Chapter 4 #2
“I don’t know about pretty,” intoned the bronze man on Devereaux’s right drolly, dragging a careless hand through his auburn hair as he smirked at me. “I think you’re overstating things, as you always do, Dev. She’s average at best.” He sneered as he assessed me with cold, calculating green eyes.
I narrowed my gaze at him. He looked familiar, but perhaps I’d just seen him hanging around Devereaux. I never did pay much attention to Graves’s lackeys.
“Don’t be such a cretin, Evren,” snapped the silver-haired woman.
“Shove it, succubus,” he snapped in response.
August must have been enduring this level of torment for weeks, if not longer.
Nearly all of the cliques on campus engaged in some level of hazing, but I didn’t understand how anyone could possibly think it was worth enduring.
It was humiliating, and for what? Invitations to parties?
An opportunity to haze the next inductees?
From this brief interaction with Devereaux, I knew he’d never respect August.
“Watch it, Evren,” the woman growled.
Evren snorted. “I take orders from no one. Least of all from you, Veronika,” he said with a sneer.
Veronika snarled before plucking a half-eaten pomegranate from the table and hurling it directly into his face. Unfazed, Evren caught the fruit just before it made contact with his graceful nose. He smirked at her from across the table.
“Is that the best you can do?” he mocked.
While Evren and Veronika indulged in another round of bickering, I dared a quick glance in August’s direction.
A five o’clock shadow was creeping into his sallow complexion, and he looked as though he hadn’t eaten or slept in days.
My stomach clenched in dismay. Was this all part of the hazing procedure?
August’s tray, I realized, was also empty, except for a glass of the blood-red draught, a twin to the one Veronika was drinking.
Suddenly, August dipped his head to whisper in my ear. “When he lets go, you need to run. Please, Arden,” he urged.
Utterly bewildered, I met August’s dark eyes, taking in his alarming expression.
Fear and trepidation gazed back at me, as clear as if he’d screamed the words aloud.
I didn’t understand how he’d gotten himself into this situation, but this wasn’t normal hazing.
These people—Devereaux especially—they were trouble.
And regardless of whatever had happened between August and me, he needed my help.
I whispered urgently, “What the hell is going on?”
August gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, signaling that I was not to speak. “August?”
No response. August trained his gaze forward.
Devereaux spoke suddenly, his fingers tightening on my wrist, demanding my attention. “You should be proud that Augustus has made friends with such powerful connections.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “He says you were always supportive of his political ambitions.”
Several of his companions snickered, enjoying some inside joke.
Powerful connections. The implication guttered low in my stomach.
August had always been bent on surrounding himself with money and power, it was true, but he’d never included me in his pursuit of ambition.
I was a distraction, not a serious option.
Someone to be discarded before they interfered in his grand schemes.
With Devereaux’s new society, it seemed as though August had found what he was looking for—though at what cost, I dared not guess.
“August,” I repeated his name, this time like a command.
His weary eyes found mine, and I focused all my efforts on keeping the panic from my voice as I leaned close enough to whisper, “Find me later. I’ll be in the library every evening this week if you need someone to talk to.
” I knew those seated nearby probably heard every word, but I didn’t care.
“Speaking of power,” Evren drawled, “I believe you still owe me a favor, Zhara.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “And I plan to collect.”
“Fuck off, Evren,” sneered a small woman with dark hair and skin the color of midnight.
Her accent so strange that at first, I thought she was speaking in a foreign tongue.
Zhara wore a simple black dress that hugged her curves beneath an oversized leather jacket.
Her sloping nose and delicate, narrow features reminded me of a wily fox.
Her striking almond eyes were bright with fury as she glared at Evren, who I now surmised was the resident bully in this group.
“Careful, Zhara,” crooned Devereaux, “You should know the risks of failing to pay off a debt to a Bludkravk.”
A Bludkravk? I didn’t know what the hell Devereaux was talking about, but the sinister weight of the word sank in my stomach like a stone.
Zhara’s narrow gaze fixed on Evren. “For such a terrifying beast, this one’s all bark and no bite.”
Evren’s nostrils flared in anger.
“Well, am I wrong?” she taunted. The impish smile she wore was an invitation. A challenge.
Veronika muttered a curse under her breath.
“I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong,” Evren replied coolly, fixing Zhara with a menacing glare. “It’s been so long that you seem to have forgotten my potency.”
August trembled beside me as Zhara and Evren glared at one another from across the table.
I watched, unable to tear my gaze away. Without warning, Evren lurched across the table and seized a fistful of Zhara’s hair, yanking hard enough to elicit a yelp.
I gasped in shock, but no one paid me any mind.
Zhara screeched in outrage, but no amount of twisting or thrashing was enough to slip Evren’s savage hold on her as his other hand moved to squeeze around her throat.
Veronika and a few of the others gave shouts of protest to no avail.
Devereaux watched the scene unfold with mild interest.
And then, abruptly, Zhara’s thrashing stopped.
She went utterly silent before a low, primal moan was wrenched from her throat.
Evren’s grip wasn’t tight enough to cut off her air supply, and yet her entire body was twitching and thrumming as though she’d touched a live wire.
Evren’s mouth broke into a triumphant grin as Zhara desperately tried to wriggle free, choking in agony, sweat pouring down her face, but he maintained his brutal hold.
I watched the pair of them struggle, transfixed. Suddenly, Zhara lost control, unleashing a sharp, high-pitched cry as she finally succumbed to the unknown pain, her limbs seizing violently.
“Devereaux, please,” Veronika implored him to intercede, but he merely shrugged, an amused smile playing on his lips.
August’s dark eyes had gone wide with horror, like he knew all too well what brand of agony Zhara was enduring.
I glanced around, desperate to summon someone, anyone, to help— but the Tusk was empty, apart from our table.
This realization only renewed the panic curdling my blood, as the sound of Zhara’s cries amplified and echoed against the high ceilings. My breathing became ragged and uneven.
“Enough, Evren,” Devereaux spoke in a silky cadence that made my skin crawl. “Or someone’ll call the dogs on us.” He indicated the staff room with a bone-white hand.
Zhara was still panting, recovering from whatever torment Evren had loosed upon her. Evren shrugged a shoulder and released her, his expression smug as he watched Zhara wheeze her way back to equilibrium.
“If you don’t mind,” I blurted out, my voice louder and quivering with more fury than I’d expected, “I have things to do other than sit here and listen to your bickering all evening.”
At that, Devereaux’s polite mask faltered, and several of the others audibly hissed. All of the oxygen in the gargantuan hall seemed to evaporate at my words. I felt my muscles go taut, pulled by some invisible force. Beside me, August trembled.
“Perhaps you should teach her some manners, Dev,” Evren snarled.
As the others jeered and joked along with Evren, I took advantage of their momentary distraction to pinch August under the table, where Devereaux couldn’t see.
“August, we need to get out of here,” I urged under my breath.
I suspected August had sought them out for the same reasons he ought to have been wary; namely, their reputation for wealth and power.
But why, after discovering that this society was run by a bunch of sadists who possessed strange powers of compulsion, had he stayed? Or had he not been given a choice?
August turned slowly to meet my gaze, his jaw clenched tightly, his mouth set in a hard line, and something like a plea flashing in his eyes.
A warning.
“Can’t we use her in the ritual?” asked the hideous woman with yellow teeth, leaning across the table to leer at me.
I recoiled from her in disgust.
Devereaux clicked his tongue in a gesture of false censure, a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t be greedy, Neely, we’ve already selected our donors.”
Ignoring Devereaux, Evren turned to me, his flinty green gaze catching my apprehensive expression, and he smiled viciously, displaying a set of unnaturally white teeth. “Now there’s an idea, Neels,” he murmured.
Abruptly, August spoke up, his voice quiet but surprisingly steady. “Her blood is unworthy,” he said. “You’d be better off finding someone else.”
I stared at him, but his gaze was fixed on Devereaux. They’d just been discussing using my blood in some sick ritual—and now August had intervened. Was he trying to be cruel? A dark thought roiled to the surface of my mind.
Maybe he really does think my blood’s unworthy.
I relaxed when the bitter taste of August’s deceit rolled across my tongue. No, that’s not it. So why intervene? Does this mean he still cares for me? My chest burned with hope.
Devereaux was no longer smiling. “And what do you know of blood, Sinclair?” he asked softly.