10. Axe

Chapter 10

Axe

THE PHANTOM

A fter what Elara did with Cav, for Cav, in front of all of us, Wilder immediately invited her into his bed to stay the night. I kept silent, my dick straining, as I waited for her choice. I'm not like Wilder. I don't baldly assume a passionate fuck even though I expect it.

At Wilder's invitation, Kaspian sneaked away, likely falling back on his injured shoulder as an excuse not to take Elara to his room even though I know the truth. He pretends Elara doesn't affect him like she does the rest of us, like she's one of his many collector's items over the years who he fucks with, then discards as soon as he's stunningly bored with them.

But she's not like the rest, and he knows it.

Hence his quick exit after watching her ride Cav, the little sounds she made, the sweat shining on her perfect body, her hair begging for our fingers, her ass ready to be spread for all of us…

Unfortunately for all of us, Elara instead chose the couch in our private common room, closest to Cav's door, and she spent most of the night on her phone talking to her friend and sorting out her mother.

I clear my throat, shifting position on the armchair opposite Kaspian to better accommodate my stiff cock. Now, the morning sun filters through stained glass windows as we gather in the common room.

Kaspian slouches in an armchair, nursing his wounded shoulder. Wilder splays on the couch, flipping through streaming services on the flat-screen TV above our fireplace.

And Elara's curled up on the other side of the wide couch, the blankets she used overnight bunched around her legs. Her long hair is mussed from sleep but cascades down her shoulders, and her eyes—those damn eyes—seem to reflect the rainbow of light coming from the stained glass.

I itch to feel the softness of her skin the way Cav did, to trace the curves currently hidden by her leggings and an oversized sweatshirt.

Elara's gaze lingers on the empty space between her and Wilder, a spot she seems to be wishing Cav were using, before she turns her rainbow eyes on me. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

The question jars me. I expected her to ask how Cav was doing or what the next steps were in finding the other half of the Heart, or updates on her brother's killers.

So many subjects to cover, yet she chooses … me?

I shrug in answer. Memories of violent homes and punishing schools haunt my restless mind. It's as if all those memories that elude me while awake manage to find me in terrifying detail through my dreams. Sleep is a luxury.

Kaspian straightens, grimacing. He grunts as he stands, his left arm reluctantly back in a sling.

I'm surprised he put it back on. Is it for Elara's sake that he's pretending to be a good boy, or is he using it as a distraction while he compiles all kinds of horrendous shit in his head to use against the Sovereigns?

My vote's on the latter.

Kaspian pushes to his feet, stalking over to the bar and pouring himself a drink. The amber liquid sloshes against the sides of the glass as he knocks it back in one gulp.

Elara's brows knit together, her lips parting as if to caution him against drinking first thing in the morning, but he prevents it by saying, "I'm off the pain pills. It makes me too vulnerable. So a shot of bourbon it is."

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, asking her, "How did you sleep?"

Elara wraps her arms around her shins, curling her legs in close. "Okay."

She didn't choose Wilder. Or me. Nor did she sleep beside Cav or dare to knock on Kaspian's door. She wanted to sleep out here, in our common room, perhaps embarrassed at how she revealed herself to us last night—or struggling with the implications of it.

If she thought we wanted her before…

Therefore, Wilder and I slept in here, too, both taking armchairs and watching Elara more than we chased sleep.

Elara shifts, the blankets falling away as she plants her feet on the floor. "I want to help with whatever you guys are doing today. Tell me what I need to do."

My gaze rakes over her, from the wild tumble of her hair to the hard set of her jaw.

Even now, with everything at stake, I can't ignore the obsession that churns in my gut at the sight of her.

Kaspian slams his glass down on the bar, the sound ricocheting through the room like the very gunshot that ravaged his shoulder. Elara jumps, likely remembering the same thing.

"You've done enough already," Kaspian snarls with his back to us. "We don't need your help."

Yep, Kaspian is exceptionally unhappy about his current state.

Elara flinches as if he'd struck her, hurt flickering across her face before she smooths it away. She stands, squaring her shoulders as she faces him. "I'm not going anywhere. Didn't last night show you anything? You need me. You wouldn't have half the Heart if not for me. I'm a part of this now, whether you like it or not."

Wilder whistles low under his breath, his gaze darting between them. I watch the scene unfold, tension crackling in the atmosphere, lightning readying to strike.

Kaspian's hand flexes at his side, his fingers curling into a fist. For a moment, I think he might lash out, his anger is so palpable.

I rise from my armchair, my erection straining against my jeans. I cross the room in a few strides and take the bottle from Kaspian's hand and pour him two more fingers. "You're cranky. Drink."

"I don't need a fucking nursemaid?—"

I shove the drink into his hand. "You are a genius and we wouldn't be where we are without you, but when you're wounded, you're fucking intolerable, so drink."

Kaspian grunts, but tosses the liquor back, swallowing in one gulp.

Elara stands by, her cautious attention switching between Kaspian and me. And, appearing to have discovered our weakness, she stretches her arms high above her head as she gives herself a full-body stretch.

Her sweatshirt rides up, revealing a strip of smooth skin above the waistband of her leggings.

My cock throbs at the sight. I want to cross the room, yank those leggings down her legs, and bury my face in her. I want to feel her clench around my tongue, hear her moan my name when I make her cum.

But I don't move. I can't. It wouldn't be right, not after what I've been forced to do. To her, to my brothers…

If she knew, Elara's sweet expression would turn to hate. I never want her to look at me that way. It'd be the one time I'm thankful for my memory lapses.

Wilder sits up on the couch, tossing the remote onto the coffee table and saying out of the side of his mouth, "Shit, Elara's as ruthless as you, Kasp."

His focus doesn't stray from Elara's belly button. "Where's that bourbon? I suddenly want to do body shots this morning."

Elara drops her arms to her sides and pads across the room, her bare feet silent on the hardwood.

She stops in front of Kaspian and reaches up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, revealing those disturbing eyes of his at their full charge. "How's the shoulder?"

I struggle not to gape, though she's essentially just booped a shark on the nose and called it cute.

Kaspian answers through a barely controlled voice, "It's fine."

"Liar." Elara's voice is soft, almost tender. She traces her fingertips along his jaw and down his neck before retreating. "I'm sorry my mom did this to you."

"I don't need any apologies."

There's the snarl.

"True, but you do need an extra set of hands." Elara shrugs. With both shoulders.

Kaspian glares at her.

I step between them, placing a hand on Kaspian's chest and reminding him, "We're down a man. We can't lose you, too."

Kaspian's nostrils flare. For a moment, I think he might punch me, and I prepare for a fight. But then he barks out a laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. "Fine. But she stays out of my way."

Elara's eyes grow small with indignation, her lips pressing into a thin line. But she doesn't argue.

Wilder pushes himself off the couch, stretching his arms above his head and ensuring Elara gets her karma by showing a slice of toned abs. "I'll start digging through the initiates' archives downstairs, see if there's any mention of Maverick."

Kaspian smirks at Elara, fully aware that she can't go with Wilder and reveal herself to the rest of the Court. Not without raising questions and snagging the Sovereigns' attention.

I turn to Kaspian. "Elara can help you on the tech side. You're not leaving our wing and you can't properly type with your arm in a sling."

Kaspian looks like he wants to eat me whole. "Dictation, asshole. It's a thing."

I counter in a low voice, "Then why don't you tell her about the hidden library in the manor that hasn't been seen for hundreds of years—until it was discovered by Maverick and he hid his flash-drive confessing to breaking the Heart there?"

Wilder pauses with his coffee mug halfway to his lips.

Elara's jaw falls to the floor. " What? "

Kaspian now wants to turn me into a slow-cooked meal. "That was not your find to reveal."

"Clearly," I say with an innocent expression.

Kaspian informed me of his discovery shortly before we all met up in Cav's room while the Selection continued downstairs. With the Sovereigns at our heels and the danger posed to Elara, he hadn't yet revealed it to anyone else, and I was beginning to wonder when he would. Thankfully, I'd typed his words into my reminder app as soon as I got the chance, and had a lot of time to read last night.

Elara moves nearer, her eyes wide with a mix of shock, hurt at being left out, and excitement. "A hidden library? Containing evidence of what my brother did? Take me. Take me there right now."

Wilder sets his mug down with a thud, coffee sloshing over the rim and ready to move onward. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Lead the way, brother."

Kaspian pushes off the bar. He presses close to me until we're nearly nose-to-nose. "After this, we're going to have a long talk about when, and who , to reveal crucial intel to."

I don't flinch, holding his gaze steady.

Kaspian's eyes shrink to slits before he spins on his heel and strides out of the room, his shoes thudding heavily against the floorboards.

Expecting us to follow.

Elara hurries after him, her bare feet slapping against the wood. She throws a glance over her shoulder at me, offering a small smile of gratitude. I smile back, a flicker of … life … igniting in my chest, before she disappears into the hallway.

Wilder charges after Kaspian and Elara, but I hang back a moment, surveying our common room, the discarded blankets on the couch, the half-empty bottle of bourbon on the bar. Evidence of the unrest that's entered our lives.

I stride into the hallway. Ahead, Kaspian leads the way, his injured arm tucked close to his body. Elara keeps pace beside him, her hair remaining a wild tumble down her back. Wilder brings up the rear.

What does Wilder see when he looks at Kaspian and Elara together? Is he envisioning Teagan and himself, the girl who died on his watch?

I pull out my phone, typing this down as a question to ponder later.

We wind through the manor, taking turns and climbing staircases I've never explored until we're in the attic. The air grows musty, thick with the scent of leather, tobacco, old books, and dust. So much fucking dust.

Finally, Kaspian stops in the middle of a cobwebbed corridor in front of a large painting. He flicks on the flashlight of his phone, spotlighting the painting in full detail.

"It's Thornhaven Manor," Elara says.

"And the gold star goes to Miss Wraithwood," Kaspian drawls.

Elara appears ready to dig her finger into the bullet hole on his shoulder.

I incline my head, drawing closer to the painting and studying the manor as it would have been in the late 1600s. The gardens surrounding the gray stone, the pristine turrets and spires, the widow's walk, the unmarred west wing.

I glance between the silhouette in the garden, painted in shadow despite the sun shining down on him, and the west wing that no longer exists?—

Kaspian's hand darts in front of my vision, preventing what I'm certain I was about figure out, his index finger locating two pressure points in the painting. The figure and where the garden meets the west wing.

The wall behind us groans before a panel slides open.

Elara turns at the sound. Well, we all do, but she's who I'm most interested in watching, because her expression doesn't change, even though a secret wall in an ancient manor just opened up before her because Kaspian touched a painting.

She notices Kaspian's inscrutable study before she does mine.

"What?" she says to him sweetly. "Do you think you're the only person who's discovered a centuries-old room in an old mansion?" Elara peers over her shoulder at the painting with an unimpressed arched brow. "Mine involved a grandfather clock."

Her statement stops me short. While Kaspian and Wilder respond to her with reluctant questions and intrigue, respectively, I can't find any words. My voice has sunk too low into my gut, churning in acid along with my conscience.

How many of us are keeping our own secrets? For a brotherhood, a team, we're fractured where it matters most: trust. If we want to beat the Sovereigns, we have to work together, yet none of us do.

For the first time, I'm prevented from voicing my thoughts not by my bruised brain, but because I can't, out of sheer hypocrisy.

I carry my own betrayals, nestled in the cavity where a heart should be.

With lowered shoulders, I stare into the yawning darkness revealed by the wall panel with a pained sigh.

But write it down anyway.

Then hit send.