Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,80
the bond to lead me to my mate.
A minute later, I slam open a door to what the sign says is a private lounge.
Magic hits me first. A hot, sizzling energy that whispers of balmy days and bleached grass. The room is large, the high-ceiling mirrored. A fully stocked bar lines the far wall. To my left are dim alcoves filled with couches and cordoned off by expensive gold curtains. The chandelier hanging from the center of the room is shaped like trumpet vines, its light imparting a soft glow over the stage below. Poles rise from the wooden dais, and empty chains pool at their bases.
As the knowledge of what those chains normally hold—mortal slaves—fully sinks in, a blistering anger takes hold.
And when I see the Summer Court males standing in a circle on the stage, when I hear their malicious laughter and realize what they’re doing—who they’re hurting—
My roar cuts through the techno music blaring in the room.
The males slowly turn their attention to me, and I recognize the look of bullies used to getting their way. The jocks at my old high school used to look exactly the same. So sure they were at the top of the food chain.
So sure they could do whatever they want.
“Did they send us more dancers?” the biggest male asks, his slurred voice so confident that I’m here to service him.
Ignoring him, I climb the stairs, my eyes riveted to the crumpled figure at their feet. My heart knows it’s him before I catch sight of the midnight blue hair I love to run my fingers through. Before I feel the cool bite of air, the soft caress of the bond.
My stare never leaves my mate as I top the stairs. My steps are measured, deliberate, despite the growing panic as I make out the silver blood matting his silky locks. His back is to me, his body unmoving.
Fear lances my heart at the sight. Please be alive.
Through the bond comes the soft but unmistakable cadence of his heartbeat. I loose a breath. Alive. He’s alive.
“Is she drugged?” one of the males quips, his eyes darkening with excitement. “They never come willingly.”
“Who cares?” the biggest one asks. His dirty blond hair is pulled back into a series of braids, his dark green tee worn tight over dark jeans. Diamond and emeralds adorn his ears, hinting at his status. “Once she feels the bite of steel along her ankle, she’ll become more lively.”
As if coming out of a trance, I lift my eyes to his. “What did you do to him?”
He blinks, looking from Valerian to me. “Why do you care?”
“The idiot showed up here willingly,” a dark eyed male insists. “He came into our club, taunting and making jokes. So we gave him what he wanted.”
Shimmer, no. No.
Understanding fills me with a fresh wave of pain. He was trying to make the hurt go away. To feel something beyond the unrelenting torment ravaging his mind.
My mate was in so much agony that he preferred this physical pain and humiliation to the emotions flaying him alive.
Valerian groans, stirring something primal deep within my being. “Is that . . . all you Summer Court pretty boys got?”
Beneath his taunting tone lurks a misery that cuts me to the core.
By the way the biggest male grins, he’s enjoying this. “Oh, we’re just getting started, Unseelie spawn.”
Coughing, spluttering blood, my mate lifts onto his side and glares up at the closest Evermore. “Just like all Summer Court pricks. Full of hot air and promises.”
“Do you want me to kill you?” the male growls, towering over Valerian. “Because I can make that happen.”
As if in a dream, I watch these Summer Court a-holes close in on my mate. The other half of my soul. Watch males not fit to tie his shoes laugh and taunt him—my beautiful, tortured, loyal, darkly funny prince. The Fae who gave up everything for me over and over. Who would die if it meant my happiness. Who would give me up to save me.
Who dares to love me despite how much it kills him.
Something inside me snaps. “Don’t touch him.”
Even though my voice is quiet, the violence dripping from my every word catches them off guard. Their focus trains on me.
Whatever they see must be enough to pose a threat because their posture goes from easy confidence to tense and conflicted.
The look in their faces is wary confusion, as if they sense a threat that doesn’t match what they see.