Dead by Morning (Rituals of the Night #1)

Chapter Eight

CHANCE STARED AT the blackness of his ceiling, unable to forget how unhappy with him Luna had been at dinner. He wasn't particularly proud of himself for tricking her into the date, but he had been so certain that once she was there, she would've melted like other girls did. Instead, she had held strong.

And that was a problem. Prom was quickly approaching and while Luna might not know it yet, she would go to that with him too. Even if he had to resort to trickery to do it. Luna was a strong-willed girl, and that could be problematic. He would be foolish to think she'd fall for another trick of Violet's.

This time, he would need a new plan.

Frowning, Chance ran through a list of Luna's friends but came up empty. Violet was it. Luna was, for the most part, a loner. That could be her undoing though. People changed when they were surrounded by other people—if Luna were surrounded with his friends, people who thought the world of him, would she still hate him?

Chance thought through his friends, but only one person came to mind...and he knew how she'd react to the information. Susan Cross, like most girls at the high school, was infatuated with him. The idea of him taking another girl to the dance would bring out the ugly side of her, he was sure.

Chance sighed, ruffling his blond hair with his hand. She could be persuaded to do his bidding, of course, but not by any normal means. With a hint of a smile on his face, he crossed his hands over his stomach, relaxed into his mattress, and let a small sigh escape his lips as he closed his eyes.

Slipping into sleep usually proved to be an easy event for him—this time was no different. When he opened his eyes next, he was in a forest, moving easily through the trees. It was uncharted territory to most people but he knew it all like the back of his hand. As he made his way to the edge of the trees, a foggy outline of the town began to appear.

Smile on his face, Chance walked the route to Susan's house, the one he usually took when he was awake. In the world of dreams, it was serene and peaceful—almost like being awake except without the burden of responsibilities, the passage of time, and witnesses. At the door to Susan's, he didn't stop to knock. This place required no such pleasantries.

Inside the house, he made his way to her room and stood at the entrance, eyes on the tiny figure huddled in the bed. Susan was asleep here but out in the Real World, she was awake no doubt surrounded by her cheerleader friends. He approached subtly, studying her. Susan was a pretty girl with a heart-shaped face and waist-length brown hair. Susan usually had a beautiful, lacy white ribbon tied in her tresses—even while asleep.

Chance didn't particularly care for the girl, but he didn't dislike her either and to him that was something. He crouched down beside the bed, resting his elbows on the edge of the mattress and set his chin beside her ear. "Susan, I'm going to need your help."

"YOU'RE TAKING HER to the dance?" Kate asked, nearly on the verge of a pout when Chance told Susan the situation in the Real World. "Why of all people would you take her?"

Chance looked at her, unamused. If there was one thing he hated, it was being addressed by someone he wasn't talking to.

"This is utterly ridiculous," Kate tacked on.

"Yes, I'm taking her to the dance. Does it really matter why?" He scoffed at Kate.

Maddie, a girl with dusty blonde hair and dark eyes, spoke up from her spot on the bean bag chair on the floor. "I think it matters a lot, Chance. I mean, she's a loser. Do you want to put yourself through that? You know everyone there will be judging you for it."

Susan's sister, Sarah—a quiet girl with bright eyes—sat beside Maddie on the floor, nodding in agreement.

"I'm taking her because I am," Chance snapped, rubbing his temples and trying not to let himself slip into that mind. There were too many people around for that. "Now, will you help me with her or not?" he asked, eyes boring into Susan's. Every girl in the room had spoken at that point except for her—the one he needed to talk. If not, this has been a colossal waste of time, he thought.