Spring (Evermore Academy #2) - Audrey Grey Page 0,93

in front of me.

I’d forgotten how big he is, his six-foot-five body practically filling the bridge path.

“Move,” I order.

He laughs, but it doesn't reach his dark eyes. “I can make this easier for you. Just say the word and when the Ice Prince tires of you—which he will, Summer—I can hide you away in the Summer Court. I have powerful friends that can protect you from Inara.”

“But not from you.”

“You did humiliate me in front of everyone. That can’t go unpunished. But I’ll be gentler than Inara.”

I glare at him. “There’s always a price with you Evermore. What would I pay for your protection?”

“Do you think your prince is any different? That he doesn’t want something from you?” His shoulder-length reddish-gold hair falls into his eyes as he leans in. “I would have treated you like royalty. Now I won’t be satisfied until you’re on your hands and knees, begging for my help. That’s my price.”

Mother. Forker. I’ve worked really hard these last few months on my temper. On rising above and ignoring and increasing my odds of staying alive.

But something inside me snaps. First Inara, then Hellebore, now this douche canoe . . . I’m done.

Smiling, I reach up and grab a firm hold of both his shoulders. Rhaegar is so sure I’m about to beg him for help that he doesn’t see my knee until it’s ramming between his legs.

A surprised yelp explodes from his throat. He stumbles back, eyes glazed . . . and then, in some cosmic form of poetic justice, falls to his knees.

“You first,” I snarl.

I’m fairly sure I’ve just eliminated all future mini-Rhaegars in one go, and I give zero fucks. I do, however, care that he’s starting to shift. His wild eyes turn more animal than Fae as his hate-wrenched lips transform into a snout. Claws erupt from his fingers.

Time to bail on this party.

I dart toward the heavily wooded area known as the Ramble, sneakers kicking up dust.

Behind me, an unmistakable howl shivers through the trees.

33

I make it maybe twenty yards when the snarling behind me goes quiet. A few heartbeats later, I recognize the honeysuckle and jasmine scent that heralds Prince Helle-Douche.

Ugh. Life can suck it. Bracing myself, I turn on the dirt path to face the Spring Court Heir.

Oh, Lordy. He’s close—way closer than I expected, wearing a white T-shirt, his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his light wash skinny jeans. His full sleeve tats and tall, lean body make him look like an edgy runway model out for a stroll.

“That was cruel,” he murmurs.

“Was it though?” I quip, not even caring at this point.

“So that’s what the Winter Prince has been teaching you during all those private lessons in the gym. Who knew he liked it so rough.”

“No, actually, Amarillo High taught me that particular move.” I fall into a fighting stance, legs wide and arms up in a defensive position. “Look, I’m way beyond my threshold for douches today. If you mess with me, I’m probably going to throat punch you. And while I’ve really been wanting to do that for a while, I’d rather just call it a day.”

His honey-gold brows gather in confusion. “Throat punch?”

“Yeah, another human specialty, reserved for dickheads like yourself.”

Whoa, Summer. One perfect knee to an Evermore’s man onions and you’re Chuck Norris.

But Hellebore seems more confused than anything. His head keeps tilting as if he’s trying to make sense of my suicidal threats. “Careful, little pet. Unless you want me to leash you right now.”

Right. No punching Hellebore because that counts as touching. The universe really has some explaining to do with that one.

I jerk my chin toward the bridge. “You were watching, weren’t you? You get off on all of this sick crap.”

“Yes. And . . . yes.” There’s no apology in his eyes. Nothing but dark amusement. “Evermore live a very long time, which means we have come up with thousands of creative ways to stave off boredom. I’ve hunted the most dangerous creatures in the Everwilde. When that lost its appeal, I turned to mortals.”

“You must be so proud. You chased down and killed a species weaker and slower than you.”

“Who said I killed them?” He arches an eyebrow. “There are infinite ways to destroy something without physically harming its flesh.”

“Your creativity should be applauded.”

Why do I keep goading him?

He must think I’m being serious, because he doesn’t bat an eye. “Unfortunately, even toying with your species lost its luster eventually. Do you know what I