Page 4 of Wicked Court

When I finish, the X is a stark, brutal mark, a symbol of punishment and a reminder of our ruthless creed.

I step back, knife dripping at my side.

Axe rises slowly, his movements deliberate. There’s no anger in his eyes, only a deep understanding of the sacrifices we make, the costs of our allegiance.

The Sovereigns nod in approval, their expressions unreadable behind their masks. The initiates watch in silent judgment, the ritual a grim reminder of the price of failure.

“Well done, Cavanaugh.”

The First Sovereign comes to my side, exchanging the bloody blade for a folded piece of paper.

I open it without question, reading the name written in elegant script.

Elara Wraithwood.

“My next kill?” I ask, my voice devoid of interest.

I don’t know her, never heard of this person and do not need to defend or ask for details. My mind races with the why, though. Rarely do we target females.

“I’ve received evidence that her family may have information on the Heart’s location,” the Sovereign answers cryptically before drawing away. “Do not disappoint me this time.”

I don’t watch him depart.

I focus half of my attention on Axe as he prowls out of the room, his back painted with rivulets of bright red blood.

The other half stares at her name.

Chapter 2

Elara

“They’re back again.”

I hold my phone between my shoulder and ear as I shove my cognitive psychology books in my bag. “Who is, Mom?”

“You know. Them.”

Her tone is husky, rattled. I can barely hear her over the noise of other students gathering their things and shuffling out of class.

“We’ve discussed this, Mom.” I match her muted tone. “The gardener comes on Thursday mornings. He drives a navy pickup truck. Is that what you’re seeing?”

There are a series of taps on the other end.

I try not to sigh. “Yes, I still understand that two taps mean yes, and one tap means no.”

“Good. I need to make sure I can communicate if he comes in and tries to rape me and I can no longer talk because he’s gagged me.”

“Mom—” I grit my teeth against any admonishment. I should be thankful that her scenario is short today. I say lightly, “Leonardo’s worked for us for years. You do background checks on him every week. He’s not a threat.”

“You promise? It only takes a second to stab someone.”

“I promise you he hasn’t killed anyone.”

Slinging my bag’s strap on my shoulder, I join in the line leading out of the classroom. “But why don’t you ask Micah to drive into town and get your favorite dish from that French spot? Have lunch in the parlor and lock the door. By the time you’re done, Leonardo will have finished with the gardening.”

Mom hums in thought over the line. I wait her out and push through the main doors of the science building.

The first brush of sunlight spills through the towering oaks of the campus, igniting my hair into fiery tendrils that fly into my face as the wind picks up.

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