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“Pen, the Larch is a primal hunt. Most students use it as a ruse preceding a fuck fest. The university distances itself from it; that’s why it takes place in the Wyldan Woods behind the campus, and not on school property. Can you imagine Wyldan splitting with any of his fortune for someone who fell and scraped their knee, or was attacked by a bear?”

Lukaz laughs, deep and low. “No one was attacked by a bear. Not really. A close call, but they all got back. I think the college was more worried about that girl who died last year.” He clicks his fingers. “What was her name?”

Tali taps her chin. “Tracey something. No…”

“Stacey Wheeler.”

“That’s her.”

My mind swims with possibilities. Someone died on campus? “What happened?”

“Her name was Stacey. She was pretty quiet, kept to herself, so I’m uncertain how many people she was genuinely friends with. Anyway, she collapsed with seizures and died in the breezeway connecting reception with the Ecology wing.”

“The coroner ruled she died from complications related to seizures and coma, I think. The weirdest thing about all of it: she didn’t have epilepsy or any known condition. She pretty much dropped dead.”

“Jesus,” I reply. “How awful for her family.”

“And the school,” Tali adds. “Wyldan had to fly back from wherever he was in Europe and meet with detectives from Anchorage. I think that was the start of the end with his wife. It was a thing.”

“But she wasn’t sick; she fell into seizures, a coma, and then died? Was this after the Larch?”

Luk nods. “Yup. Way later—like months. Sudden and kinda shocking. Don’t worry, Pen, you look pretty fit and healthy to me. You both do. I promise if either of you drop, I’ll be the first to sweep in and perform CPR.”

“So, you’re sure the Larch had nothing to do with Stacey dying?” I ask, because if she came into contact with a toxin, then I’m reconsidering if it might be better to sit this one out. I can still observe, right? Maybe I can find out information from someone who helped set it up? The school wants nothing to do with it, but someone must organize it.

“Tali’s right. The Larch will not kill you. It’s primal play, and that’s it. Predators and prey in theory, but some just hand over their calling cards, and that’s it. Others are still fucking when the horn goes off an hour later. I, for one, will be aching to chase you down Aspen.”

My throat seems inexplicably dry as I try to swallow around wads of cotton. Thankfully, Tali’s question fills the silence and masks my gulp.

“What’s your botanical, Lukaz? And who did you hunt last year?”

“I’m not that stupid, Tali. We are masked for a reason.”

“Tell us,” She begs.

“Can’t. If I divulge anything, I can’t take part. You understand that, right?”

“Tell us!”

“Don’t worry, Anatalia. You will not be my chosen Ash.”

“Fuck you,” she spits.

“Not for all the leaves on all the trees, girl.”

Chapter Six

Elijah

ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE (SALVIA ROSMARINUS)

Jackson Bonner’s office connects to my own. Part of the perks of teaching in a university founded by paternal relatives is the spacious office, and more importantly, who I share the space with. Share is a long bow. Both offices are entire; his is much smaller than mine, yet they connect with a door that remains mostly closed and is never locked.

Jack sits behind his desk, thick fingers clacking away at a keyboard much too sensitive for his broad digits. As I approach, the amount of words underlined in red is a dead giveaway. “Spell check is your friend, Jay.”

“Fuck off,” he spits back, throwing a middle finger over his shoulder for good measure.

“Use voice to text or get someone to type it out. Those thick fingers are your downfall.”