Page 102 of Wicked Court

“I—” She blinks, struggling with words.

Then, it’s like a switch goes off.

“You did this to me! You ruined me! I was fine with my life before you barged in with threats and big reveals about a horrifying legacy I never asked for. And then you drag me into your damn basement—and do things—unspeakable things—that I can’t stop craving…”

Elara’s shouting halts. She grips her head like it hurts, then spins on her heel in disgust.

With herself, with me … both.

“Your touch...” she continues while giving me her back, her voice laced with bitterness and something dangerously akin to desire. “All four of you. Every single one of you ignited something inside of me I never knew I craved. Something primal, savage and...” Her voice breaks. “Dangerous. Beautiful.”

Her words carve through me, memories of her body yielding on that slab, our shared breaths filling the room. I also remember the empty victory I felt when she gave Kaspian the location of the ruby necklace and it was finally in my possession after all that hard, relentless work.

It wasn’t enough. Not just an incomplete jewel, but…

That triumph paled compared to the fire of touching her, the way her skin burned against mine.

“You left me like I was nothing.” Her voice is hoarse with emotion. “When you finally got the necklace, I was nothing short of trash for you to dispose of.”

Each syllable sears through the layers of my carefully constructed anger, thrashing against the walls I’d painstakingly raised.

She turns to me, chin trembling, clenched fists at her sides.

“No,” she chokes out, her chest heaving with the effort to bring forth that single word. “I didn’t know about tonight. Sasha said it was an exclusive party she’s gone to before and had a great time. She saw what was happening to me. How I was growing quieter, distracted, ignoring everything I used to love. And she wanted to bring me back. Because that’s what a friend does, Cav. She wanted to shatter the shell you had encased me in, and you know what? I like who I’m becoming. I’m not afraid of you. Didn’t I prove that in the basement? I want you, I want all four of you.” She raises her arms, then brings them down in exasperation. “I don’t want a life of ignorant peace anymore. I want fucking answers.”

A chilling realization slithers over me, its icy tendrils coiling around my charred, barely beating heart.

My chest constricts as I witness her transformation from being a pawn in our plans to a queen willing to stand her ground.

“So fuck you, Cav,” she says, and it’s a plea soaked in poison, a call to an abyss I’ve been peering into for far too long. “Fuck you for bringing me back to you.”

Our breaths are ragged, the line between anger and lust blurring until we’re lost in the eye of the storm we’ve created.

Yet as we face each other, an unwelcome truth slithers past the scar tissue. She’s not just a task, not just a name on a list to be cursed by the Court.

She’s become more—much more—and it terrifies me. The very thought of her in danger slices through me sharper than any blade.

“Enough people count on me,” I say, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “I can’t—I won’t—let you be another victim I failed to save.”

The admission tastes like ash in my mouth, but it’s the raw, unvarnished truth. Her scent fills my senses. I remember the feel of her curves beneath my fingers, the way she imprinted herself onto my hands, permanent as ink.

“Victim?” Her voice is filled with scorn. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Isn’t it?” I counter, every word heavy with an emotion I dare not name. “There’s a reason we tied you down and made you unable to escape or deny us. It doesn’t matter if our torture was wrapped in orgasms. Don’t you get it? Pleasure is a weapon the Court uses to get what it wants. There’s a reason I didn’t fuck you on that slab, Elara.”

“The Court.” She laughs, hollow and bitter. “You throw the name at me like it should mean something, except you haven’t told me anything about it. You may not enjoy using pleasure as a tool, but you sure as hell love using people’s weaknesses against them.”

“Do you really want to know?” I spit out.

Her unwavering gaze, so stable despite all the harsh realities I’m choking her with, pierces through my fortress.

“The Cimmerian Court Sovereigns,” I begin with a sneer, “are monsters dressed in finery. The four of us—Axe, Kaspian, Wilder, me—we are the only ones to have ascended in decades. All the initiates who came before us didn’t make it through the trials. For two years, we’ve watched as new initiates are consumed by this opulent evil, chewed up by a cycle of abuse and punishment. Pleasure,” I spit the word out like poison, “is but a band-aid offered for the blood they bleed.”

She watches me, her eyes reflecting the ghosts that haunt me. I see my reflection there—an image of a man hollowed out by years of watching innocence corroded by sadistic rituals.

“Behind these gilded doors of power, wealth, and global influence once we graduate,” I tell her, my voice thick with revulsion, “lies a hierarchy that feasts on rituals of pain, masking their savagery with promises of ecstasy. But I...” I pause, my fists clenched so tight I feel my nails digging into my palms, “... I don’t know what pleasure is anymore. Not true pleasure. It’s been devoured.”

I struggle to breathe as my confession consumes me like a disease.

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