Evermore Academy Spring - Audrey Grey Page 0,100

my cheek, my lips. I gasp as their iciness leach into the flesh of my neck. Down my throat. Over my collarbone. Despite his frigid skin, the goosebumps his touch conjures, my insides warm and puddle.

Everything feels so out of control.

This is madness; it makes zero sense. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Or maybe I have . . . but when? Why do I get the feeling it was with him?

His lips skim my ear and I nearly collapse in his arms. A part of me knows he’s affected somehow by the flute. Knows I might be too. Knows—and doesn’t care.

This is right; so very right.

“You asked me earlier what I felt around you.” His lips drag down my neck, tasting me. His arms slide around my waist and pull me tight. “Every moment I’m around you, every time I hear your laugh, all I can think about is this. Touching you, holding you. The way you taste. I want to be near you always, Princess.”

A low, groaning sound slips from his mouth.

I want to ask him how that’s possible, when he so clearly hates me. But not right now.

Later.

Now I want his lips on mine. Reaching out, I touch his jaw. I shudder at the feeling of the sharp edge pressed into my palm. The way his bottom lip curls as the pad of my thumb grazes it. First on accident—then curiosity.

And all the while as I touch his face and breathe him in, one thought eclipses all others: I’ve done this before. A hundred times. A thousand. More.

But how is that possible?

His eyes smolder, but some of the ethereal glow has faded from their depths. Before we can claw back to reality, before the flames of this madness can be snuffed out, I guide his lips to claim mine.

My heart hammers at the contact, his tongue parting my lips—

He jerks away suddenly, shaking his head as if to dislodge something. “No. This is wrong, we can’t . . .” His chest heaves. Stumbling backward, he stares at me in horror. “This should have never happened.”

I flinch like I’ve been gut-punched. “Wait, I don’t understand. Why?”

“Summer, look at me.” His voice has taken on a beautiful, hypnotic quality as he forces me to stare into his eyes. There’s magic in his voice, ancient Fae magic. I’m powerless against it; I can’t refuse. Can’t look away even as I know what he’s doing.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

“I have no choice,” he says, quietly, almost to himself. Then he finishes the glamour. “Summer Solstice, by Titania’s light, I order you to forget everything that was said and done in the last five minutes. I flew you down here, nothing more.”

Nothing. More.

I blink, a warm tear sliding from the corner of my eye as my memories start to float away. The feel of flying in his embrace. His arms wrapped around me. The swell of his lips as they brushed mine.

He’s taking all of it back.

But then something happens right as my mind goes blank; a flash of energy surges, and suddenly the memories snap back into place, clearer than before. The ruby pendant resting between my breasts pulses with heat, just like all the times before.

The Winter Prince has no idea his glamour didn’t work. I can tell by the tragic look in his eyes, the sad tug of his lips. And I don’t tell him.

Assured my memory is erased, the prince sets to healing my wound. But this time when he touches me, his fingers are missing the intimacy from before.

Darkness has fallen completely, and the forest stirs with the sound of exotic creatures I’d rather not encounter. We hurry to the portal in silence.

As we both jump through, I try very hard not to shudder when his cool hand brushes my warm one. When his palm presses into the small of my back. The moment he’s sure I’m steady, he jerks his hand away like my flesh is molten lava.

41

“It’s too bad the cup goes to the Unseelie side under the Winter Court banner,” Mack says, eyeing the Six from her chair next to me. We’re in the Properties of Magic lecture hall, sitting a row behind the Six.

Rhaegar has claimed his usual spot with Basil away from the rest of the class at the very top.

A part of me grieves, remembering how different Rhaegar used to be. Sometimes, more than I care to think about, the weight of his stare presses into me.

I nod without making eye contact;

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