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At least this dumb mark comes with perks.
We settle onto a gold couch with cigarette holes and questionable sticky stains. From here, we have an unhindered view of the dance floor and stage.
“Do you see those slave-girls dancing near the stage?” Evelyn says, peering over the edge of the bannister.
“They’re slaves?” I say, clenching my fists as another surge of rage barrels through me.
“Yep,” Evelyn answers, oblivious to my anger. She points. “See that one there?”
I follow her gesture to a petite brunette to the far right. Her mind might be glamoured into oblivion, but her mascara smudges around red, swollen eyes. She’s been crying.
“That’s Ashley Hall, a second year student last year. Her parents live in the same building as mine. I heard the rumors, we all did . . .” She leans in close. “Supposedly Ashley slept with a third year Evermore. Why would she be so stupid? I mean, they’re attractive, sure. But there are other things you can do that don’t get you in trouble.”
I glare at Evelyn. “So, what? She slept with him, and then they expelled her for it? What happened to him?”
“Nothing,” Mack says, the low growl in her voice making it clear she doesn’t approve. “But that’s just the way it is.”
“That is so backwards,” I mutter. “But why not send her off to fight in the scourge?”
“Usually the students busted for hooking up with an Evermore get sold to the clubs as . . . dancers, or worse. Once we sleep with an Evermore, we’re marked forever as a Fae-whore.”
I roll my eyes. “Sounds like my high school.”
Evelyn tugs at her skirt, a mini leather thing that barely hides her goods. “I heard the Winter King himself bought her slave contract. I’d rather die than suffer that humiliation. Can you imagine belonging to the Winter Court? Being forced to work in their sleazy clubs and wear their brand?”
I don’t point out that we’re in one of those sleazy clubs, and I wear their brand. But her gaze flicks to my arm where the tattoo swirls over my flesh, and her eyes go wide as she realizes her mistake.
“Evelyn,” Mack says, rolling her eyes, “insert foot in mouth.”
Evelyn doesn’t know why I have the prince’s mark; only Mack knows that secret.
Before Evelyn can apologize, the door on the other side squeaks open and a boy around my age appears, carrying a metal tray that holds four flutes full of fizzing liquid.
“Finally,” Mack groans.
His back is to us as he sets the tray down on the desk. Wow. He’s a big one. I start to make a joke just as he turns around—
And then I gasp. My body physically recoiling from him. Without thinking, I leap to my feet, searching for a weapon as adrenaline floods my body.
33
“Summer!” Mack yells, her eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” She and Evelyn crowd around me, only adding to my discomfort.
I’m breathing hard as I look from them to our mentor, Callum. Or, as he’s called on the other side, Cal.
“I know him,” I growl, jerking my chin at Cal.
To his credit, he’s putting on a good show of being surprised. He’s pressed against the door, hands held high, a shocked look on his face.
“You know . . . Callum?” Mack asks, looking from me to him.
“Yeah, and I refuse to be anywhere near him.” I cross my arms over my chest to drive home the point.
Cal actually has the audacity to look hurt, his bushy eyebrows mashing together above a frown. If I didn’t know what sort of a-hole he was, I would have been convinced I truly hurt his feelings.
Mack’s eyes narrow, and I can see her brain whirring behind her dark hair. “How would you know . . .” Suddenly the wrinkle trenched across her forehead smooths out. “Oh.”
She marches over to where Cal presses into the wall and lifts his big hand up, exposing his wrist. The Winter Court mark, similar to the one inside my tattoo, flares against his flesh just below his palm. “Cal is a changeling,” Mack says as if I know what the hell she’s talking about.
