Page 81 of Wicked Court

The refusal springs from my lips without hesitation.

Elara’s eyes flash as she spits out, ”I don’t know anything else! You got what you wanted?—”

Her defense does not touch me—I am too far gone into the abyss of betrayal for any words to reach me now.

“You lied to us.”

Each word drops from me like a stone into a still pond.

“Axe,” I call out without tearing my gaze away from Elara.

He twitches at the sound of his name, his muscles taut as a drawn bowstring. He knows what my order is without me having to say it. It is more than just a summons—it is an ultimatum.

He comes to my side, his loyalty unwavering. Elara’s expression goes slack as she watches him move towards me.

“Remember this, Elara,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “I was leading you down a dangerous path before. I’ll admit that. But you lie to me again, I’m going to lead you straight to Hell.” I dismiss her with a jerk of my chin. “I trust you can find your way home from here.”

Without another word, I turn on my heel, Axe reluctantly trailing behind me, leaving Elara on her own, her frame small against the backdrop of towering pines.

But as I retreat, I hear her whisper, “You don’t get to decide my fate.”

I sneer, the poison within me snaking out from my heart, and let the threat linger, as tangible as the mist shrouding me as I leave.

Chapter 25

Kaspian

My balls swell as I survey the scene: Blindfolded women on their knees, surrendering to the initiates of the Court.

Their subservient positions stir a primal hunger in my gut, a raw need that has reared up again despite my earlier encounter with Elara.

Guilt gnaws at me. I am a puppet, a marionette whose strings are yanked. The thought fills me with revulsion even as I continue to observe, drawn in by evil I can’t control. There’s a profound connection between power and need woven into our beings. But it's not just about physicality. It’s about authority, surrender, dominance—an intricate fusion far more complex than the simplicity of flesh against flesh.

But what terrifies me most is not the intensity of these feelings—it's how intoxicating they are. Elara is a honey trap that pushes back against the boundaries I’ve set for myself.

My pulse quickens—not solely with respect for her ability to not only withstand me, but also an instinctive fear—as I hand her more bricks than she takes.

Typically, we abstain from the initiates’ hedonistic feasts. We prefer to observe and supervise while our selected, exclusive girl, who will never be put on display, waits in our private chamber until we are prepared.

But tonight feels different. Cav demanded the privilege of retrieving the ruby Heart from the portrait in the library, while Axe was ordered to escort Elara home. If he’s smart, he’ll actually fuck her this time because good god she was amazing.

Because our parents have left to run errands, Wilder and I are left to our own devices. There’s a shine to Wilder’s eyes as he scans the room for something to do—evidence of fucking Elara earlier. I know it’s only a matter of time before he finds trouble. Watching freshmen fumble through their introductions to unlimited pleasure is always amusing to him.

I shift beside him, stiff-backed and aching. Elara’s intoxicating presence hours before didn’t satiate me at all. It heightened my craving. Elara isn’t just pushing back against my borders. Just thinking about her after I’ve had her makes me complicit in tearing them down for her.

And therein lies the dreadful beauty of it all.

As every sense comes alive—the pungent scent of anticipation hanging heavy in the air; the soft rustle of clothing shifting over bodies; the slight taste of regret bitter on my tongue—irrationality seeks refuge behind reason. Ultimately, I know it's futile. This is part of who I am—undeniable, all-consuming—a creature of want and need.

If only it were that simple…

“That one,” I snap and point.

Wilder lolls his head toward me, half-lidded and almost asleep. “Huh?”

“Her.” I stand, straightening my suit. “Have her brought to my room in ten minutes.”

Wilder’s gaze follows to where I point, at a long-haired redhead at the front of the line-up. “Dude. Seriously? But we just had the fuck of our lives?—”

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