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I can’t hide the panic clawing to the surface of my face. If he demands I repay him now, my plan won’t work.
“There it is.” His nostrils flare delicately. “You can mask the fear on your face, but you can never fully hide the scent. Did you know that every mortal has their own unique pheromones for primal terror? And yours, by far, is the sweetest I’ve smelled yet.”
I don’t even have a response to that depravity. His gaze goes to my neck. Shimmer save me, if he sniffs me I’m going to laugh in his face, and then he’ll for sure murder me . . .
A flash of movement draws my focus to the full sleeve tats on his right arm. The moving tats. One would naturally expect to see bees and butterflies flitting over the exquisite collection of vining flowers . . . but no.
Instead of cheerful creatures, Hellebore chose the kind that inspire fear. Black widows peek from inside bell-shaped magenta foxgloves, the silvery threads of their dew-covered webs weaving throughout the scene. Wicked scorpions bask atop the slender red petals of fire lilies, their barbed tails lifted aggressively. A tarantula’s fuzzy black leg can be seen poking from beneath a dogsbane leaf.
Forgetting to be scared, I peer at the elaborate art. Every flower has been painstakingly drawn down to the last detail—and each is devastatingly poisonous. Oleander. Hemlock. Nightshade.
The vines twist over his flesh, the buds blooming as I watch, like they’re showing off for me.
One delicate white flower is more prevalent than all the rest, its insidious vines strangling the others.
His piercing gaze follows my stare, softening as it rests on the star-shaped white flower. “That one’s my favorite. It only grows on the highest peak of the Lunar Court mountains. A mere two to three flowers bud on the vine once a year, during the Winter Solstice. One petal at auction would go for millions of dollars—if I ever chose to sell them.”
I swallow, wondering how many Fae he’s poisoned with it.
“They say to force the vine into bloom, the moon sprites feed the plant the blood of heartbroken lovers.”
The sudden excitement in his voice as he discusses his creepy hobby, contrasted against his otherwise hard, emotionless tone, is jarring.
“You are possibly the most . . . most twisted being I’ve ever encountered.”
Surprise flickers inside his too bright eyes, followed by . . . curiosity. It’s honestly terrifying how easily his mood switches from serial killer to inquisitive to BDSM weirdo.
“You really can’t control that mouth of yours, can you?” he murmurs. “Like you have a death wish.”
I lift my eyebrows. “It’s a habit I can’t seem to break.”
“I could break it for you.”
Hard pass.
Suddenly, he shoves off the tree and prowls down the path. “Tell the Ice Prince I said hello. Or not. He does have a terrible temper.”
As soon as he’s gone, the birds resume their chirping, the insects come alive, and the air becomes breathable again.
As my adrenaline slows, my fear takes hold. And when it does, every emotion I managed to keep buried during the last half hour rushes to join it, forming one giant pity party.
Frustration. Anger. Worry. The knowledge that I am utterly screwed no matter which way I turn.
I need to find the class, but I’m afraid I’ll break down in front of them, and I can’t handle that special form of humiliation.
Not right now.
Not with all the epic ways I’m screwed so clear in my mind. There’s still a lot I don’t understand about Hellebore and Valerian’s feud, but there are a few things I know for sure.
Hellebore has been planning Valerian’s downfall for years, he’s using me as bait, and to survive, I have to find a way to trick Hellebore at his own game.
Except I have no idea how to do that.
I don’t even try to find Mack and the others, instead racing to the portal that leads me down the concrete stairs to the firm. Even back inside that perfectly air-conditioned office with its giant windows, calming diffusers, and sublime art, I can’t force my legs to stop trembling.
Clutching a plastic cup of water, I collapse in the guest lounge on a slender couch made to look like a leaf. I’ve only just barely managed to still my trembling when Mack’s dad, Nick, walks by with a few employees.
I try to hide, but apparently just putting a hand over your eyes doesn’t actually make your face unrecognizable.
