19. Elara

Chapter 19

Elara

A deafening crash jolts me awake as shattering glass and a string of curses echo through the manor. My heart tries to flee out of my mouth as I throw the covers off, legs tangled in sheets as I stumble out of bed and trip on a corner of the throw rug.

"Wh-what's happening?" I whisper through the mist of sleep.

The room spins, and I brace myself against the wall, fighting off the weight of slumber.

The floor beneath my feet feels cold and unforgiving on my bed-warmed bare feet. A sick feeling washes over me, realization dawning that something is terribly wrong.

This isn't a dream.

My breaths come in short gasps, fear scraping along my insides.

I order myself to get a grip and use every ounce of confidence and poise I usually possess when putting on a convincing facade, but it's crumbled under the weight of this sudden intrusion.

A distant sound of footsteps—heavy, deliberate—moves somewhere within the house.

Is the man in the black mask back?

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The familiar scent of my teenage perfume invades my nostrils as I brace myself on my old vanity, bringing with it a fleeting sense of stability.

Heart pounding in my ears, I start to think logically. I need to figure out what's happening and how to handle it.

The crash, the voices ... they sounded like they came from somewhere in the house. And if there are intruders, then Sasha could be in danger too.

"Dammit," I hiss under my breath.

My protective instincts kick into overdrive as I think about my best friend possibly in harm's way. Sasha has always been my rock, her warmth and laughter filling the muted corners of my life with light. I can't, won't let anything happen to her.

Her sleeping lump under the covers of our shared bed brings a small comfort, but not enough. I have to protect her.

I make my way toward the door, my hand grasping the cold metal of the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, I inch it open and slip into the dimly lit hallway. Shadows hover against the walls, cast by the faint daylight and wind sifting through tree branches filtering through the windows.

The ancient floorboards creak beneath my feet, each step making me cringe. Every sound, every wave of movement on the wall, is a potential threat.

As are the countless homemade traps scattered throughout the manor. One wrong step from my intruders could trigger an alarm or something even more deadly.

"God-fucking-dammit!" A muffled voice echoes through the halls, followed by another crash.

It's paired with a loud bark of laughter. "It's been a while since a tripwire got you, bro."

"Everyone good?" another voice chimes in from the other side of the house.

Each voice takes the form of familiar faces in my head.

"This place is like a fucking haunted mansion ride."

I sidestep a hidden pressure plate, almost invisible in the gloom. The gorgeous, dreaded enforcers of the Cimmerian Court are tangled up in my mother's knots like a bunch of schoolboys. Knowing the identities of these intruders brings me some relief, but also raises more questions.

What are Axe, Cav, Kaspian, and Wilder doing here?

"Would someone turn on the lights?" The voice sounds like Kaspian's, the voice of reason edged with indignation.

"Can't," replies Wilder abruptly. "It would trigger another trap."

I tread carefully down the hallway back to my room to wake Sasha. My mind conjures up a myriad of scenarios: Sasha and I successfully getting away from the guys, flinging ourselves into my car, and making a break for it, or one of them successfully evading a trap and grabbing me, tying me up for good this time, and teaching me what it means if I choose not to cooperate any longer.

I swallow against the adrenaline thickening my throat, every instinct screaming at me to run faster, but caution holds me back.

"Elara?" Wilder calls my name uncertainly, clearly recognizing that something in the air has changed. His voice has gotten closer. "Are you there?"

I freeze mid-step and press myself against the wall.

"Keep talking," I whisper under my breath, letting their voices guide me while avoiding my mother's traps. "It makes this so much easier to elude you assholes."

"Fuck, what is this sticky stuff?" Cav grumbles, clearly ensnared by one of my mother's many contraptions. "I can't move my damn arm."

"Stay still," Axe advises, his voice strained as it floats through the halls. "Kas and I have navigated this floor before. We'll figure this out."

It sounds like each one has taken a different section of the manor, spreading themselves out. I risk peeking around the corner.

"Dammit!" Wilder curses, skillfully ducking under a set of darts that whiz through the air like angry hornets before embedding in the wall behind them. Once planted, they thrum with the force of their launch. "How many of these things are there?"

I can't help the fizz of satisfaction at the look of apprehension crossing his face before he goes back to being peevish. "I'd be impressed, if I weren't the victim of the mad lady."

That does it. I step into the light.

"Do not call my mother insane."

The soft glow of the hazy day trickles through the shattered window on Wilder's right, casting a white sheen on the jagged glass shards that litter the floor around his boots like teeth.

Wilder turns toward the sound of my voice. His eyes widen in surprise at the sight of me, an unexpected apparition in my pink nightgown, before a crooked grin stretches across his face. "Sweetwitch. We thought you'd be in class."

I cross my arms over my chest, conscious of the thin material covering it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The grin doesn't leave his face. "Isn't it obvious? We're here for you, Elara."

My heart gives a painful throb at his words. "You've kidnapped me once. You're not doing it again. Why do you keep doing it, anyway?"

"Because." Wilder raises an eyebrow in mock amusement. "You're special."

His tone fuels my anger. "I'd like to see you try. You haven't moved an inch since those darts went for your face."

The humor drains from his face. "I could have you by the throat in a single jump, sweetwitch. Don't tempt me. Disarm them. Now."

"Maybe," I reply tersely, the thrill of challenging him simmering just below the surface. "But first, you need to explain what you're really doing here."

Before he can reply, a garbled curse rings out from another room. Kaspian's steady footfalls follow before he appears at the base of the staircase, his green eyes shining with a fury that matches the fire in my own heart every time I look at him. He's meticulously extracting rusted nails from the tattered remains of his leather jacket, his expression one of aloof annoyance at having clearly wandered into some sort of improvised buckshot trap.

While unnerving to witness the violence such primitive, luck-driven defenses could inflict, there's also an odd power in watching him simply dust off the near-death experience with his typical unflappable demeanor.

I don't miss the opportunity.

"Having trouble there?" I call down to Kaspian.

Kaspian brushes off my mockery with an icy glare. "Just because you've managed to avoid your deranged mother's hodge-podge of household product traps doesn't mean you've won."

Deranged? Fuck him. He's the deranged one.

I scowl at him while he opens his mouth for another round of verbal death blows when a loud groan echoes from down the hallway. My heart skips a beat as my mind rushes to place the voice.

"Cav?" Kaspian turns and faces somewhere unseen. There's an edge of amusement to his tone that makes my skin crawl.

"I'm fucking melting," Cav snarls back.

Axe strides into the foyer from another wing, rubbing his back with a wince. "This place puts guns and knives to shame."

The sight of Axe strangles any retort on my lips. "Axe … your face. Oh my god."

I'd thought it was a dream or a newfound hobby of sleepwalking when I saw him at my window last night, a slash spanning the entire length of his profile. I convinced myself it was because I when blinked twice, and his silhouette was gone.

But here he is, his imposing figure coming into full view. But it's the splash of red across his cheek, grim evidence of fresh violence, that weakens my knees.

That kind of gash will leave a permanent scar.

He wipes at it absentmindedly, his broad hand coming away stained with red. "It's just a scratch."

"Just a scratch?" I breathe out.

Axe shrugs. "I'll deal with it."

His nonchalance does nothing to ease my anxiety. I'm torn between leaving them here in their predicament and doing what's right.

"Elara," Wilder says, drawing my attention. "Help us out, or we will help ourselves."

His threat is calculated, designed to instill fear, but it only makes my choice easier. They break into my house, don't apologize when they get caught, and now rudely demand I help them?

I thought they were on my side, that we were working toward an end to the Sovereigns together. Yet here they are, implementing plans and sneaking around my house without telling me.

"Come get me, Wilder. I dare you."

His signature smirk edges back onto his face at the mention of his favorite pastime.

At that moment of distraction, Kaspian moves with catlike grace, avoiding the traps on the stairs with an uncanny presence of mind.

Instinctively, I back away but I'm not quick enough. He's on me in a blur of movement.

"Kas!" Axe warns in an attempt to stop him, but it's too late.

Kaspian grabs me, his fingers gripping my arms with biting pressure.

"Like Wilder said," he purrs into my ear, his breath hot against my skin, "it's time to disarm these traps."

The corners of Kaspian's lips twitch into a hedonistic smile at my obvious discomfort, and he yanks me forward.

I stumble against his, and this time his smile is full and triumphant before it disappears entirely when something bashes against the back of his head.

"Stay away from my friend, you dick !"

Furious, Kaspian releases me and spins. I spot Sasha over his shoulder, holding the brass body of a lamp and already brandishing it for another blow.

"Fucking hell," Kaspian growls, leaping sideways as Sasha steps in front of me. Her eyes are wide, but a determined set to her jaw briefly warms my aching heart.

She stalks toward Kaspian like a protective lioness in plaid pajama shorts, her eyes slitted. Before she can land another blow, Axe materializes and catches her wrist.

Kaspian's eyes glint with annoyance at Axe's interference. He studies Sasha, looking her up and down as if trying to find a reason not to end her.

"Back off," Axe warns her. Or Kaspian. I can't be sure.

Sasha's focus moves from Axe to Kaspian, her grip on the lamp not loosening.

"Let go of me and maybe I will," she says to Axe.

He releases her wrist slowly, stepping back but keeping an eye on the advancing Kaspian. Sasha moves in sync with him, placing herself between in front of me, a fierce guardian ready to strike again.

Meanwhile, I can hear Cav's muffled curses from wherever he's stuck. Everyone stills as another loud crash reverberates through the manor.

With every second that passes, Farrow Manor feels less like a sanctuary and more like a battlefield.

Wilder seizes this moment to free himself from the trap. He sidesteps a vicious-looking dart and leaps onto a safer patch with a fluidity that hints at years of combat training.

Dusting himself off, he approaches us, his lupine gaze fixed on me.

"Elara," he begins smoothly, "you're out of your depth here?—"

"Am I?" I cut him off sharply. A rush of courage floods through me. "Did you think you could just invade my home without consequences?"

Wilder says in a tone that's meant to be soothing but only irks me further, "We didn't come here to fight."

"No?" Sasha steps in before I have a chance to retort. Her voice is hard with anger. "Why are you here, then? To play catch?"

Wilder ignores Sasha entirely, focusing on me. "If you don't help us disarm your mother's traps and let us search this place undisturbed," he cautions, "we might have to find more persuasive ways to encourage your cooperation."

"There's no time for a standoff," Axe says through stiff lips.

I note with horror he can't move his mouth as he should because of the gash continuing down his cheek to his jawline.

If the Sovereigns did that to him just for failing to procure the Heart in time, what would they have done to Maverick for finding it, breaking it, and interfering with their sadistic plans?

Nausea hits me, fast and relentless. I refuse to blink in fear of the backs of my eyelids showing me the various ways they could've tortured my brother.

If they found out about Maverick's snooping, I have no doubt they are his killers.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," Sasha retorts to something Wilder said while I slid into an abyss of worry. Her sharp voice brings me out of it.

"Besides," she continues, "Why should we trust you? All you guys have proven is that you don't deserve nice things. Including my best friend's attention."

Wilder glares at Sasha and opens his mouth to reply when Kaspian beats him to it. "Because we're all trapped in this house right now, and you two aren't going anywhere until we do."

His voice swarms over me like strangling vines, stirring unwanted memories of his previous manipulations.

Kaspian's casual indifference toward our safety only proves how little regard he has for anyone.

"We are not damsels in distress," I seethe through clenched teeth.

Kaspian leers at me. "Yet here you stand," he points out, "hiding behind your friend."

I know he's trying to bait me, to make me lose my temper. If there's one thing I've learned about Kaspian during our time of forced association, it's that he gets a sick thrill out of seeing people lose control.

Either in bed, or out of it.

I won't give him the satisfaction. Instead, I square off with him. "I'm aware of every single location of my mother's creativity."

Little do they know I spent most of the last six years fighting for my life inside this home until I moved to the dorms. One wrong step and I'd literally lose an eye. "If you want to move off this mezzanine, I suggest you play nice."

The strange dance of dominance between Kaspian and me breaks when one final curse sounds out.

Cav appears at the base of the stairs, fury bunching every muscle in his exposed arms, since he seems to have lost his shirt and is in his undershirt. Light chemical burns are visible along his forearms and shoulders.

"What happened to you?" Wilder asks him at the mezzanine's balcony.

"My boot snagged on a tripwire," he bites out as he stares me down while I linger behind Wilder. "A wooden ceiling panel gave way, and a bucket of cleaning supplies, paint thinner—whatever caustic liquid Caroline got her hands on—rained down on me."

Sasha makes an impressed sound.

"The back of my jacket took the brunt of the downpour. I tossed it before it ate through the material since it was fucking sizzling ."

"Too bad the Court doesn't allow female members," Wilder says. "Mrs. Wraithwood would fit right in."

Cav's fiery glare fades from his eyes, seeming to be a momentary lapse before the austere, calculated Cav Nightshade kicks back in, and he takes the stairs to where we all stand.

Sasha sighs next to me, eyeballing Cav's chiseled, muscular arms and the carved line between his pecs that disappears into his white undershirt.

She's clearly finding it hard we're supposed to be against these guys. I don't blame her. There's something about their survival instincts that stirs lust in anyone lucky enough to watch them work. Wrestling control from chaos seems to be their forte.

Then I remember what's hidden under the white of Cav's shirt.

Unbidden images of Maverick trapped in similar situations flood my mind. Alone, without any allies, dealing with these deadly Court members who could kill him without batting an eye. Who did.

Reality snaps back when Axe moves, lunging toward Sasha with unexpected speed, only to be halted by Kaspian's hand on his arm midstride.

Axe grimaces. The action looks painful with the gash across his cheek. Kaspian says something under his breath that I don't catch. His eyes soften as he talks with Axe, and then they sharpen when they land on me.

"Will you help us navigate this death trap, or should we continue to find our own way around?" He arches a brow as he asks it. "It won't be pretty and will involve a lot of destruction, starting with your precious brother's room."

"Don't you—" I'm halted by Sasha's hand on my arm.

"Don't feed the trolls , " she warns. "You're giving these guys exactly what they want."

Except I have no doubt Kaspian means what he says.

It takes a second to get my emotions under control: hurt, grief, anger, frustration … all the feelings I've refused to feel for years.

Stay positive, Elara. Your world works better when you choose pink instead of black.

"The right sequence on the wall," I begin reluctantly, pointing toward the hidden panel near the entrance, "will disarm most of the traps on this floor."

Cav steps forward, curiosity creeping into his frosty gaze as he studies me. "And how do we know you won't trick us?"

I bite back a sharp retort. "You don't. But as you've eloquently pointed out, it's in my best interest that everyone makes it out alive."

He seems to consider this for a moment before grudgingly relenting with a curt nod.

Good. If they think their safety lies in my hands, then I have some say over their actions.

Vulnerability, it seems, has become a two-way street.