Page 7 of Wicked Court

So much of her is available online. Elara’s active on social media and an avid philanthropist, supporting any charitable cause, especially ones involving puppies. Kasp and I could pinpoint her monthly cycle, for fuck’s sake, but there is virtually nothing about the ruby Heart.

What was the evidence the Sovereign received that convinced him she possessed something of such value? After what I endured months ago, I was certain there was no ruby, no hidden treasure worth billions. I enjoyed dangling the possibility to those who were desperate for it, but Sarah Anderton’s fortune isn’t the legend everything thinks it is.

At the growing commotion in our row, Elara glances back at us, her amber eyes meeting mine with abject disapproval for daring to interrupt her A++ ass-licking of Harlow’s hairy chocolate starfish.

I meet her stare head-on, eyes flat as a piranha while chewing on live flesh.

For a second, uncertainty flickers across her face before she whips around again, coppery strands swinging.

Good. My reputation precedes me.

Kaspian reaches into Axe’s bag and pulls out hand sanitizer, spraying it dramatically on his hands and up his forearms. “You’re nauseating, Wilder.”

Despite all this activity, Axe hasn’t let his attention stray from Elara, his eyes like steel-gray traps awaiting the chance for her to step into his teeth.

His clenched jaw speaks volumes. He leans forward, unwilling to press his tender back against his seat.

I quickly glance away.

Wilder recovers from the nerve-pinch, breathing through his nose and glaring a promise at Kasp to cut his cock off and have him choke on it later.

Ignoring the threat, Kaspian asks under his breath, “Wilder doesn’t have a half-bad idea. Can’t we play with her a little before getting what we need from her?”

“That depends,” I say. “How much longer do you want to wait to save ourselves and our families?”

He frowns at that.

I study the back of her head. Loose waves adorn her perfect, eggshell skull. Elara Wraithwood possesses what most, if not all, of humanity covets: Beauty. She is a princess carved from a fairy tale, a mythical goddess, a rare creature of contradictory traits. Her hair, a natural copper, contrasts wonderfully with her buttery amber eyes. She’s pale, with the tip of her nose constantly flushed with red—from cold, from the sun, from attention, who knows.

Coupled with her oval face and plush, heart-shaped lips, Elara stands out. Even her name, for God’s sake, exudes perfection.

It grates on me.

She doesn’t know what genuine power looks like.

Then, she turns and smiles at her neighbor again.

Bright, fluttering, beatific. A butterfly too close to our web.

We dismissed her as easily as I’d crumble those papery wings to dust in my palm.

Kaspian, Wilder, Axe and me … well, butterflies don’t fly at night for a reason.

Unfortunately, we now don’t have a choice.

“Are you sure she’s the one?” Wilder muses, drumming his fingers on the desk, his satiation at an end. “What could she possibly have to tell us about this mythical jewel?”

“If the Sovereigns say she has it, then she has it.” A sinister grin pulls at Kaspian’s lips. “I bet she’s not as perfect as she seems. Everyone has their breaking point.”

She faces forward now, her shoulders a straight line, the tension clear in the stiffness of her spine.

She knows she’s being watched.

I add, “If not her, then someone in her family has the answers. Either way, we have use for her.”

“Use means fuck,” Wilder muses, leaning back in his seat and threading his fingers at the back of his head, “and that I would gladly do with my hand around her throat. But I refuse to make conversation. She probably eats rainbows and fairy dust for breakfast.”

“Whereas you’d make better use of a bloodied unicorn carcass,” I hear Axe mutter.

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