Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,32
roll across the tile floor.
Okay, so maybe in some ways I am more like them than it appears.
My focus clings to my destination like a life raft in a stormy sea. See, one foot after the other. You’ve got this.
I’m halfway to my pathetic, empty table when a familiar male voice calls, “I saved a spot for you, pet.”
Oh hell. My bravado crumbles. I follow the glib voice to a table on my left and lock eyes with Satan, aka Helle-Douche. My jailer takes up an entire table, those long legs spread out on the concrete wooden bench, elbows planted wide in front of him and chin resting in his hands.
His tatted sleeves are on full display, taunting me with my fate. The Bloodstar flowers interlacing Valerian’s mark on my right arm tingle in response.
The amusement softening his dark expression fades, and he crooks a finger my way. “Come here.”
He says this just loud enough for the entire room to hear.
Burying the last tattered remains of my pride, I stride over and settle opposite Hellebore at the table. Surprising even myself, I manage to grin instead of wallop my tray of rabbit food across his stupid face.
“Good little pet.”
I bare my teeth in response, my inner Fae not going down without a fight.
“Ah, only here one day and you’ve already gone feral?” He tsks. “Don’t forget, there are ways of forcing that wildness out of you.”
I reach across the table and snatch a green apple from his tray. “You can try.”
He chuckles. His lips purse, but the snarky response he’s about to unleash never comes. Instead, his gaze snaps behind me. A second later, Freesia slides next to me.
I gape at Hellebore’s sister. Her attire screams grunge-punk. A shredded dark gray Nirvana crop top sits above a tight black miniskirt, rainbow fishnet hose, and black combat boots. Her once lustrous dark honey hair is pitch black, the scraggly locks streaked pink, yellow, and blue. Piercings flash from her eyebrows, nose, and lip.
Ruby crawls from my backpack and alights on my shoulder, cupping her chin on her hands as she stares in wonder at Freesia. “What is this magical creature?”
“That’s called a train wreck with brother issues, Ruby,” I murmur, secretly delighted at the way Hellebore frowns.
If Hellebore has a weakness, this pointy-eared-pseudo-punk sister is it.
Freesia toys with the single sliver of carrot on her tray, her gum popping over and over.
Hellebore glares at his sister. “Can you not do that?”
“Or what, brother?” She punctuates her taunt with another pop. “Will you have me whipped?” Pop. “Tied up?” Pop. The row of rings piercing the length of her eyebrows flash as she grins. “Marry me off to some Fae royal a thousand years my elder?”
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Ruby and I watch the sibling standoff with unabashed glee, both of us placing chunks of cheese into our mouth like popcorn. I should feel sorry for Freesia’s very obvious cry for help, but after months of being under Hellebore’s thumb, I selfishly cling to his discomfort. The way his normally sneering lips tighten and eyes go all dull and hard.
There’s real emotion buried there beneath those layers of fucked up childhood and sadistic tendencies. Real pain.
I feel like Lex Luther when he discovered kryptonite.
Hellebore regards Freesia, nostrils flaring, scouring her like a puzzle missing half its pieces. “Don’t tempt me.”
“What happened to the boy who cried when our parents died?” The popping stops, and she goes unnaturally still. “Who swore revenge on our aunt?”
A muscle feathers in Hellebore’s temple. “I don’t blame her for doing what comes natural.”
“Plunging a blade into their hearts is natural?”
I find myself nodding along to her point.
I know the moment his eyes bleed of light that any connection between them is dead. The wicked smile I hate plasters to Hellebore’s face, making him both intimidating and beautiful. “I’m curious why you care so deeply when you let them know daily how much you hated them.”
Hated them? What the frick is that about?
Whatever Hellebore is alluding to, his words plunge like arrows into Freesia, and she visibly recoils. Torment and loathing shines in her eyes as she takes out the wad of pink gum, twirls it around her finger, and stands. “And now I get to hate you.” She smashes the gum into the table, glaring at him. “I fucking, fucking hate you.”
Wow. Someone who feels the same way I do about Hellebore. Ruby whispers into my ear, “This is better than Dallas.”