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I catch sight of Magus near the doorway. His horrified expression sends my heart into a tailspin.
Way to not grab attention.
A menacing grin flashes across Inara’s jaw. She holds a manicured hand up between us to reveal blue and white magic crackling between her delicate fingers.
“This is going to be fun,” she purrs, turning to her two friends. “Which part should I freeze first?” “Her tongue,” the first girl suggests behind a deceptively sweet smile. She’s athletic with a thick head of beautiful caramel brown hair streaked blonde, piercing honey-brown eyes, and tawny skin.
The second girl, the smallest of the three, shakes her head at the idea, sending her chin-length black hair swaying around a delicate chin. Strange golden eyes more animalistic than human cut a sharp contrast against her bone-white skin. “Then she can’t scream. Why not freeze her feet to the ground so she can’t run, but can still cry out?”
Holy hell. They’re sociopaths. All of them.
“Fabulous idea, Kimber,” Inara purrs, her praise making the black-haired girl beam. “Just for that, I might let you drink from her before I kill her.”
Despite my fear, for a moment, I give the dark-haired girl a second look as my curiosity surpasses my survival instincts. She’s a real-life vampire, a member of the Mortal Beast’s court.
Welcome to Everwilde, Summer.
My awe takes a backseat as the pack of murderous girls close in, adrenaline flooding my veins. I fight the overwhelming urge to recoil. To run.
Too late. A blast of unimaginable cold bites my skin.
With a cry, I fall to one knee as frost crackles over my flesh and a marrow-deep chill fills my bones. At the same time, horrible, aching pressure begins to build in my skull like a brain freeze times a million.
I can’t move. Can’t call out. Helpless—I feel so helpless.
My sprite suddenly darts over my shoulder, putting her tiny body between me and Inara. Her papery wings flutter wildly as she holds up a tiny hand. “Wait! She will go . . . won’t you, human?”
The cold eases, if only a bit. Both sprite and Evermore glare at me. My sprite is nodding her head in an effort to convince me this is the best option. Magus, too, frantically nods his head as he tries to coax me into agreeing.
The rational part of me does agrees, but my body has entered fight-or-flight mode, and it’s determined not to enter that cage even if that means freezing to death.
I have a choice: let fear control me and refuse, in which case Inara will turn both the sprite and me into popsicles.
Or overcome my terror and let myself be caged.
I glance to my right at the Winter Court crowd and lock eyes with a lithe, beautiful Fae male. Even standing in a crowd of gorgeous beings, his arresting looks draw the eye. The hood of the silver cloak he wears covers most of his head. White fur lines the cloak like snow. And two owl pins glitter on each shoulder.
Still, I can make out short, messy hair the deepest blue I’ve ever seen tumbling over his forehead. Rich silver-blue eyes strike a stark contrast to his pale, almost bloodless skin.
The terrifyingly beautiful Fae from last night.
A tremor reverberates straight to my core. As if he can feel it, he smirks at me, and something about the tilt of his totally kissable lips dredges up the memory of not just the roof, but the forest . . .
The cloak. The owl pins. The smarmy expression. That explains the crazy reaction I had last night. I’m staring at my tormentor, the one who condemned me to this prison under the name of the Winter Prince.
And he’s smirking at me. Smirking.
Fury overrides my attraction to him. Fury and shame. I should have known last night who he was. Did he laugh with his Fae buddies over my stupidity? What if he felt my strange attraction to him?
I groan internally, but my anger numbs any embarrassment I feel. He thinks I’m here for his enjoyment. He thinks I’m already beaten. Well screw him. I’m a fighter, and I refuse to go down like this. I refuse to give him one more second of pleasure watching me struggle.
Drawing upon every ounce of willpower, I stand, the thin layer of ice cracking, and look Inara straight in the eyes. “I’ll go in the cage.”
A disappointed sigh flees Inara’s lips, but she steps out of the way, waving a slender hand with silver-lacquered fingernails at the cage.
“Run along, little human. I’ll see you again soon . . . if you manage to survive until the Selection.”
Her tone makes it clear she doesn’t think I will. Just like the headmistress. Just like every single Fae in this room.
