The Sorority by Tamara Thorne

Author:Tamara Thorne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2013-07-05T04:00:00+00:00

15

The Pi Eta Gamma fraternity house was two stories of Federalist mansion, brick and stone, with a narrow pillared porch running across the front. There was none of the gracefulness of the Gamma’s antebellum mansion; rather, it stood sharp and proud in true masculine fashion. Located ten minutes away (on foot), backed up to another part of the forest bordering the college property, it was the House of Jocks, and Malory was out to locate some, the bigger the better. One could only ride Professor Tongue so long before a good rooting became necessary.

Brittany and Heather and Michele, a Gamma officer, cheerleader, and Fata Morgana they’d met up with in the foyer on the way out, were with her. Michele carried a sixer of Michelob, and was killing one as they walked in order to catch up with her inebriated buddies.

Brittany, of course, never drank, but she didn’t need to; she seemed to be in a perpetual state of intoxication. Seemed being the key word. That was how she liked to be perceived, a little goofy. Even Malory, who knew better, usually fell under the spell and underestimated her.

They entered the house, quietly pushing open one of the unlocked tall green double-entry doors. It wasn’t late, only nine-ish, and Brittany found the girls’ stealth—including Malory’s—amusing. It was the alcohol. It had them, for the moment, in sneaky mode. It pleased them, Brittany knew, because it made them feel wicked in an alcohol-silly sort of way. She watched her mistress. They had spent centuries together. Malory Thomas was a stone-cold killer, but right now she was as giggly as a little girl. Brittany liked that.

She also liked that she was after men tonight. While they were at the kitchen table, she had thought Malory was going to want to use her as a sex toy tonight—which wasn’t bad, but it was exhausting, especially after the workout at the professor’s. In fact, Brittany was still sated and thought that Malory ought to be as well. It wasn’t like her, but then it wasn’t like her to drink so much either. The half-moon. The anniversary. She’s nervous. She’s avoiding the ghosts. Why?

They walked down a corridor into the big main living room, and Brittany watched her mistress, growing more ill at ease with each passing moment. Malory was fearless. Always fearless—and with good reason. Tonight, there was a vulnerability. Maybe it was just the alcohol playing tricks. Maybe she truly hadn’t thought about the anniversary and the activity in the lake tonight. About Holly Gayle’s likeliness to appear on the grounds or in Gamma House.

But that rang false to Brittany too. Malory had spent the day having sex, going at it like a machine, insatiable. In her gut, Brittany believed she was avoiding something. Holly. But why? They’d seen her many, many times over the years. Malory didn’t fear her; she usually thought of her as an annoying gnat. When Holly had shown up and helped Eve Camlan escape her fate, Malory was furious, not frightened.

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