25. Elara

Chapter 25

Elara

B lackwood Manor's weathered stones are bathed in an ethereal glow that battles with the darkness creeping along its edges. Trees cast long shadows over the expansive grounds, their gnarled branches reaching out and ready to snatch at any unsuspecting soul daring to venture too close.

A stain of unease spreads across the back of my neck as we approach what the guys consider to be enemy territory.

Wilder, all business now, pulls ahead, the measured cadence of his steps soothing. He glances back at me only once, that quick study seeming to permanently etch me as I am into his mind. mask of grim purpose settles over his features.

I quicken my pace, falling into step beside him. As we near the imposing front door, my unease grows. The feeling becomes stronger when I really think about Clover's men, the Vultures.

I've met two, Tempest and Rossi, but that was enough. Most around campus have heard rumors about them within Titan Falls' local gossip mill, salacious whispers and nothing more, but their reputation, even as their disguise as professors and teaching assistants, commands an intimidating respect.

As Wilder raises his hand to knock on the door, I tell myself to breathe normally. Their house might be a fortress hiding more bloodshed than anyone could imagine, but so is my heart.

The door swings open before his knuckles can make contact with the heavy wood, revealing a rather imposing man with dark brown hair and matching eyes that glint with intelligent perusal as he takes us in.

He looks vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place him. Though his carved, angular face emotes nothing as his gaze rakes over me in a way that makes me want to die a little inside.

"Elara Wraithwood and John Wilder." He moves the thin line of his mouth just enough to say our names.

His voice is rough, like the quiet thunder before a storm, and just as intermittent. And the way he forms our names is unsettling; like he's not used to communicating before strangers.

Wilder shoots his arm out, forming a barrier between me and this new player. Though it shouldn't, my stomach flutters at Wilder's protectiveness. I'd like to think of myself as an independent lady, but sometimes it's nice to have man fling you behind them for safety.

It's undeniably hot.

"Who are you?" Wilder asks.

"Rio," the man answers. "And you're trespassing."

Not one to mince words, then.

I send a wary look to Wilder, unsure of how to navigate this encounter. The sound of the surrounding forest settles over us, each of us trying to decipher the motives behind the other.

Until I can't take it any longer.

"Is Rossi here?" My voice is way more high-pitched than usual.

Rio's brow twitches at the mention of Rossi, but he otherwise remains unmoved. "If it's a paper or his favor you're trying to gain, he no longer works for the university."

Wilder scoffs. "No shit. He's the new mafia don. I wouldn't want him teaching my kid business ethics, even if my child were an rich asshole dumped in the woods as a work-around to the Ivy Leagues."

Rio cocks his head at that, appearing outright supine. "You're aware of who he is."

Wilder rolls his eyes. "Huh. And here I thought you weren't one to mince words. Yet here you are, stating the obvious."

I stifle a grin at my and Wilder's parallel thoughts. But I sober and answer Rio, "He helped me and my … friend, Kaspian, out of a bad situation. And you know his name." I point to Wilder. "So you must know why we might be showing up at your doorstep."

Rio blinks. "I'm aware enough that any assistance on our part was not open-ended. We tried to warn you, and you ignored it. You have no further business with us."

"I want to talk to Clover," I insist.

At last, a flare of emotion bursts through Rio's stone expression.

I wince.

It's the same one utilized by Wilder when he goes into alpha mode.

Rio shifts until his tall frame blocks the entrance. "Clover isn't accepting visitors."

"Is she sick?" I ask, infusing worry in my tone, even though I'm certain he's full of shit.

Rio's eyes harden, and he takes a moment before responding. "That's none of your concern."

Wilder plants his feet beside me, too similar to a fighter shaking out his body before springing onto his opponent for my liking. "Are you going to make us force our way in?"

A hint of amusement tilts the corners of Rio's mouth. "I'd like to see you try."

I cross my arms over my chest as I watch them square off.

Wilder's got an air of confidence that's intriguing, yet terrifying. It reminds me of how he dominates any situation, even if it's as simple as negotiating with a man who looks like he could crush us with a single eye-twitch if he wanted to.

I cut in, positioning myself between Wilder and Rio. "We're not here to fight. I just want to talk to Clover."

Rio stares at me, his dark eyes boring into mine as if trying to peel back the bone of my skull and peer directly into my thoughts. I force myself to keep his gaze.

The seconds stretch out, the suspense tangible enough to choke on. Wilder's body is a solid line of heat behind me, his muscles still taut with the urge to fight.

Finally, Rio's lips thin into a hard line.

"Wait here," he orders.

The door slams shut in our faces with a resounding bang.

"Well. I think he likes us," Wilder says.

I blow out a long, hard breath, staving back an anxiety attack at the thought of peeling bits of Wilder and Rio off the pretty courtyard.

"Do you think he'll actually let us see her?" I ask.

Wilder shrugs, his eyes fixed on the door. "Who knows. But we're not leaving until we get some answers."

Minutes drag by, each second stretching into an eternity. Just as my patience wears thin, the door creaks open.

Rio reappears, his expression even more foreboding than before.

"Follow me," he says, turning on his heel and striding into the mansion's depths without waiting to see if we'll comply.

Wilder circles my waist and holds me against him as we walk inside. His body language screams victory, but his tight hold on me shouts we're far from it.

But the contrast between the gritty exterior of the mansion and lavish interior of the manor is staggering. I take in the high ceilings and rich woodwork of the entrance hall. My eyes catch an impressive array of framed photographs lining one wall—Clover at the center of most, which tells me all I need to know. She's the reason for the surprising warmth in this house of killers, even going so far as to lay out group photos of her arms slung around her men, or kissing the cheek of one while holding another at her side, or splayed on top of all of them on the couch, laughing freely, and even coaxing warm gazes from her partners, one even smiling down at her. With tattoos inked on his neck and covering the tips of his fingers, it has to be Professor Morgan.

If Sasha were here …

A smile stretches my lips wide. The elusive professor she wished more than anything would grant her sophomore wish, and I'm in his house .

Rio leads us down a long hallway to a large, open room at the back of the manor, a generous space filled with plush furniture in dark tones and pale marble floors.

On the far side near the fireplace, stands a woman. Her long black hair cascades down her back in wild waves, shining in the firelight. She's dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, but transcends the simple style with an exquisitely delicate face and liquid brown eyes that glint with copper from the flames.

And she's not alone.

Rossi stands beside her, his tall, muscled physique and stern, sinister expression hard to forget.

He wears a tailored suit, the fabric stretched taut over his muscular frame.

Rossi watches us walk in with a guarded expression, his arm possessively wrapping around Clover's waist in a similar way to how Wilder keeps me close.

I swallow hard as we approach them. There's a sense of belonging between Clover and her men that is almost palpable; it radiates off them, filling the room with an energy that is intimidating and fascinating to witness despite only just having met her.

I felt it when I spoke to Rossi the night he tended to Kaspian, cringed away from it when Rio directed his possessiveness over her at me, and am now facing it head-on.

"You must be Elara," Clover greets in a light, friendly tone.

Wilder's grip on my waist tightens, his fingers digging into my skin through my coat.

"Elara. Wilder." Rossi's voice is a low rumble, each syllable precise and measured. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Clover's copper-flecked eyes study me with unnerving intensity.

"We need your help," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

Rossi's cheekbones cast knife-edge shadows over his bones as he lowers his chin. "We've already involved ourselves more than we should have. Whatever trouble you've found yourself in, it's not our concern."

Wilder's fingers press into my hip, a silent warning to tread carefully and not to give too much of our situation away. But desperation propels me forward. "Please. It involves my brother's killers. And I think they're targeting women connected to the university and my brother got too close. Women like me and Clover."

Clover and Rossi exchange a loaded glance, an entire conversation seeming to pass between them in that brief moment. Rio shifts his weight behind us, his presence a hovering reminder of the precariousness of our position.

Clover turns back to me, her expression inscrutable. "And what makes you think I can help?"

"You're practically an expert on Sarah Anderton lore. It has to do with her and what she left behind over two hundred years ago."

Rossi's stare tunnels into me. "We made ourselves clear the last time we met, Miss Wraithwood. You chose to deny our protection and continue your pursuit of the ruby. And now you come into my home and ask our woman to become involved in your pointless, reckless pursuit? Are you as mad as your moth?—"

"Don't you dare," Wilder growls, heedless of Rossi having two decades of deadly accuracy over him. "Finish that sentence and I don't care if I never walk out of here, as long as I take you down with me."

Wilder says it with such lethal calm, I instinctively lean away, terrified that my simple request will cause these men to kill each other.

Clover swiftly intercedes.

"First of all," she says, holding up a finger, " Your woman has a mind of her own. And second, Elara doesn't deserve your mafia-level threats, Miguel."

Her voice carries a tone of command that shuts down any argument Rossi might have had ready on his lips.

"Well said," I manage.

If Clover knows anything about my reputation on campus, she's probably wondering how a girl like me, who prefers coffee dates and Meath House parties, became tangled in Sarah Anderton infamy and the legend of her blood jewel.

Clover, at least, has a whole witchy goth-girl vibe going. Me? I'm more out of place in this gory history than a lost kiwi bird.

"My brother believed in it," I say, speaking directly to Clover. "He believed Sarah possessed the ruby Heart and that it exists to this day. Maybe you think it's all folklore and fairy tales, but he didn't. He died for it."

My words hover in the air like a stalled guillotine blade.

Wilder squeezes me hard in warning. I'm saying too much.

"You're saying that the Heart has something to do with missing girls on campus?" Rossi asks, breaking the contemplative silence.

"Now, we said nothing about ‘missing.'" Wilder tsks , and I'm reminded why he's such a valued member to the Sovereigns.

So they do know something. Rossi barely restrains a snarl at being caught out.

Clover seems to ponder my words for a moment.

"You must want answers badly to come here," she says.

"I do," I say simply. "I'll do anything to get them."

"Even risking your life?" Rio murmurs behind me.

He's standing far enough away, but it feels like his breath fans down my neck as he asks it.

"Even that."

My reply is immediate, absolute.

"This has become much too familiar." Rossi sighs and reluctantly releases Clover. "And a lot like someone I know and love."

Clover angles her head with a mischievous smile. "Sarah tends to attract in the strong ones."

She happily moves out of Rossi's protective shield, her poise unshaken by the three circling sharks in the room.

"It took a lot of stubbornness on my part, but my men understand that I decide what risks are worth taking," she says firmly. Her gaze softens as it meets mine. "So, let's leave these boys with their fangs for company and come chat with me about Sarah Anderton. Woman to woman."

She indicates for me to follow her, Wilder eyeing her in half-awe, half-annoyance as she passes us. I have no choice but to trail in her wake, waving to Wilder and whispering, "don't kill anybody while I'm gone," to which his annoyance is then directed at me.

When I turn back to Clover, she has her arm wound around the back of Rio's neck and his around her lower back as they kiss deeply. I correct my surprised stumble before it's noticed.

I peek at Rossi in my periphery to note his reaction, but he's busy keeping an eye on Wilder, who's inched closer to Rossi's desk. But there's no doubt he's fully aware of Rio and Clover's embrace despite not looking at them. These men don't miss much.

He simply doesn't mind that he has to share.

My attention moves to Wilder before I can stop it, and I immediately clash with his heated, hazel eyes. Whatever plans he had involving Rossi's desk has completely evaporated—his motives are solely on me. He tilts his head, including Rio and Clover in the intention swirling behind his arrogant, yet curious expression.

I give him a small, one-sided smile, letting him know that I'm not disgusted, or even confused. I understand Clover's situation. And I like it.

His stare turns ichorous in response and I scoot out of the room as fast as I can, thankful that Clover's finished with her five minute farewell to Rio and I can get out of there before Wilder tears off my clothes and fucks me in front of all three of them.

Clover peers over her shoulder at me with a knowing grin as I cross the threshold, fully aware that we've left our men standing there in a state of … unease.

Wilder's gaze burns into my back as I leave.

Clover extends her hand and without waiting for me to respond, guides me up the staircase, her fingers cool against my wrist. Her friendly affection fills me with anticipation, nerves, and a flicker of hope. Maybe Clover can help us in more ways than one, and I'll have time to ask her for advice on how to manage ticking time-bombs for men.

As we cross into Clover's bedroom, I'm struck by the sense of intimacy that permeates the space. A grand four-poster bed takes center stage, draped in deep crimson and black silk sheets - large enough to accommodate more than just two.

In one corner stands a mahogany desk cluttered with an array of tarot cards and crystals. Against the adjacent wall, filled shelves overburdened with aging texts bear testament to Clover's fascination with the Titan Falls history and the occult.

I study the back of her head as she moves to an ornate high-backed chair near her private fireplace.

Does she know about the Cimmerian Court leaders and their sick obsession?

Clover gestures to a matching chair across from her.

"Sit," she urges. "We can talk here without any interruption."

I lower into the plush cushion of the chair. It's soft, warm and welcoming, and completely unlike the reception the guys swore I'd receive if I visited the Vultures.

And I can't shake off Wilder's parting gaze. It was too intense, smoldering with something inky and fiery. To be wanted like that … the memory of it prickles like an unattended flame, licking at my insides. I take a deep breath to calm myself down.

Clover seems to sense my discomfort. "You have to talk to them."

"What?" I blink at her.

"Your men," she clarifies, resting her elbow on the armrest, her chin on her folded fingers. "Right now, they're sharks circling your bloodied waters. You need to make them see you as their companion, not their meal." Her eyes take on a wistful glint as she adds, "Trust me, it took time for me, too."

"I don't—" I stammer, thrown off by her bluntness. But should I expect anything else from Clover Callahan?

Back when I used to hang out with a bunch of friends, the girls talked about her all the time. How Clover was more strange than popular, preferred black to school colors, and managed to score four of the hottest men on campus. And as soon as she did, two left their full-time positions so they could live with her.

"How does she cast such a spell?" I remember them wailing. "Chaos magic fueled by daddy issues? An unholy alliance with the god of morning wood?"

"They might be complicated," Clover continues, unperturbed by the thoughts that I'm positive are all over my face.

She rises to pull out a hefty bottle of whiskey from under her desk. It glints in the warm light of the room as she pours two generous measures, the scent of rich, aged liquor settling with the smell of burning wood from the fire. "But so are you."

"That's me," I say, perching on the edge of my chair as she hands me a glass. I stare into its amber depths, observing my gold-hued face mirrored back at me. "Complex and steeped in danger."

Clover laughs, easy and intimate. "You'd have to be, to grab their attention. And if you've also sold your soul to the god of morning wood, all the better."

I gape at her, now certain she can read minds. She stares back innocently.

"How did you know?" I manage to ask. This is as close as I've gotten to openly admitting I'm falling for them. "That I'm into more than one guy?"

"As much as they refuse comparisons to their title, my guys really do chatter like birds," Clover says. "My brother, Tempest, was the first to notice, since he was following you for a while."

I nod, not surprised. He did corner me at an abandoned mine and say as much.

Gripping my glass tighter, I take a deep sip, then try not to cough at the burn. "It's not easy being involved with one dominant man. Let alone four."

A wry smile plays on her lips, though there's an edge to it—a hint of battles fought and won. "You have to be sure about who you are and what you want. Establish boundaries and stick to them, even when they push. Especially when they push."

"But they must fight against those boundaries all the time?" I probe.

She nods sagely, swirling her whiskey in thought. "They do."

Clover raises her eyes to mine, their sparkling amusement giving away how much she loves it when they try.

We share a smile, and I take a moment to absorb Clover's words, the whiskey warming my throat and spreading into my bloodstream.

"I want to be with them," I confess. "But I'm afraid of losing myself in the process."

"You won't lose yourself. They'll always push, Elara. It's in their nature. But you have to know when to push back, when to stand your ground. They respect strength, even if they don't always like it."

I set my empty glass aside. My thoughts drift to Wilder and the sheer intensity of his presence, regardless of his mood. And Cav's chilling desire, Kaspian's deliberate crossing of moral boundaries, Axe's haunted, visceral touch.

Clover seems to read my thoughts. Again. "You have to maintain your own identity, your own desires."

I swallow hard. "And if my desires align with theirs?"

A slow smile spreads across Clover's face. "Then you embrace it. You revel in it. But you never let it define you."

She leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "These men, they're not just lovers. They're protectors, guardians. They'll kill for you, die for you. But they'll also try to control you, to keep you safe at all costs. You have to be willing to fight for your independence, even as you surrender to their obsession."

I let her words sink in, my heart racing at the implications. I know she's right. I've seen the way Wilder looks at me, the way his body tenses when I'm in danger. I've felt the way Cav and Kaspian watch me, like they're just as likely to kill me as they are to fuck me. And there's Axe's barely restrained triggers, unleashed when he gets near me.

"I want that," I say, my voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in my stomach. "I want to be that force."

Clover's eyes sparkle with approval. "Then let's make it happen."

She leans back in her chair. "But first, you have a mystery to solve. Tell me everything."

So I do. I explain to Clover about my brother, the circumstances of his death, and the cursed legacy Maverick dug up that he connected to the Sovereigns of the Cimmerian Court and the ruby Heart Sarah Anderton left behind in an undisclosed location before her death.

Clover listens so intently that I go into how each of the guys—Axe, Cav, Wilder, Kaspian—have a strange, horrible connection to the missing gem, and that its supposed "curse" started when Sarah Anderton was accused as a witch and killed. I even explain my fear that if I don't find it before the Sovereigns do, Wilder and everyone else will continue to be tortured, brutalized, and sacrificed for the Sovereigns' false deity with very real consequences.

"And that's why I'm here," I finish with tremors in my voice. My throat is raw from talking, from baring my soul and the burdens I've been carrying. "I thought maybe you could shed some light on Sarah Anderton and why she'd have a ruby of that size and where she might have hidden it."

Clover's eyes are wide, her lips parted as she takes it all in.

"That is quite an adventure," she says finally, her voice softer than I've ever heard it. She shakes her head slightly, as if to clear away the fog of information. "I knew you were wrapped up in something dark, but this..."

Inwardly, I wince. It sounds like something out of a horror novel when said out loud. I look down at my hands clasped tightly together in my lap.

"We told Cav the Heart doesn't exist," Clover adds suddenly. "We even provided him proof a few months ago to take back to his bosses—the Sovereigns. Of course he didn't listen." She huffs out a breath. "Now he's roped you into a mystery that is not a mystery. We solved it, Elara. I can't go into details but Sarah … Sarah never had a treasure. Not in jewels, anyway."

I stare at her, the words bouncing around in my head. She must be mistaken. "But Maverick?—"

"Maverick was misled," Clover says gently, sympathy in her voice. "By the Sovereigns, I'd bet. You see, there is a treasure of sorts..." she trails off, her gaze conflicted.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Sarah's true treasure was knowledge," she finally says. "Her grimoire—her spells, potions and ... remedies."

The last word is spoken with a hint of agitation, like Clover isn't telling me the whole truth.

"My brother didn't die for a book," I say flatly.

"No," Clover agrees, shaking her head, sorting through her thoughts. "I'm saying you're chasing the wrong thing."

She pauses, letting her words settle before continuing. "Sarah Anderton was a healer, but she was also an incredible strategist. The ‘Ruby Heart' might not be a real gem, but a metaphor. A symbol for something else."

"What could that possibly be?" I press.

Clover shrugs casually, as though we were debating a professor's lecture rather than matters of life and death. "That's for you to discover."

Rage hits my cheeks hard. The blood under my skin grows hotter than the fire warming its surface. I liked this girl. I really thought we could form a friendship from our commonalities, our outsider-ness.

But I love the men in my life more.

In a single, sharp move, I reach for the amulet in my pocket, then throw it at her face.