Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,113

clasps my arm. “Skewer that bastard.”

“Oh, but you’d miss me,” Hellebore calls as he pulls a similar shortsword from the ground, sand flying. He twirls the blade with ease as he prowls through the magical flames and into the ring.

A roar crashes through the stands. Sword drawn, I leap through the circle to meet him.

We circle each other. The ring feels suddenly so small. So inescapable. Golden flames dance down the length of my sword.

His strike comes out of nowhere. A blur, a whoosh of air, and then steel connects in an explosion of sparks. Instinct alone made me block his blade. The impact slams down my arm so hard I think at first it’s broken. I stumble back, throwing up another parry to block his lightning quick thrust. His blade glances off mine, barely missing my abdomen.

My plan to let him spill my blood comes with a few flaws. Namely, I really don’t want to be impaled by his sword, and if I’m dead, none of this matters.

His laughter rolls across the sand. “You’re only putting off the inevitable, darling.”

Anger fuels my swing, my sword colliding with his. “Don’t call me that.”

He grins—

I sense the magic before it hits, but too late. A vine wraps around my ankle and tugs. The stadium becomes the starry sky as I’m wrenched onto my back. I roll before his vines can incapacitate me. Sand wedges in my mouth.

When I judge I’m far enough away, I pop to my feet, breathing hard.

Another vine takes out my feet. I roll. Stand. Only to have the same thing happen again and again.

He’s laughing. Circling. Punishing me with his teasing arrogance. His belief that I’m not even worth a real fight. I leap to my feet only to realize I’ve lost my sword.

This time Eclipsa throws the crossbow, and by some miracle, I catch it. The quiver of bolts is already staked into the ground behind me, and I grab a handful, stabbing four into the sand and loading the last.

Hellebore cocks his head. “What are you going to do with that, exactly?”

“I have a few things in mind,” I snarl, taking aim. I have to calculate this just right. By now it’s obvious he’s not trying to finish me with a weapon. He’s taking it easy. Giving everyone a show. Toying with me before he destroys me.

I’m not naive enough to think I can kill him, but if I can just piss him off enough to make him do something not in his plan, something that breaks open my skin . . .

The bolt looses with a twang. The flames raging around us glitter off the tip as it streaks toward Hellebore—

A vine shoots from the sand and snaps the bolt inches from his grinning face.

Dammit.

Still smiling, he takes the bolt, whispers a spell, and drops it onto the sand.

Eyes glued to his, I stalk left, searching for a way to distract him before I shoot, when movement draws my focus to where he dropped my bolt.

Except my projectile is twisting into something else. Morphing and swelling, growing larger by the second until . . . Oh, hell, I know what that is.

His magic turned my bolt into a spider. A monster truck-sized spider that looks eerily similar to the one on his chest.

Applause comes from the Spring Court box behind him, his aunt apparently beyond entertained at his choice.

All I have is a blink before it surges toward me. Its spindly legs stab the sand, the puncturing sounds in time with my racing heart. I send a bolt into the creature’s chest. It screeches, but not the good kind.

The pissed off kind.

Two more bolts sink into its side. It keeps coming. Now it’s so close that I can see the curved fangs the size of my arms, the countless shiny black eyes. Fear curls up inside me like a dying animal, and I fight the paralyzing numbness taking over.

Hellebore’s greatest weapon isn’t derived from magic—it’s his ability to terrify, to reach deep inside someone to find what scares them most.

But I have a weapon too. Surprise. Against all odds, Inara didn’t divulge my secret.

I can hardly feel my arms as I load the last bolt. The arachnid towers over me, its fangs clicking in excitement over its intended meal.

“Your last bolt,” Hellebore calls. “Are you sure you aren’t ready to give up? Just say the words, Summer. Mercy.”

In response, I lift the crossbow, aim, and then pull the trigger. At the same time, my