Page 8 of Wicked Court

Wilder grins at him. “You assume I’d wait until it’s dead.”

I hold up a hand to shush them, and not because Professor Harlow’s eyes keep darting towards us, debating whether to call us out for chatting in class. Or jerking off.

He won’t.

I’ve told them to shut up because Elara raised her hand in answer to the professor’s question regarding the Titan Falls witch trials.

How frivolously predictable she is. Of course she knows the details. Little teacher’s sidepiece finishing her homework on time so she can blow him later.

I raise my voice while she waxes on about fear and superstition targeting those who don’t fit society’s mold.

“That’s a naïve take.”

Elara, the professor, and everyone else cranes their head at me in surprise. It’s unlike me to take part in class other than to ace the exams. Even Axe cocks a brow at my willing participation.

I continue, “Those trials were less about fear of the unknown and more about manipulation. It was all a power play by those in charge.”

Elara rests an arm on the back of her neighbor’s chair, the warm color of her eyes regarding me coolly. “No, fear was the tool. It’s easy to control people when they’re scared.”

I scoff, my upper lip curling with disdain. “So you agree. It all comes down to a game of control.” I lean forward, my voice low, but clear, in the hushed room. “Isn’t that your game, too? Smiling, being everyone’s friend—it’s your way to manipulate, to fit in. Have you ever considered that you’re playing at the same thing they did? Just with a cuter face?”

Elara sucks in a breath, but her response is unwavering. “There’s a difference between genuine connections and inciting fear. I don’t hide behind a mask, unlike some people.”

“Now, don’t pretend you’re above us all.”

I sneer. Break, Butterfly.

“We all wear masks, including ones as pretty and insubstantial as yours.”

The professor stutters, “Now, Cav?—”

“Do you get some kind of sick pleasure from putting people down?” Elara asks sharply.

I rise from my seat, Kaspian and Axe shuffling to give me room without bothering to hide their curiosity. “I just enjoy exposing weakness when I see it.”

A ripple goes through the class. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wilder leaning forward and licking his fingers, eager to witness the fallout.

Elara doesn’t miss a beat. She watches my movement toward the aisle, targeting her, her expression calm. “Exposing weakness? What a revealing hobby you have, Cavanaugh.”

My full name on her pert lips tickles me in places I’m not happy about.

“But since we’re into reflections,” she continues, “maybe you’re the one who’s scared. Scared that beneath all that smug superiority, there’s nothing of substance. Just a micro-dick guy afraid to face his own flaws.”

The room stills. Dr. Harlow stifles a gasp, genuine terror shining through his spectacles.

I hear Kaspian let out a low, surprised whistle, “Well, she’s fucked.”

The lecture hall shifts into an airless vacuum with a rush in my ears, blackened corners, and a simpering, red-headed target at the center.

I move down the aisle, snaking down the stairs, those in aisle seats shrinking away as I pass.

Elara follows my path with an unblinking stare and notches her chin when I reach her seat and lean over her buddy beside her.

It’s a shock to my system when her scent invades my space, a vanilla musk so unlike the usual cupcake-vanilla most of the girls on campus wear. It’s startling, unnerving, but I flick it aside and keep my expression flat when I steal her air. She tenses, but doesn’t back down.

“Tell me, Elara,” I purr, “what does someone so popular and well-behaved always have to hide?” I lean in to whisper conspiratorially, “A deep, dark, priceless secret. And how I love to eat those up and spit you out.”

Her composure finally cracks, shock flitting across her face. The class murmurs.

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