Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,10
to the Fae. “Away.”
The two drunken Fae manage to scatter as Hellebore unfolds to a stand. The creepy arachnid tattoo on his chest stops its spinning and scuttles across its shivering web.
My fingers automatically find the knife strapped to my thigh.
He grins again. Drinking in my rage. My helpless fury. The soft click of the camera as he snaps my picture feels like a slap to the face. His gaze peeks above the lens long enough to study Mack. “No mortals except servants or slaves are allowed on this floor.”
Fire flares inside Mack’s eyes. “Servants? Here in the mortal world they’re called employees, remember?”
Gosh, I adore her.
Hellebore shrugs, one side of his pillowy lips quirking as if he knows a secret. “For now.”
Shimmer above, is he so confident that he just basically admitted his world domination ambitions?
Fiery heat prickles my cheeks. Rage is not a strong enough word to describe how I feel. This is not part of the plan.
Ruby must feel the hatred seeping from every pore on my body because she zips toward Hellebore, a war cry on her lips—
And is met in the air by Hellebore’s sprite, Nerium. The two spiral toward a side table, taking out an expensive looking scorpion sculpture before rolling over the marble floor.
This has to stop before I reveal my magic. Calling on every meditation technique Eclipsa has ever taught me, I manage to calm my mind, shaping my face into . . . if not adoration then affection. “Glad I could be here to liven things up, darling.”
Hellebore blinks. He was not expecting that. He lowers the camera with a frown.
His gaze snaps to a Spring Court Fae male with bark colored hair pulled back in a tie. The Fae bows; sweat darkens his temples. “Prince, excuse the interruption but you asked to be apprised of your sister’s actions?”
Freesia? Hellebore’s sister is a year younger and mostly stays out of the spotlight. Actually, I’d almost forgotten he had a sister.
Annoyance flickers in Hellebore’s turquoise eyes. The tattoos covering his body seem to move as he grabs his robin’s egg blue shirt and slips it on. “What has she done now?”
“She is currently dancing.”
“That’s it? Dancing?”
Fear ripples over the messenger’s face. “On a patio table.”
Hellebore’s tight lips hint this isn’t the first time. “With or without clothes?”
Still bowing, the poor messenger slowly glances upward.
Well, then. Not that I’m surprised with a brother like Hellebore. I would probably act out too if my aunt and only sibling were ruthless, conniving sociopaths.
“I thought I told you to keep her away from the elderberry wine?”
“As you know, she is very . . . persistent.”
A sigh slips from those too-pretty lips. “Lock her in her room.” The poor Fae scuttles from the room, but before he makes it to the door, Hellebore adds, “When that’s done, I want you to dance in front of everyone.”
“Dance?” The Spring Court Fae’s eyes are stretched wide with fear. “For—for how long?”
“Until I order you to stop or you drop dead. Whichever comes first.”
No question which that will be. A chill descends. Like a fool, I had let myself forget Hellebore’s capacity for cruelty.
Even more reason for this plan to work.
“Siblings,” I mutter, trying to sound sympathetic, “they can be such a pain in the ass.”
Wary confusion darkens his gaze as it locks on me.
“Would you like a drink?” I look around for a server and spot a nearby mortal girl with a tray of silver goblets.
I grab two, relieved that the server doesn’t seem to be compelled. Here in the mortal world there are rules to protect humans. At least the ones not already ensnared by the Fae.
Hellebore’s displeasure grows as I hand him a drink.
When I suggest a cheer to our newfound relationship? I think a piece of his black soul dies.
I clink his unmoving glass, smiling sweet as cotton candy, and go in for a kiss. My lips glide a millimeter over that jagged cheekbone . . .
I draw back in mock surprise. I might be enjoying this too much. “Oh, right. I can’t actually touch you, fiancé. Shame. Perhaps a selfie to commemorate the occasion?”
Fury twitches the corners of his lips. “What game are you playing, little pet?”
“No game. Remember, mortals aren’t good at those. No, I’ve simply decided to embrace my fate—and you. I mean, look at yourself. What girl could resist a male with that body”—Vomit—“and your tastefully . . . unique tattoos, so many”—Vomit—“and . . . you’re just so . . .