Sacrifice. Brigid Kemmerer

      CHAPTER 1

      Michael Merrick stepped off the porch, put his bare feet in the grass, and waited for a bullet.

      He’d done this every night for a week.

      The air held still, waiting with him, cloaking the yard in darkness. Breath eased from his lips, fogging in the early November chill. He wished he’d thought to grab a fleece pullover, but he’d barely paused to yank a T-shirt over his head.

      Someone was out here. He knew it.

      He’d known it for the last six nights.

      Dried grass wove between his toes, but the earth carried no warning. Just the awareness that someone moved through the trees.

      The first night he’d sensed something, terror had clung to his back, sending him bolting from room to room, slapping light switches and creating so much racket it was a miracle he hadn’t woken the neighbors too. His brothers and Hunter had gathered on the porch, their breath shaking in the night air. They’d been ready to fight. They’d been ready for war against the Guides who hunted them.

      It never came.

      But every night since, Michael had felt . . . something.

      Or maybe not. Maybe this was 3 AM stress and paranoia setting up shop in his brain. His fear from the first night had morphed and taken new shape, turning into something more akin to fury.

      He didn’t know who was out here, but he wanted to kill them for threatening his family.

      “A rookie sniper could take you out without a scope.”

      Michael jumped and swore and spun, pulling strength from the ground without thought. He choked on his breath. A sniper wouldn’t even need a bullet; a heart attack would do the job.

      Hunter Garrity stood on the deck, his feet also bare, though he’d had the good sense to grab a sweatshirt. Moonlight glinted off the piercings in his brow. Casper, his German shepherd, was alert by his side.

      “Sorry,” Hunter said softly. “Thought you heard me.”

      “What are you doing out here?” Michael snapped, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. “Go back to bed.”

      Hunter ignored that and joined him by the steps, putting his own feet in the grass. The dog stopped by his side and whined. “Someone’s in the woods.”

      Of course Hunter would sense it, too. He was a Fifth, which gave him a connection to all the elements. He would have been a Guide, too, if he’d followed in his father’s footsteps. Fate hadn’t worked out that way.

      Hunter glanced over when Michael didn’t answer. “You should wake Nick. He could divert a bullet.”

      Michael studied the line of trees. He didn’t want to wake everyone again. His brothers already spent each day riding a blade of tension; he didn’t need to fill their nights with panic.

      He hated this. It reminded him too much of the nights he’d spent awake after his parents died, trying to figure out how to keep his brothers safe. Then, he’d been worried about money and the other Elementals in town, the ones who’d sworn to leave his family alone. Now he was worried someone would shoot them all before he could get out a warning.

      “Go inside, Hunter.”

      Hunter turned his attention back to the trees, probably giving each individual leaf a militaristic assessment. “It’s only one guy. Maybe two. We could circle around—”

      “At ease, soldier. I told you to go inside.”

      Hunter shut his mouth, but he didn’t move. He was worried, though—worried and furious, the way Michael was.

      He’d never admit it, of course. But Michael could feel his unease through the ground. Hunter hung close like a child who wouldn’t venture too far from a parent in an unfamiliar situation. I can face this as long as I’m not alone.

      Hunter hadn’t been like that at first. He’d been reckless and impulsive and unsure where he fit in this world. When Hunter’s grandfather had thrown him out of the house, Michael had just offered the kid a place to crash. He hadn’t realized he’d be inheriting another brother to take care of, a sixteen-year-old who could handle himself like a Special Forces soldier but trusted people about as much as a beaten dog.

      Hunter trusted him now, though. He’d never say as much, but the proof was in the way he stood here, following Michael’s lead.

      Michael’s senses pricked. Whoever was in the woods had moved closer. He—they?—was being stealthy, picking through the underbrush.

      “Could it be Calla?” said Hunter, voice softer than thought.

      “I doubt it.” Calla Dean was the only person in town who wanted this war against the Guides. For years, Michael had assumed he and his brothers were the only full Elementals in town. They’d lived in fear that the Guides would discover their existence and send someone to kill them. They’d taken great care to hide their abilities and live in secrecy.

      Then Calla Dean had come along.

      Like Hunter, she was sixteen years old and a junior in high school. Unlike Hunter, she was a Fire Elemental with a psychotic streak. She didn’t want to hide. She wanted the Guides to come—and she’d done everything she could to get their attention. Innocent people had already died because of Calla’s obsession with this war.

      She wouldn’t be sneaking through the trees. She’d be lighting them all on fire.

      Maybe he should wake Nick. His brother would be able to read the air and tell them what he sensed.

      No. His brothers were safer inside the house, asleep and oblivious.

      Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he’d eventually believe it.

      “What do you feel?” he asked Hunter.

      Silence