Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,14

How?

I know what it requires; what I’m missing. Bitter hatred. I conjure my emotions from the moment that twisted crown of daisies came to life atop my head. The sinking despair I felt as I realized I’d been tricked. I focus on the blinding rage that all but consumed me as I saw my mate, poisoned and powerless, held aloft in the air like a piece of trash.

The male who had been willing to give up everything for me . . .

Apologies, Master.

The click of the lock snaps my eyes back open.

Eclipsa whistles. “I didn’t actually think that would work.”

“And yet you let her try?” Mack demands.

Eclipsa shrugs.

Breathing out the boiling mess of emotions still clinging to me, I enter the next room, expecting anything but . . .

“Congratulations,” Eclipsa drawls, “we’ve found the place he takes the victims he wants to bore to death.”

I twirl around the bare chamber as disappointment takes hold.

Eclipsa suddenly stiffens, her spine jerking ramrod straight. “Wait. I think I’ve been here before.”

“You think or you know?”

Mack’s fidgeting with her messy bun when her focus darts behind me. “What is that?”

I follow her stare to a wide room down the hall. Just like the rest of this pretentious mega-mansion, it’s sparsely furnished. Two long violet couches are positioned in the center of the room. But it’s the décor on the walls that catches my eye.

“His gallery. I remember now.” Eclipsa’s voice sounds strained as she stalks toward the room. Unlike her usual fluidity, her spiky heels stab the marble floor with each angry step.

“Gallery? As in, his own photos?”

“Yes.” Eclipsa hesitates before entering. She takes a deep breath, as if the air on the other side is poisoned with rancid memories. Her pumps echo inside the high-ceilinged room. She makes two full turns, her dress refracting the gallery lights all around the dome ceilinged room.

Shimmer above, she’s dangerously beautiful in this moment. Eclipsa might think Hellebore used her to get back at Valerian, but I suspect at some point, it was more than that.

I frown. “I thought his camera was for added creep factor, not . . . this.”

Eclipsa exhales. “Even soulless freaks have hobbies.”

“Serial killers like to collect memorabilia from their victims,” Mack points out. “Maybe this is like that.”

“You didn’t recall being here before?” It seems like a detail that’s hard to forget.

“I might have magically scrubbed some of my more painful memories with Hell.” Eclipsa lets two fingers flutter over her left temple. “I made the spell weak enough that it’s overridden with simple reminders.”

Mack examines a picture of an older Fae female with soulful honey-gold eyes and a solemn expression. “These are surprisingly . . . good.”

She’s right. As much as I want my d-bag of a fiancé to be a clichéd hack, I can’t help but marvel at the black-and-white images inside the modern platinum frames. They’re portraits. Some posed, the subject looking straight into the camera to give a discomforting effect. Some taken surreptitiously. All boast impressive knowledge of light and angles and convey an effortless emotion.

Too bad that emotion is fear. It clings to every subject behind his lens. A subtle, elegant hint of terror juxtaposed against seemingly everyday acts. Sitting on a park bench beneath sprawling trees. Strolling over a bridge. Playing a cello. Putting on makeup.

Why am I not surprised?

One photo grabs my attention. I gravitate toward the frame. It’s different than the rest. First, it’s by far the largest, blown up to four times the size of the others. Second, this image has an entire wall to itself. Third, the female is laughing, a hand splayed over her face as if caught unaware. The photo is grainy, diffused with light flares, but it appears she’s sitting near a window at sunset. Light-colored sheets loosely wrap around her graceful shoulders, baring just the hint of her cleavage and hinting at her nakedness.

Only the barest hint of her features are visible beneath her fingers, and yet this image conveys more emotion than all the others combined. Ash-white hair tumbles down the female’s shoulder, reminding me of a raging waterfall, frozen into thick spears of ice.

The barest hint of a tattoo peeks from her shoulders—

My eyes stretch wide as realization takes hold, but before I can blurt out my discovery, Eclipsa flashes her teeth at me in silent warning.

My words burrow back down my throat because, duh, I don’t have a death wish.

Ruby, however, has missed the Lunar assassin’s silent threat, and she cries out, “That starving creature