Page 74 of Shattered Jewel

“Everyone good?” another voice chimes in from the other side of the house.

Each voice takes the form of familiar faces in my head.

“This place is like a fucking haunted mansion ride.”

I sidestep a hidden pressure plate, almost invisible in the gloom. The gorgeous, dreaded enforcers of the Cimmerian Court are tangled up in my mother’s knots like a bunch of schoolboys. Knowing the identities of these intruders brings me some relief, but also raises more questions.

What are Axe, Cav, Kaspian, and Wilder doing here?

“Would someone turn on the lights?” The voice sounds like Kaspian’s, the voice of reason edged with indignation.

“Can’t,” replies Wilder abruptly. “It would trigger another trap.”

I tread carefully down the hallway back to my room to wake Sasha. My mind conjures up a myriad of scenarios: Sasha and I successfully getting away from the guys, flinging ourselves into my car, and making a break for it, or one of them successfully evading a trap and grabbing me, tying me up for good this time, and teaching me what it means if I choose not to cooperate any longer.

I swallow against the adrenaline thickening my throat, every instinct screaming at me to run faster, but caution holds me back.

“Elara?” Wilder calls my name uncertainly, clearly recognizing that something in the air has changed. His voice has gotten closer. “Are you there?”

I freeze mid-step and press myself against the wall.

“Keep talking,” I whisper under my breath, letting their voices guide me while avoiding my mother’s traps. “It makes this so much easier to elude you assholes.”

“Fuck, what is this sticky stuff?” Cav grumbles, clearly ensnared by one of my mother’s many contraptions. “I can’t move my damn arm.”

“Stay still,” Axe advises, his voice strained as it floats through the halls. “Kas and I have navigated this floor before. We’ll figure this out.”

It sounds like each one has taken a different section of the manor, spreading themselves out. I risk peeking around the corner.

“Dammit!” Wilder curses, skillfully ducking under a set of darts that whiz through the air like angry hornets before embedding in the wall behind them. Once planted, they thrum with the force of their launch. “How many of these things are there?”

I can’t help the fizz of satisfaction at the look of apprehension crossing his face before he goes back to being peevish. “I’d be impressed, if I weren’t the victim of the mad lady.”

That does it. I step into the light.

“Do not call my mother insane.”

The soft glow of the hazy day trickles through the shattered window on Wilder’s right, casting a white sheen on the jagged glass shards that litter the floor around his boots like teeth.

Wilder turns toward the sound of my voice. His eyes widen in surprise at the sight of me, an unexpected apparition in my pink nightgown, before a crooked grin stretches across his face. “Sweetwitch. We thought you’d be in class.”

I cross my arms over my chest, conscious of the thin material covering it. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The grin doesn’t leave his face. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re here for you, Elara.”

My heart gives a painful throb at his words. “You’ve kidnapped me once. You’re not doing it again. Why do you keep doing it, anyway?”

“Because.” Wilder raises an eyebrow in mock amusement. “You’re special.”

His tone fuels my anger. “I’d like to see you try. You haven’t moved an inch since those darts went for your face.”

The humor drains from his face. “I could have you by the throat in a single jump, sweetwitch. Don’t tempt me. Disarm them. Now.”

“Maybe,” I reply tersely, the thrill of challenging him simmering just below the surface. “But first, you need to explain what you’re really doing here.”

Before he can reply, a garbled curse rings out from another room. Kaspian’s steady footfalls follow before he appears at the base of the staircase, his green eyes shining with a fury that matches the fire in my own heart every time I look at him. He’s meticulously extracting rusted nails from the tattered remains of his leather jacket, his expression one of aloof annoyance at having clearly wandered into some sort of improvised buckshot trap.

While unnerving to witness the violence such primitive, luck-driven defenses could inflict, there’s also an odd power in watching him simply dust off the near-death experience with his typical unflappable demeanor.

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