Page 11 of Shattered Jewel

A heavy thud-thud-thud against my door has all our heads turning.

We know that knock.

Dawn slides through the cracks in my blackout curtains like a goddess’s fingers determined to illuminate her enemy’s crypt.

The succinct snap when I draw the curtains shut snuffs out her progress.

“The Selection must be over,” Axe says from his favored spot against the far wall.

Kaspian frowns at the small licks of fire struggling for survival in the hearth. “You’d think the Sovereigns would’ve stretched out their time with their own Selections.”

“Those fuckers are so ancient, they fart bone dust,” Wilder bites out, capping the crystal stopper of my scotch decanter with a sharp clink. “No way could they get through one thrust in sweet, young pussy before drowning the poor girl in a cloud of spores.”

“Now, there’s a vision I didn’t need behind my eyes.” Kaspian lowers his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Three knocks come again, the space between them shorter.

“Messenger boy grows impatient,” Wilder croons, swirling the ice in his third—maybe fifth—drink.

We’re all coping in our usual ways after Elara’s illustrious exit a few hours ago. The fact that we’re even coping is a huge red flag in itself. Accusing us of cold-blooded murder and subterfuge is a compliment. We didn’t join the Court for anything less. But to be accused of it when we didn’t do it … that’s what bothers us.

It’s an insult.

Neither of us participated in Maverick’s death or knew of it. That was confirmed the second after Elara slammed my door.

I went for their throats—Kaspian first.

He kept his smooth grin the entire time I hooked his neck, but I believed him when he said he had no fucking clue until he discovered the evidence yesterday.

Wilder dodged my physical restraint, choosing to run for my bed and jump on it like a goddamned toddler, daring me to catch him. In the pauses between my snarls, he denied any knowledge.

Axe preempted my interrogation by sneaking up behind me while I was distracted by the jumping idiot and coiled his arm around my neck, murmuring into my ear that if I thought he’d hurt Elara that way, I’d be dead before realizing I was incorrect.

These are my brothers. Not by blood, but soul brothers.

If they say they don’t have any further information about Maverick Wraithwood, I believe them.

At the time of Maverick’s death, we were seventeen and about to graduate from our various high schools. We would’ve just received the coveted invitation to officially join the Court as their members by enrolling at TFU.

The Court has global scouts who troll schools, clubs, and streets for the talents required to join their ranks. When looking for gifted criminals, they deliberately avoid juvenile detention centers or other justice systems since they have no interest in those who’ve been caught.

It makes me wonder how they scouted Maverick, the all-around golden boy and doting big brother. We didn’t let Elara know he was an initiate. With the way she reacted to his involvement with the Heart, damning him further would’ve been too much for her.

Despite what it looks like, we do care about mental health.

Sometimes.

It’s another question mark to add to my lengthy mental list regarding Elara Wraithwood.

With a long sigh, I stride across the bedroom, passing Wilder and Kaspian, neither of whom made a move to answer the knock.

I open the door to find a hulking initiate adorned in a black velvet cloak and the upper half of his face obscured by an ivory mask.

His chapped lips part to reveal his chipped front teeth.

“The Sovereigns request your presence immediately,” he intones.

“Just me? I’m flattered.”

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