Page 101 of Wicked Court

My fury thrashes within like a storm on the sea, and she’s the ship at its mercy.

I grip her jaw harder, nails digging into tender flesh.

She mewls in pain, but I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

“Look at me,” I command, the words tearing themselves from my throat.

Unshed tears shimmer in her eyes as they meet mine, a silent plea echoing in their depths.

“No words?” I sneer, my hands releasing her jaw to trace the contours of her face, a twisted mockery of tenderness.

Her breath stalls as my fingers brush over her lips, an unconscious shiver running through her at the unexpected gentleness.

I rasp, each word stripped and exposed, “I want to know why you would do this. Do you have any idea what sexual fetishes those initiates are allowed to unleash upon you once they summon you to the drawing room? Do you?”

She holds the words hostage in her throat. The trepidation in her eyes gives testament to their weight.

“Sash—Sasha,” she croaks.

“Who?”

I’m honestly so focused on Elara all the time, I completely forgot she had people other than the four of us surrounding her.

“My roommate. My best friend. She’s down there, too—I need to get her out of there.”

I respond with deceptive calm. “And what, exactly, were you two thinking you would find when you signed a contract and submitted to a fucking. Blindfold.”

Without warning, her knees buckle beneath her, and she collapses onto the cold marble floor. The suddenness of it startles me, but my quick reflexes catch her before she hits the floor completely.

That brief second of holding her, feeling her mold into my chest like she belongs there, is all I the excuse I need to launch forward, lifting and pressing her against the wall, trapping her.

The stone at her back offers no comfort, nor should it. I want to underscore the severity of her predicament and make her understand that she does not belong here.

Elara’s eyes, wide and brilliant even in the room’s deliberately low lighting, finally reveal a hint of the remorse I’ve been expecting.

“Answer me!” I scream into her face. My demand rips through the room, a savage beast clamoring for understanding. “Did you think we would accept you? Did you think you could survive our world?”

Elara winces so deeply it’s like I’ve slapped her. Regret curdles, but I form it into scar tissue, my soul covered in it, and pretend there’s no deep wound underneath.

But Elara forces her eyes open, looking straight into my eyes. Something flickers there, a cool veil of defiance I’ve grown familiar with when it comes to her.

In that moment, an unexpected realization strikes me as bitterly as my certainty that I will crack her ice under the barest of pressures.

This confrontation—framed by my rage and her obstinacy—has turned us into enemies. The very thought stirs an ache deep within me, an echo of loss whispering through every fiber of my being.

With one last blistering gaze, I abruptly release her.

I turn my back on her, raking my hand through my hair.

“Cav.”

Elara’s voice is sandpaper against her throat.

“I’ll text Kaspian. He’ll get Sasha out.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was coming here?—”

I come at her again. “Don’t you fucking apologize. You knew. You knew what could happen. Haven’t we taught you enough of a lesson to stay away? I released you. I threatened to drag you into hell if I saw you again. Why the fuck would you come back?”

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