Page 85 of Wicked Court

My pulse quickens as I unfold the aged parchment, and one name among all the others sears across the page like a brand.

Maverick Wraithwood.

Chapter 26

Wilder

The night is so quiet, like it’s waiting for someone to break the silence.

That’s where I come in, the disruptor of peace.

I rev my bike’s engine, my mind swimming with thoughts of her. Sweetwitch.

Elara Wraithwood has wormed her way into my mind and I can’t shake her off. I’ve fucked her, twice, which is more than I usually care to invest in anyone, and yet here I am, obsessing over her as she walks out of the clearing and through the campus gates, head down and her hair hiding her face as she likely struggles with what went down with Cav and Axe.

I witnessed most of it after leaving Kaspian to do whatever it is Kasp does when he’s not with us, getting quickly bored and leaving the manor for what I thought was an aimless ride around town.

And yet I drove straight to her.

Cav can go home and have his internal battle with the Heart, and Axe can enter dreamland with the sugar plum memory of Elara stroking his scars.

All I know is, now that they’re done with her, I get to have her.

She represents everything I shouldn’t want: a distraction, a complication, but I can’t seem to stay away.

As Elara nears her dorm, her movements betray her unease. She fumbles with her keycard like she’s struggling to find stability in a world that seems intent on throwing her off balance.

A cat-like smile curls upon my lips. The engine of my bike shatters the silence, piercing through the night with its raw power, echoing like a scream in a library. Startled, Elara stumbles backward, her eyes widening as she tries to avoid the path of my front wheel. With a skillful skid, I come to a stop before her, effectively cutting off her retreat to Camden House.

Swinging off the bike, I flash her that grin I’ve been told is trouble. I never bother with a helmet. Rules and safety aren’t really my forte. “Need a lift, sweetwitch?”

My gaze rakes over her slender form, re-envisioning rosebud nipples and a soaked, overused pussy hidden beneath the cloak she’s wearing. She’d only be more enticing if she were wearing my jacket, but alas, she peeled off the shirt I offered her and shimmied back into that tight, black number also hidden under her cloak.

Elara glares at me, her eyes on fire. “Now is not the time, Wilder.”

My eyebrow quirks, but I feign ignorance.

“I’m offering you an escape, since you look like you need one. Unless you want to hide under your covers and try to sleep us off, which, sorry to say, we’re not the kind to read you bedtime stories and wish you sweet dreams.”

I extend a leather-clad hand towards her and wait.

Instead of fleeing in the opposite direction, she hesitates, and I can’t help the slow, upward tilt of my lips. “Scared?”

I can almost hear her thoughts, weighing the sanity of taking a midnight ride with TFU’s resident adrenaline junkie. But there’s that spark in her eyes, the kind that tells me she’s about to do something she might regret in the morning.

And damn if that doesn’t make me even hotter for her.

Elara’s life has been shockingly stable since her brother’s murder, but if my instincts are as on point as they always are, she’s beginning to tire of living a perfect, untroubled existence.

“Trust me.”

I give her my best, most gentlemanly smile, then lean against my bike and cross my arms, eyes fixed on her.

She’s got that look, like she’s on the edge of a cliff, wondering if the thrill of the fall’s worth the impact.

Perfect.

Then, taking a deep breath, she grabs my hand, swinging a leg over the back of the bike.

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