheesy Christmas music before falling on some kind of indie music I’d never heard before. He said it was a werewolf-led band called Moonlight.

  We were fascinated with
Ezra’s ability to eat, but nobody enjoyed that experience more than Ezra himself. He loaded up his plate with a mound of stuffing, mashed potatoes, oodles of gravy, slabs of turkey, and then gazed ravenously at the pie and said, “I think if I could, I would let myself get a little chunky. How could you resist this stuff every day?”

  He placed his fork tentatively into the mashed potatoes, watching as the gravy oozed around the tongs. Then, he tapped a bit of the potato on his tongue and swallowed slowly, like he didn’t trust the medicine. The moment he swallowed, a huge smile spread across his face. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “That’s so fucking good.”

  After dinner, the boys and I went out into the night. We felt a bit cooped up, a bit heavy with food, and wanted to walk along the forest edge and gaze up at the moon. Raphael’s hand found my waist as we walked and I cuddled against him, my eyes scanning the dark star-filled sky.

  When we reached the football field, the memory of that horrible night flooded me. But I shoved the thoughts away and suddenly rushed to the center of the field, my legs stretching out. When I reached the center, I grabbed the locket again, peering out at the three boys, far in the distance, at the field goal. I closed my eyes and thought of them, thought of the powerful energy I had for them—and felt the locket grow warm against my palm.

  This power we had over one another, it seemed to exist through us, through each of us—uniting us in time and space. When I opened my eyes again, the boys were before me, in a circle, and they gazed at me there in the bright light of the football field. I felt I should say something, articulate what I felt. But words felt useless, especially since it seemed they could peer directly into my mind.

  OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, before Celeste arrived back, I had a very good time. When the boys weren’t with me, I still felt them there—not far away—and totally linked to me.

  I decided to spend a bit of time out on the soccer field, practicing moving things with my mind. Professor Binion had said that this skill was sort of like a muscle; I had to keep it stretched out over break, or else I might use it too powerfully afterward and bust it, tear through something in my mind.