Spring (Evermore Academy #2) - Audrey Grey Page 0,97
that deserves to be punched from existence. The one that screams, You can’t touch me.
I return his smile with one of my own.
I know your secret now, dickwad, and I’m going to use it to take you down.
34
“Stop fidgeting,” Mack whispers as we stroll through the tables full of Winter Court diners toward the Sylverfrost’s private dining room.
“This dress hates me,” I hiss, tugging the velvet hem down as low as it will go—which is shockingly not a great length.
Or not shocking, considering Valerian picked it out.
Ruby sticks her head out of the black clutch I’m carrying. “Kid, that dress is doing you—and your glorious ass—a favor.”
She finally figured out how to access the dog toy I stuffed with vanilla frosting—the kind made to keep pets busy—and her face is caked with the stuff.
Mack shoots me a scolding look. “I can’t believe you brought her.”
I might have forgiven Ruby for the darkling mess, but Mack hasn’t. “Ruby hasn’t been off campus in years.”
“Have you ever considered there’s a reason for that?” Mack mutters as she follows a willowy hostess with frosted skin, cobalt blue hair, and pillowy white feathered wings up a flight of spiraling stairs to a glass room above.
“Everyone can change.”
“Apparently.” Mack cuts her eyes at Ruby, who finally figured out the hollow dog toy I filled with vanilla frosting—to keep her busy—and is stuffing her face with it. “Wasn’t she emo a few weeks ago?”
I laugh, thankful that Mack gets a night away from the stress of school. She’s been stressed lately, studying late into the night. And she’s lost weight.
Sometimes when I get up in the morning for my training sessions, she’s still awake, highlighter poised over a textbook. I keep meaning to ask her if she’s okay, but our schedules are so conflicting right now that it’s hard to find the right time.
The hostess waves her hand over the frosted enclosure, which is basically a long rectangle of ice, and a door appears. “Enjoy dinner.”
Her crystalline eyes look me up and down before she glides back down the stairs.
So far, we’ve gotten the same indignant look from every patron we passed. Although I’m starting to suspect the anger is directed at me, not Mack.
The mortal girl rumored to have Valerian Sylverfrost under her spell.
Mack enters first. I smooth down the dress Valerian sent me—the one custom fitted to fit my every curve and dyed the same color as his midnight-blue hair—and enter.
A long marble table veined in silver stretches the length of the room, showing off a stunning centerpiece of frosted roses of ice. Delicate snowflakes drizzle from above.
They melt as soon as they meet my warm skin, leaving a slight iridescent imprint that soon has my entire body glowing.
Head high, I fight the urge to tug down my dress as I scan the seats.
My gaze locks on Valerian at the head. For a choked breath, he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink as he takes me in.
An emotion too brief to catalogue ripples over his countenance. When he stands, though, it’s impossible to miss the approval in his eyes.
Asher and Eclipsa do the same, their mouths parted.
“Holy Fae hells, Summer,” Eclipsa murmurs. “Every male below just had a heart attack when you walked by.”
Asher lets out a gravelly chuckle. “I think it was a different organ that was affected.”
“Careful, dragon,” Valerian warns.
Eclipsa rolls her eyes. “Males, always thinking with their least attractive appendage.” To drive home her point, she stabs a summer sausage from a platter and deposits it on her plate. “You guys hungry?”
Valerian pulls back the chair next to his, his gaze never leaving mine. “You look . . .” His lips twitch at the corners. “Beautiful.”
I never thought one word could nearly undo me. But when Valerian Sylverfrost declared I was beautiful with that rich, deep voice, those intense silver eyes peering into my fricking soul, I’m pretty sure one of my ovaries self-combusted.
Asher does the same with Mack’s chair, and we all sit. I’m thankful as an army of waiters descend with drinks and appetizers. As soon as they leave, the room begins to rise.
My stomach flutters—and not just because of the sudden movement.
When the floor settles and the frost clears over the walls of ice, I gasp.
Our room now looks out over the restaurant, which is set into a mountainside. The pale lights of the Winter King’s resort twinkle from the basin below. Snow-crusted peaks rise all around us, engraved against a sky brimming with stars.