Page 51 of Wicked Court

“I believe the lady has had enough of you, Cav.”

A tanned, sinuous arm reaches over my shoulder, plucks the empty glass from my hand and sets it on the table with a thud.

Wilder slips into view, taking the chair neighboring me on the other side. After sending Cav a snarky smile, he winks at me.

“She’s a big girl,” Cav says coolly. “She can make her own decisions.”

Ironic, considering he was just commanding me like a general.

Wilder’s hazel eyes twinkle under his mass of unruly chestnut waves. “Can she? What do you say sweetwitch, do you want me to kick his ass on out of here?”

He leans forward until his hand rests on my bare knee. His sheer, dry heat seeps into me like the hottest desert. “Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll kick him in the balls so hard, he’ll be choking on testicles.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I sit frozen as a statue, caught between two equally dangerous men.

Cav on one side, his eyes as cold as an arctic tundra and Wilder on the other, grinning like he just committed the perfect murder.

Not one of these men makes the Cimmerian Court look weak. Not even when they’re joking.

Yet, part of me is tempted to say yes, just to see if Cav’s smug expression will falter—even if it’s only for a second.

But it’s Kaspian’s voice that finally snaps me out of my daze.

“Gentlemen,” he drawls as he comes up behind Cav, his voice a sensual purr. “You’re both so uncouth. Can’t we have one civilized night out without resorting to threats?”

Kaspian’s attention burns through my polished veneer, affecting me in ways I don’t want to think too hard about.

His gaze slides across to Cav and Wilder before returning to me. His green eyes glint with amusement and something else. “Surely, if you two can’t share, Elara will choose me instead.”

I force my discomfort into a glare. I hiss, “What makes you think I’d choose any of you? This isn’t The Bachelor.”

Kaspian chuckles, as if he hasn’t just suggested what I think he did. “The Bachelor is so outdated, Elara. If anything, I’d at least upgrade us to Survivor. Much more our style. Think of the drama.”

Before I can rebut, Axe appears like a vapor behind Wilder.

“Here’s your drink, Elara,” he murmurs, sliding a glass of ruby-red wine across the table towards me.

When his eyes meet mine, I feel like I’m drowning in the ocean—an endless gray sea where my fear and yearning drown in each other.

He doesn’t touch me, but his gaze caresses my skin, scorching me alive.

Axe’s fingers brush against the delicate stem of the wineglass before he takes a spot next to Cav. And I instantly realize he’s not just standing there, he’s taking up a position.

I’m surrounded.

Every part of me is alert as their excitement builds around me, like some savage pack circling its prey.

They’ve blocked me from Sasha’s view, their tall, broad bodies blocking me from everyone.

How is that even possible in a packed bar?

Nerves frayed but my resolve ever present, I take a sip of the wine. It tastes like sin on my tongue. Rich and full-bodied, with hints of smoke and spice that linger on my palate.

Wilder continues to grin at me as if he’s won some sort of invisible game between us, while Cav’s gaze hardens. “You should know better than to cross us and go to the Vultures for help.”

I pause, my wine glass halfway to the table.

“I didn’t go to them for help,” I say. “They came to me.”

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