Page 20 of Wicked Court

Straightening, I take a last glance around and give the room a once over to make sure I leave it as I found it.

Elara doesn’t know it yet, but as I slip out through her window, I feel a secret bond forming between us.

Chapter 8

Cav

I wind through a hidden pathway in the forest, its dense, thorny underbrush making navigation impossible for anyone unfamiliar with the trail, then push apart two particularly angry thorn bushes and step into a small, unmaintained clearing to Thornhaven Estate. The door to the mansion groans as I push it open. I slip inside, closing it swiftly behind me.

After striding through the large foyer, its structure a blend of Gothic revival and Victorian, I head for the stairs. Behind the foyer is the Initiate’s Hall, the lower floor serving as initiation and training grounds for new recruits. It’s designed with many chambers for education in the Court’s history, values, and operations. The area is stark, with minimal decoration.

The upper levels reflect our status within the Court by being significantly more luxurious, reserved for full members. These floors contain private libraries, meeting rooms, and chambers for social gatherings, all decorated with artifacts and symbols significant to the Court.

My bedroom is the last one at the end of the west wing. When I enter, Wilder is poking around the antique desk in the corner, once belonging to the first Nightshade ancestor. Maps, documents, digital tablets, and a state-of-the-art computer system clutter the desk.

“Took you long enough,” he intones without turning around.

I resist the urge to put him in his place. The others are also here—Kaspian lounging in one of the plush sofa chairs by the hearth and thumbing through his phone while Axe paces the perimeter of the four-poster bed dominating the room.

The room is spacious, with high ceilings and large, arched French doors opening to a balcony. My color scheme is predominantly dark—deep blues and grays offset by the warm browns of polished mahogany.

All I can think of as I scan over my home for the last two years is: I can’t lose this.

“Any updates?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral as I take a seat in the chair opposite Kaspian.

Axe shakes his head. “I tried, but…” He takes out his phone and confirms his answer with a furrowed brow. “No. I didn’t find anything.”

“So, that’s two failures.” I send a pointed look Wilder’s way, including him in our current fuck-up. “If I have this right, Wilder couldn’t finger it out of her and you, Axe, can’t sniff it out of her bedroom, either.”

“We’ll get her,” Wilder says softly as he turns and leans against my desk with folded arms. “I’ve only just gotten started tearing her to pieces.”

I suppress a scoff. His new obsession makes him careless. Reckless. But I won’t rein him in. For now, his tenacity has its uses.

Elara is indeed a problem. Intelligent enough to prevent us from instant success, resilient enough to endure Wilder’s unfiltered assault, cautious enough not to leave clues in her room. Even I, the last Nightshade in the Court, can’t unravel the secrets locked away behind those tawny eyes.

What are you hiding, butterfly?

I’m convinced she’s aware of what we want but unable to understand why. She’d rather keep any idea from us than solve all our problems, including her recent predicament of four violent men refusing to leave her alone.

I shake away thoughts of her, ignoring the inexplicable melody her name plays in my head. “The Sovereigns grow impatient. Have any of you uncovered anything we can use as leverage?”

Kaspian leans forward, eyes on his screen. “I may have something. Elara’s parents divorced when she was young—Dad’s not in the picture, died in a plane crash when she was a baby. The brother, Maverick, helped raise Elara. He was five years older. Mother has turned into a recluse.”

I bury my face in my hands and sigh. “I truly don’t care about her broken home. Half of the population can emphasize with her instead.”

“I wasn’t done. Mom’s a recluse because Elara’s brother was murdered six years ago.”

I lose my agitation. “Oh?”

“You wouldn’t fucking know it with the way she prances around campus,” Wilder mutters.

“It was violent, too,” Kaspian continues. “He was twenty-one when he died, found in the greenhouse on their family estate. A groundskeeper discovered the body early in the morning and the greenhouse was immediately ruled a crime scene: broken pots, upturned soil, and rare plants destroyed by a clear struggle.” Kaspian taps his screen before continuing, “I went through a few back doors to access the autopsy report?—”

“Can I see the pictures?” Wilder asks eagerly.

I cut him a warning look, then gesture for Kaspian to keep going. “Cause of death is a deep laceration on his neck, caused by a piece of broken glass from one of the greenhouse windows. The police initially suspected a burglary gone wrong.”

Wilder makes a face. “Who would break into a multi-million dollar estate for plants?”

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