Spring (Evermore Academy #2) - Audrey Grey Page 0,112

I get her back.”

Somehow, Zinnia manages to talk Vi into waiting before she goes on a vengeance spree. Zinnia catches my eye as I sprint down the hall. “Get that poor child back, Summer, whatever it takes.”

It’s early morning, the academy awash in the silvery pre-dawn glow. A few revelers are still up partying and dancing, while others have passed out on the lawn. The smell of smoke and stale honeybrew drift on the morning breeze.

My bare feet and ankles are covered in dew as I march up to the Spring Court manor where Hellebore stays, behind the Combat Arts building.

Honeysuckle and clematis drape from the overhanging porch, and faded purple irises grow in scattered pots along the deck. The buzz of bees stir the air.

I slam my fist into the heavy oak door, disturbing the peeling green paint. I do that for a few minutes until there’s a pile of green flakes on the floral welcome mat. I try the knocker next—a gold fox head with emerald eyes.

When that doesn’t work, I scrounge around in the front garden until I find a rock, wind that fucker up like a baseball, and hurtle it at the front window.

The sound of shattering glass is music to my murderous heart.

“Wake up, you kidnapping prick!”

Something stirs behind the sheer white drapes.

I grab one of the pots, dump out the irises, and smash it into the arched entryway window. More breaking glass disturbs the stillness of the morning.

“I’m going to break every single window you own until you march your ass out here and face me!” I warn, grabbing the closest pot—an amaryllis inside a small hammered gold planter—and aiming it for the window to my left.

The door parts. Hellebore leans against the frame, the loose cotton pants he no doubt just threw on hanging low on his hips. His bright blue eyes are heavy-lidded, sleepy and feverish, his honey-gold hair raked to the side, as if he’s been up all night doing deplorable things. The colorful tats on his arms are nothing compared to the giant spiderweb tat covering his chest.

A tremor courses through me as I spy the black widow in the center. The arachnid is hunched over a blue-and-yellow butterfly—

I look away from the macabre art, made all the more disturbing by the way the poor butterfly’s wings moved.

Hellebore drags his too-bright gaze over me. “You can murder that poor flower and all my windows, but no means no. I will not sleep with you.”

“Where is she?” I pant, raising the planter like a weapon.

“Oh, you mean that young fire-cracker with the freckles and the red hair?”

My muscles twitch with rage. “If you hurt her in any way—”

“You’ll what? Break another window? Throw something at my head? Yell at me?”

Mother trucker. He doesn’t see the amaryllis streaking toward his smug face until it’s almost too late. Unfortunately, he ducks just in time and it crashes into something out of sight and hopefully very expensive.

The humor bleeds from his face. “Behave that way one more time, I’ll close this door and you will never see your sister again. Now, are you going to be a good little pet?”

My jaw locks, but I manage to grit out, “Yes.”

“Wonderful.” Hellebore draws the door all the way open to reveal Jane, still in her cotton dress. Her eyes are horrifyingly blank above a stretched out smile. “See? She’s fine. Happy as can be. A much improved version of the mortal I found snooping around campus. Now she was practically feral.”

“She’s a child. If you so much as touched her . . .”

“Mortals don’t interest me in that way. Not when it comes to that sort of pleasure.”

Vomit.

He smiles at Jane before turning that predatory grin on me. “You should have taught her not to enter portals. She followed me to the Spring Court territories and I’m afraid now . . . she belongs to me.”

My heart plummets. If he had taken her directly from the academy, I could have filed a grievance with the council.

For a moment, I let myself imagine going back to my aunts empty-handed. Explaining how Jane is now a slave of the Spring Court and there’s nothing we can do about it.

Except there is.

“What do you want?” I whisper.

“Hmm.” He presses a finger to his lips as if pondering my question. “Perhaps I simply want to keep her. Good help is hard to find, and she’s remarkably sturdy. She just spent the entire night cleaning my house without a break, and