Page 9 of Wicked Court

“Cavanaugh Nightshade, I insist you get back to your seat!” Harlow demands.

My smile widens. I decide to wait on “following” his orders, choosing to step on Elara’s shadow instead.

Elara pushes to her feet. I languidly arch back to provide her space. I’m sad to say I narrowly avoided those perfect breasts of hers from squishing into me by mere inches.

She’s not perfect. She’s nothing.

Elara glares at me, tears lining her eyes, her entire body trembling. “No wonder your name is such a mouthful. Your parents gave you a douchebag name because you’re an asshole. A fucking asshole.”

She hurries from the classroom without a backward glance.

I fold my arms, triumphant.

And feel the familiar thrill of the hunt rising within me.

Chapter 4

Elara

After the first cut, someone lets out a shriek, followed by a nervous giggle.

The freshman making those contradictory sounds clutches her forearm, red droplets seeping between her fingers as she spins to her cluster of friends, the steaming cauldron behind her containing her blood and greatest wish for the summer before it begins.

“Why did I come here again?” I ask under my breath, not expecting anyone to answer, including my own good sense.

“Because it’s entertaining to see the fresh blood spill their blood over a cute guy in a skull mask, thinking dead witches will grant their wish.” Sasha, dressed in as a sexy Victorian duchess beside me, sighs. “That used to be me. Oh, how fun and naïve I was.”

I make a face at her, scrunching my nose with unamused disdain, but deep down grasping for innocent nostalgia, just like she is.

The organizers invite all freshmen at TFU to the summer solstice party in the woods surrounding TFU campus. It used to happen only once a year, to kick off first semester, but students enjoy it so much, it now happens twice a year, in case that first wish didn’t take. It sounds innocent. The invites hitting everyone’s phones resemble any college party at any campus across the nation. But the truth is, it embraces more Titan Falls lore than a lot of first years are prepared for.

For one, a man in an intimidating mask and a sharpened knife hovers over a cauldron in the center of a small clearing.

A giant, real cauldron, I kid you not.

In years past, most people knew who was behind the mask, because way too many females and those of the male persuasion lined up to have their forearm cut and dribbled into the cast-iron pot, asking the accused witches from the Colonial days to provide them with good luck for the year and grant a single wish.

But Professor Morgan is absent this year. Rumor has it he lives in an old manor in the woods now with a gorgeous girlfriend and three other desperately handsome men and no longer has the time or the inclination to entertain giggly co-eds.

I’m not sure of the logistics in that house, but all I know is, when that girl thought of the greatest wish ever, she had the witches on her side. She snatched both Professor Morgan and Professor Rossi from the pool of unattainable men at TFU, along with two others who I’ve only seen glimpses of, but definitely drooled over.

Tonight, the new guy in charge of granting wishes is all I’m hearing about as I weave through the dancing, raucous crowd, holding a sweating cup of vodka punch and pulling my black cloak tighter to combat the abnormal chill in the air. Sasha tossed a heap of silk and lace at me as soon as I walked into our room, demanding I dress in a Victorian-inspired tutu with her or she’d slash my sheets and pillows in a rage.

She meant it, too.

Now, Sasha stops us as soon as we reach the clearing where we join the rest of the curious lookie-loos, while a line for the cauldron snakes through the gnarled trees and trampled grass.

Skull Mask is so intriguing that even upperclassmen are queuing up for another attempt.

“You know what? I think I’m going to make a junior year wish, too.”

I snap out of my thoughts and grab Sasha’s arm. “Seriously? Sash, no.”

“Why not?” She pouts at me over her shoulder. “That guy may not be tattooed on all parts of his skin like Morgan, but look at the muscles under that cloak. And how tall he is. I bet he smells good, too.”

My eyes dart to the empty cup she’s holding. “How much have you had?”

“Oh, please. Doesn’t the mystery turn you on a little? You can’t tell me you’ve never fantasized about fucking a masked man before.”

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