2. Elara
Chapter 2
Elara
T he coldness of the hallway creeps under my blanket as I round the corner and bring myself further away from Cav’s room and the men reclining within it.
I’m vulnerable, exposed, my chest gaping with a fresh wound—betrayal. It’s with that sick, unyielding ache that I push forward, refusing to linger in this house of nightmares.
My feet barely touch the cold marble tiles when Axe throws open Cav’s door and catches up to me, his ash-blond hair like a muted halo in the soft light of the sconces along the scarlet walls.
He doesn’t say anything or apologize for so lithely cutting into my path and blocking my escape.
Axe stands motionless as I take him in. His features are a study in paradoxes—beauty hewn from cruelty, softness ruined by misery. My attention lowers, catching on the patchwork of scars peeking from his sweater’s neckline. His arms extend, offering clothes and a cloak. When our eyes finally collide, Axe probes for a reaction, but he’ll only find the impenetrable wall they put there.
“You need to cover up,” he murmurs. “Before you leave our wing. Cameras are everywhere.”
“Oh, so your lords have decided I can leave? How benevolent of them.”
Axe’s carefully sculpted expression doesn’t crack.
His concern comes off as an obligation, not care. I want to scream, to unleash the cyclone inside me. Here is a man who knows my brother’s blood was spilled by those he serves, yet remains tethered to them like a phantom refusing to stop haunting this mansion.
“A car will be at the front,” he adds.
“Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness,” I spit back, the words tasting like acid on my tongue.
I hate that I’m beholden to them to get out of here. As soon as I stormed out of Cav’s room, I realized my mistake. I could’ve at least sworn to go against them after I’d put clothes on and arrived home. There’s also the issue of finding Sasha in this gigantic manor, and once I do, there’s no way we can make that same trek through the forest Axe led me through.
Also, I have no clothes.
Even if I’d had the sense to grab my dress off Cav’s floor, it’s in shreds.
From Cav’s fury. His need. His total, utter dominance and my submission to anything he wanted to do to my body.
Only my breathing fills the space in the quiet corridor, and my fingers loosen their grip on the blanket. It slips, cascading to the floor with a whisper, leaving me bare before Axe.
Axe, the statue, the pillar of self-control, falters. His eyes widen a fraction—an imperceptible flinch, but it’s all I need.
“What’s the matter? You’ve seen it all before,” I say, the challenge clear.
Break, damn you , I want to add. Just show me something. Some form of remorse, of shock … of regret.
Advancing toward him, each step measured, I close the gap that separates victim from traitor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, as I pluck the shirt and cloak from his rigid hands. Fabric whispers against skin as I dress in sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt under his gaze, never breaking eye contact.
There’s power in this silence, in this defiance.
“Elara—” His low rumble is almost a plea, but I’ve no patience for it.
Axe isn’t about to apologize or win me over. No, he wants to explain his loyalty to the Court. My brother’s murderers.
“Save it.” I interrupt. My tone is ice, my posture regal despite the disaster that churns within.
The cloak settles around my shoulders, a black velvet shield against the scrutiny of Sovereign gods and men alike.
Without another word, I pull the hood over my head.
For one painful second, Axe looks like he might say something, but his mouth tightens and he turns away from me instead.
I do the same, the cloak billowing behind me like dark wings.
The grand staircase unfurls before me as I move downward, my focus split between stealth and tracking the never-ending initiate party moving from room to room in between selecting blindfolded girls to play with. The cloak’s fabric brushes over me like a protective shroud, but it does little to stifle the heat of anger coursing through my veins.
When I spot Sasha standing at the base of the staircase, relief surges, quick and sweet. She’s safe, her warm brown eyes meeting mine with an expression that mirrors my own.
“El,” she says with a big smile, and there’s a universe in that single word. Her familiar features are balm to the raw edges of my soul.
“Thank god you’re okay,” I say, rushing down the rest of the stairs.
She’s wearing the same type of cloak I am, the hood drawn back, her flowing black hair seeming to become part of the fabric.
We don’t waste time catching each other up with what happened once we were separated. Sasha falls into step beside me as we navigate the maze of hallways leading to the main entrance.
It won’t hit me until later, but it eventually will—the ease with which Sasha turns through each hallway, her chin up and her attention directly ahead … like she knows exactly where she’s going because she’s done it plenty of times before.
As promised, a black car idles on the circular driveway outside, its sleek form barely visible through the stained glass of the manor’s doors. We slip into the back seat, the heavy door closing with a definitive thud that seems to seal my exit from this world.
Their world.
“Hey,” Sasha begins, her voice soft and tentative so the driver doesn’t overhear. “What happened in there?”
I glance at her, registering her earnestness. Sasha’s been here before. She’s comfortable in this world of sexual decadence. Yet I’m reeling from the fact that she’s known about these secret gatherings and tasted their forbidden fruit without ever whispering a word to me.
“I...”
How do I even begin to unravel the night’s events? The touch of Cav, Kaspian’s goading, Axe’s corrupted loyalty, Wilder’s deliberate ignorance, my brother’s murder. I bear scars that mar more than just flesh—they etch deep into the fabric of my being.
It’s not just about the ruby Heart anymore; it’s about revenge and justice for Maverick.
“Elara,” she presses gently, her hand finding mine in the darkened space between us.
I should feel repulsed, disgusted perhaps, at the thought of Sasha reveling in such anonymous, high-risk escapades. But the emotion doesn’t come, smothered by the weight of horror I bear, by the black tar that clings to my heart.
So I squeeze her hand, seeking solace in the familiarity of her touch.
“Let’s just go home,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Home,” Sasha echoes, her smile a tiny flicker of what it usually is.
The car’s engine purrs, a soothing undertone to the chaos spinning in my head. Outside, the estate fades into a blur of stone and wrought iron as we drive far away.
“Hey,” Sasha teases, nudging my arm. “You’re getting that face again where you look like you’re plotting world domination.”
A laugh escapes me, bitter and short. “Feels more like the world is dominating me right now.”
Sasha leans closer, her brown eyes glowing bronze under the passing streetlights. “Want to talk about it?”
I turn my gaze out the window, watching the stars flicker in a black sky. How do I voice the tangle of hurt and anger, the sting of betrayal that lingers like Maverick’s ghost on my skin?
“It’s all just ... a lot,” I admit.
Sasha releases a sob. The driver glances in the rearview, then dutifully away when Sasha buries her face in her hands and sobs again. “I’m sorry.”
“Sasha?” I lean forward, clasping her forearms. “Sash, talk to me.”
“It’s because of me,” she says, her voice escaping through the gaps between her fingers. “I shouldn’t have just thrown you in there like that. But I’ve been so lonely—it’s like this giant secret I’ve kept, going to their parties, participating in anonymous hookups. With your history with Kaspian or maybe Axe, I thought you’d be open to coming along and seeing what it’s like, but then I couldn’t find you. God, what was I thinking by bringing you? You must hate me now.”
I absorb Sasha’s confession, the weight of her loneliness and desperation settling like a stone in my chest. The car hums, engine vibrations thrumming through the seats as he takes the narrow, winding roads back to campus.
Sasha’s face remains buried, her shoulders shaking.
I grip her forearms tighter. “Sasha, look at me.”
She raises her head, tears streaking her cheeks, eyes glistening in the passing white glow of the moon.
My gaze doesn’t waver as she searches my face.
“I could never hate you. You’re my best friend.”
Sasha’s bottom lip trembles. “But I put you in danger. I was selfish, wanting to share that world with you without considering the consequences.”
I shake my head, a small, wry smile tugging at my lips. “Danger seems to find me regardless. It’s not your fault, Sash. None of it is.”
She releases a shuddering breath, leaning into my side.
The car swerves, tires screeching against the asphalt. We lurch sideways, Sasha’s shoulder slamming into mine. The driver curses, maintaining a white-knuckle grip on the wheel as he rights our course.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, heart pounding against my ribs.
The driver meets my eyes in the rearview, his expression grim. “Something in the road. An animal, I think.”
Unease coils in my gut, a serpentine whisper of intuition. I twist in my seat, peering out the back window. The road stretches behind us, a ribbon of black fragmented by the red glow of our taillights.
And there, just at the edge of the illumination, a figure stands motionless.
Watching.
Waiting.
Recognition slams into me, stealing the air from my lungs. The figure’s stance, the breadth of his shoulders, the tilt of his head—it’s Kaspian.
But it can’t be. We left him at the manor. He’s bound to the Court, his loyalty unbreakable.
He’s a proud killer.
“El?”
Sasha’s voice cuts through my thoughts, her hand gripping mine. “What is it? What do you see?”
I blink, and the figure is gone, swallowed by the night.
A trick of the light, a manifestation of my frayed nerves. It has to be.
“Nothing,” I say, tearing my gaze away from the window. “Just nocturnal animals, like the driver said.”
Sasha’s brow furrows, but she doesn’t argue. We settle back into our seats, our mutual silence broken only by the engine’s hum and the rush of tires on the pavement.
But as the car speeds onward, carrying us closer to the illusion of safety, I can’t shake the feeling that the shadows are watching.
Waiting.
Biding their time until they can drag me back into their depths.
The key clicks in the lock, and Sasha swings our dorm room door open with a familiar creak. The smell of our mixing perfumes is so comforting, I nearly collapse with gratitude as we step inside our messy, mostly pink room—the exact opposite of the Court’s Gothic grandeur.
I kick off my shoes near the foot of my twin bed.
“El,” Sasha says, her voice quiet. “You’re shaking.”
I look down. My hands are indeed trembling.
Sasha’s eyes—those warm coffee pools—reflect an array of emotions: concern, affection, but also ... anticipation? An odd sense of distrust ripples through me. How much can I trust her now that I know she’s been sneaking off to a place where I am 100 percent certain there are stone tables, iron chains, and electric clamps in their basement? How much can I trust myself after willingly enduring it?
Or rather, how much can she trust herself before she ends up down there, too? It wouldn’t be Axe, Wilder, Cav, or Kaspian tying her down, men who put my pleasure above theirs. It would be the initiates, the ones with no limits on what they can get away with when they lock the door behind them.
My voice barely rises above a murmur as I tackle the topic we’ve been tiptoeing around.
“This mansion you’re going to for the anonymous sex…”
Sasha doesn’t flinch at my open reference to her secret indulgence. Instead, her chin juts out slightly—a stance that bespeaks pride rather than shame. The hint of a smile tugs at my lips in silent respect.
I’m not about to shame her. It’s not for me to judge what avenues she chooses to explore in her pursuit of pleasure.
All I want is for her— us —to stay safe during our uncommon pursuits.
“Thornhaven Manor isn’t filled with rich playboys looking for a bit of fun, Sasha.”
My confession comes as a faint whisper; low enough not to shatter our cocoon of faux normalcy within these four walls. “There’s something far more evil about them. It’s not just hedonism but something ... perverse. You’ve realized that, right?”
Sasha’s gaze lingers on mine, her expression unreadable. One I’ve never seen before on her open, cheerful face always behind a strumming guitar, or crunching on cheese puffs after a particularly bad day, or offering a pep talk when I tell her about hellish exams.
Do I know this person? Does she know me?
“I know something about them is off,” she eventually admits. “But that’s part of the allure, isn’t it? The risk, the forbidden thrill of it all.”
I search her face, trying to understand the emotions swirling beneath the surface. There’s a hunger in her eyes, a longing for something more than the mundane existence of college life. But there’s also a flicker of dread, a recognition of the chances she’s taking.
“Sasha, you can’t keep going back there. You don’t know what they’re capable of, what they might do to you.”
She shakes her head, a rueful smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I can take care of myself, El. I’ve been doing this for a while now.”
I want to argue, to make her see the folly of her actions, but the words die on my tongue. Who am I to judge her choices when I’ve been drawn into the same web?
The truth is, I’m just as lost as she is, just as trapped by their allure.
Sasha crosses her arms, her gaze dropping to the floor as she starts to turn away.
Before I can second-guess myself, I blurt, “Maverick was involved with them apparently. And his murder—it might be connected to that house. Or some of the people in it.”
That gets her attention. “I knew there was more to them than just wealth and good looks. I’ve seen glimpses of it in the way they move, the way they speak.” Sasha’s throat bobs. “But I never imagined ... murder.”
And there she is. My friend, who I feel like I’ve known forever and believes me without a second thought.
My shoulders relax at the recognition, though my answering nod is stiff. “They killed him. Kaspian, Cav, Wilder, Axe—they’re sure of it.”
Sasha’s expression softens, and she reaches out, taking my hand. Her touch is grounding.
“Who are they ? Tell me everything,” she urges, guiding me to sit on my bed.
We sink into my familiar comforter, the scent of my laundry detergent adding to the calm, centering me.
Breathing out, I start from the beginning. The moment in class when I became the center of the Court’s attention. Cav Nightshade with his cruel smirk, Kaspian Valenti with his green eyes full of cruelty and arrogance, Axe Devereaux with his silent intensity and insatiable need, and Wilder with his possessive, rough touch.
Once I start, the truth is a spool of thread unwinding from my lips.
Their ruthless quest for the ruby Heart. The Cimmerian Court Secret Society and the three Sovereigns…
Sasha listens carefully, her eyes growing wide at times, slanting at others.
The old-fashioned cat clock on our wall ticks by unnoticed as I tell her about Maverick’s alleged involvement with the Court and how this ruby necklace seems to connect all the dots. How he found the ruby Heart and split it in half. How one piece ended up in a necklace and was put in my hands by Gram on the day of his funeral.
And how I suspect the other half is still out there somewhere—possibly even within my reach.
As well as the Court’s.
By the end of it, I’m curled up at the head of my bed, knees drawn to my chest, as Sasha paces the room.
The glow of our desk lamps throws her shadow against the walls, elongated and fluttering.
“So you’re saying...” Sasha knits her brows together. “These men—Cav, Kaspian, Axe and Wilder—are after the ruby Heart? That they want to find the other half? And if they don’t ... they’re toast?”
Nodding, I watch as she stares off into space.
She looks back at me suddenly, her face ashen. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. My voice is hoarse from all the talking and the growing trepidation. “But I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”
Sasha studies me for a long moment, her gaze probing. Then she nods. “We’ll figure this out. We’ve faced worse before.”
I chuckle softly at that, the sound devoid of true mirth. “Have we? Have we really?”
She gives me a pointed look. “Your goldfish died during our freshman year. That was pretty tragic.”
Despite myself, a real laugh bubbles out of me, genuine and cathartic in its release.
Sasha climbs onto my bed, curling around me protectively. Her warmth is the softest blanket, and despite the chilling topic of conversation, I feel safer.
“Above anything else,” she says into my hair as her fingers trace soothing patterns on my arm. “You’re not alone in this. I may not be able to stand up to those brutes physically, but there are other ways.”
Her voice lowers ominously on the last sentence.
“I have to find the other half of the ruby Heart before they do,” I say.
Sasha pauses, shifting to look at me with newfound concern etched deep in her face. “I was thinking we call the cops on them. Schedule a raid. Or forge a letter from one of them to the Dean admitting to inappropriate relations with a professor.”
“That’s not enough,” I counter softly. “Maverick made this my fight when he unknowingly brought disaster upon himself. I became the necklace’s custodian when he died, so everything is intertwined. And if I don’t step up now, the Court will, and they’ll keep covering their asses. Maverick’s killers will never be found.”
“And the guys? Do you care what happens to them?”
I sigh, avoiding the question and rubbing my temples. I’m so tired, but sleep is a luxury I can’t afford right now.
“I just ... I need to find the other half of the ruby Heart and end all of this before it gets any worse,” I murmur, gazing blankly at the worn carpet between our beds.
Sasha’s arms tighten around me as if she’s trying to lend me her strength through that simple gesture. “They might care for you too, in their own twisted way.”
Her words hit home. As much as there is a bitter rivalry and reckless manipulation between us, there’s also an undeniable connection—an addicting brew of attraction and my unrelenting wish to save them before this gets worse.
I stiffen in Sasha’s hold.
Save them. Like I have any idea what I’m saving them from. They said they were killers, but their hands do nothing but elicit ecstasy from me. They claim to be the Sovereigns’ slaves, but the savage glint to their eyes tells me they enjoy viciousness over escape.
“I don’t trust them,” I say to Sasha. “Not completely.”
“But...?” Sasha prompts, her eyes reading the hesitation in mine.
“But, I feel there’s more to them than what they present to the world.” My gaze falls onto my hands. “Maybe they’re not entirely to blame for the actions they’ve been forced to take.”
It’s a thought that grew stronger the more I broke the story down for Sasha.
Sasha cocks her head to the side.
“So you think they’re victims too?” she asks skeptically.
“In their own way,” I admit. “Does it excuse what they’ve done? No. They still have the necklace they manipulated me into giving away. They still answer to the Sovereigns.”
“Elara,” Sasha begins, her tone cautious. “These men are in deep with this Court thing. If you decide to go after the ruby Heart...”
“They might be killed if they don’t succeed first,” I state grimly. “They said as much.”
Her grip on me tightens, and she swallows audibly.
“I think I know where to start looking,” I whisper shakily into the quiet room.
Sasha raises an eyebrow, curiosity spiking. “Oh?”
“Maverick’s old room. My mom keeps it like a shrine. If he found the ruby and split it in two, there might be clues there.”
Sasha nods. “It’s worth a shot. And it sounds like the only lead we have right now.”
The hidden study I found at Gram’s place shifts into focus in my mind’s eye, but I blink it aside for now. There’s no evidence Maverick knew about William Jonquil’s 19th-century office constructed behind an old grandfather clock at Wraithwood Estate. And I’ve already confessed enough to Sasha without making her head explode. I’ll look through that study after I’ve sifted through everything Maverick left behind.
Sasha abruptly stands, jolting me on the mattress. She strides to the closet, yanking out a backpack and tossing it onto her bed.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
I blink, surprise momentarily overriding the fear coiled in my gut. “Now? It’s the middle of the night, Sash.”
She shrugs, already stuffing clothes and supplies—for her, that means snacks, a charger, and a can of Coke—into the backpack.
“Are you sleepy? Because I’m sure as fuck not. No time like the present. Besides, the cover of darkness might work in our favor.”
“I hate to break this to you, but we’re not professional burglars. I can just unlock the front door.”
Sasha snorts. “Way to shatter my dreams, El. Here I was, fantasizing about scaling walls and crawling through air vents.”
She throws the backpack over her shoulder and gestures toward the door. “After you, Agent Wraithwood.”
I muffle a laugh and push off the bed. Despite it all, Sasha can still make me smile.
She’s right, though. A certain thrill to this makes my pulse quicken. A high risk but necessary adventure.
But as I rise to my feet, my laughter dies down, replaced by terror. Reluctance. Panic.
Everything I thought I knew is being turned upside down, just like the men who’ve invaded my life and my heart. And Maverick, my treasured memories of him corrupted. How could he be involved in this?
What if I don’t like what I find?
“Hey.” Sasha elbows me, redirecting my attention.
As if sensing my indecision, she tosses me a small pocketknife from her desk drawer.
“For protection,” she explains, her jovial tone fading into seriousness just for a beat before her lips pull into a fierce grin. “Let’s go kick some secret society ass.”