Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,121

strange considering the roar of rage bubbling up inside me.

Beyond the bars, illuminated by the soft light of the moon, my mate stirs.

When I catch the flicker of movement, it all becomes real.

He’s there. Within reach. Hurting. Hopeless. Tormented over and over and over. Throneless. Kingdomless. Abandoned by his court and his father. Stripped of the dignity he’s somehow managed to retain all these years—the pride.

Because of me.

As the full brunt of what he’s sacrificed for me becomes clear, something inside me starts to crack. To split right open.

The thing that slithers out is dark and vengeful and full of hatred. A monster of the darkest rage.

How dare they hurt my mate. How dare they taunt him, laughing as he drowns. My beautiful, powerful, sensual mate.

The sand is soft and quiet beneath my bare feet. Eclipsa’s voice whispers behind me, but it’s lost in the torrent of anger driving me forward. Reaching deep inside myself, I snatch the bit of Hellebore’s magic I stole earlier and fling it outward.

My skin prickles as the ward drags its talons over me, ready to flay me open at the first hint of my foreignness—but Hellebore’s magic soothes the dangerous spell.

Away, I urge. Away. You are no longer needed. Away.

The ward hesitates just long enough to make my insides clench before it recedes, dissipating into the night.

Heat kisses my fingers, tangerine light illuminating the darkness as my fiery magic builds between my hands.

This power isn’t borrowed; it’s all mine.

The light draws the soldiers’ attention, but too late. Fire streaks across the air like lightning. Screams erupt as the Spring soldiers burst into flame. Driven wild by panic, they crash into each other, writhing, trying to outrun the pain.

A few mistakenly assume the ocean’s embrace will provide relief, but the flames are wrapped in layers of protective magic, and the water sizzles around them, boiling them alive.

Dark streaks is all I see before my friends descend on the dying soldiers. Their blades are a mercy—and an ending to the screams.

Just like that, silence falls over the scene, serenaded by the soft crash of the waves. I ignore the sound of the bodies thumping against the cage as the tide drags them out. Ignore Eclipsa’s warning to wait. Ignore Mack as she tries to pull me away from the cage.

“Wait, Summer. We don’t know yet how bad it is.” Asher wedges himself between the cage and me—or tries. But whatever he sees in my face makes him step to the side.

And then I’m slogging through the frothy, blood-stained water. Feet mired in sand. Fighting the waves and my growing panic and the tiny voice that whispers my worst fear . . . that my mate has already died.

My heart races, desperation strangling my chest as I grasp the iron bars. Part of me cringes from the corrosive darkness emanating from the metal. The whisper of death in its touch.

Gritting my teeth against the cage’s promise of destruction, I peer through those horrible bars. On the other side, hunched over, wet, tangled blue hair covering his face, crouches my mate.

I barely manage to swallow down the scream convulsing up my throat as I take in his condition. He’s shirtless, fresh and old bruises darkening his pale skin. The mixture of iron and saltwater has left parts of his flesh irritated and exposed, unable to heal. The moonlight limns the sharp edge of his jaw, the recessed pits beneath his cheekbones, and the hollows between each rib, hinting at cruel starvation.

And his face—his handsome face. Old, faded green bruises cling to the sharp planes, those sensual lips I love swollen and discolored.

What did they do to you? The pain from seeing him like this leaves me momentarily speechless. Months—I’ve had months to dream of this very moment.

But now, confronted with the pain he’s been forced to endure, an ache of pure agony clenches my heart, and my throat threatens to close up.

“I guess you didn’t see what happened to the last guard who got too close.” The ragged tremor of his voice cuts me to the core.

He hasn’t given up, and yet, he’s barely holding on. He doesn’t even recognize I’m near.

The bars glow white-hot as they melt beneath my hands. The moment they’re gone, I wade through the churning water toward him.

His head whips up, eyes wild, almost feral and glittering with fight. One eye is a swollen mound of purplish-black, the other rimmed with old blood.

I can see the moment recognition takes hold. The moment he