Spring (Evermore Academy #2) - Audrey Grey Page 0,62

pointedly adds. “Because that’s important.”

I grimace before throwing Ruby a thumbs up. “Piece of cake, right, Ruby?”

“Cake?” she screeches before lurching happily into the side of the stainless steel refrigerator door.

Dear Baby Jesus, please, please let this work.

As soon as we near the home where the magical weapon is stashed, a pack of darklings descend. Ruby distracts them while Mack and I rush into the basement, grab the glowing crimson weapon’s case, and make it back to find Ruby miraculously unharmed.

Turns out, Baby Jesus was listening, after all.

When Valerian opens the door and spots the crimson case in my hand, Ruby passed out unharmed on my shoulder, a flash of pride sparks inside his silver eyes.

Damn, if I wouldn’t scale the world’s largest mountain just to see that look again.

Get a grip.

I jerk my head in the direction of the city. “Don’t be scared, Prince. Mack and I will protect you.”

Asher bites down a chuckle as he steps out into the unlit corridor.

Valerian just watches me for a moment. His mouth is teased into an amused half-smile, but his eyes dance with an emotion that makes my toes curl and my breath hitch.

“Enjoying this?” he asks.

“Maybe,” I admit. After months of having to take his orders, it feels good to have the roles reversed.

His lips finally commit to a full smile, and it’s glorious. “Someday,” he whispers into my ear as he passes, “I’m going to find a really, really creative way to punish you for that smart mouth.”

Oberon’s beard. Even trapped in a scourge city and surrounded by darkling zombies, the attraction between us is so thick it’s practically a living, breathing thing.

But the moment the door clicks shut behind him and we break into a quiet jog toward the tunnel entrance a block away, I go straight into badass Guardian mode.

And when the first darkling screech shreds the night, the reality of my situation hits me like a bucket of ice water.

From now until the safe zone, it’s up to me to keep the Winter Prince alive. Otherwise, there will be no later flirting, no later negotiating our relationship, no later anything.

22

The entrance to the closest tunnel is hidden near an abandoned coffee shop, beneath a wide set of stairs. I don’t relax until the iron grate—warded to keep darklings out—senses Valerian and Asher’s presence and lights up green before opening for Mack.

As the iron clicks shut behind us, an eerie hissing sound fills the air. On the other side, where we stood just moments ago, countless darklings gather. The warded iron gate does its job, repelling them back a few feet—but it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

Asher’s uneasy growl fills the chamber. “Is it just me or are the darklings getting uglier?”

“There’s something deeply wrong about being around them and not putting them out of their misery,” Valerian murmurs.

I cringe as I study the creatures. Knowing they were once human, a part of me wants to feel sorry for them. But they look so different now, so monstrous, so . . . wrong that it’s impossible to find any humanity to connect with.

Their bones are warped and misshapen. Their eyes depthless pits of black. Their faces twisted with hunger and mindless savagery. Any clothes they once possessed are gone, leaving their graying, emaciated flesh exposed.

But it’s the way they move—jerky and inhumanly fast, driven by mindless hunger—that puts them squarely in the not-even-remotely-close-to-human camp.

Pushing aside my horror, I fling open the final door to the tunnels . . . perhaps a bit too quickly. Damp air clogs my lungs as we file into the wet darkness. The sound of water trickling down the stone walls rushes over me.

Gaelic symbols are woven into the stone, their meager glow just enough to illuminate the winding, mazelike burrows.

“Do you see any darklings?” I ask Mack, who’s peering down at her GPS, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Not that I can tell.” She stares at the screen a moment longer before declaring, “It’s clear.”

I exhale. It’s working.

But it’s still too early to celebrate.

Adjusting the spear case strapped to my backstrap, I check my wrist-mounted crossbow one more time. “Let’s go.”

Before I can move a step, Valerian presses the flat palm of his hand against my lower back. Just for a second—long enough to remind me he’s here by my side.

A sense of purpose swells in my chest. As Guardian and Keeper, we share a different kind of bond than the one created by magic. A bond of tentative trust between