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He’s as cool as a cucumber, smug even, as if he’s enjoying having eight girls lined up for his entertainment.
Asshole.
My teeth grind together behind pursed lips as I try to focus on something,anything, that will help distract me from the fact that this is fucking crazy.
Phillip pulls out the small slip of paper and unfolds it, keeping his eyes on the prosapia. “Tonight, one of you will be chosen. It is a great honor, a great privilege, to be bound to an Electi.” His eyes flick to the note, a deep frown marring his forehead. The blood drains from his face as he looks back to us. “I-I don’t understand—”
“Spit it out, old man,” Cade jokes, “we have a party to get to.”
Oh goodie, the after-party. I can hardly wait for that.
“Ah yes, of course.” Phillip clears his throat. “Cade Kingsley, on behalf of Quinctus, please step forward and accept Miss Mia Thompson as your prosapia.”
I blink, certain I must have misheard him.
“Thompson?” Cade balks at the same time as Brook shrieks, “What the fuck?”
“Mia.” The girl next to me jabs my ribs. “It’s you,” she whispers. “You need to go up there.”
“W-what?” I croak, unable to process what’s happening.
But then Phillip steps forward, commanding silence. “The calix has spoken,” he says more firmly this time, as if there’s no confusion, no mistake. “Mia Thompson is Cade’s prosapia.”
Oh, fuck.
