Page 51 of Shattered Jewel
“There was someone else at my house yesterday,” I say. “An intruder dressed in black. Searching for something, and he wasn’t invited. Sasha and I were forced to hide from him. Was it one of you?”
Kaspian answers with a low, “If it were one of us, we wouldn’t have been caught, least of all by you.”
Wilder cocks a brow, heedless of the deadly tip at his throat. “Do you really believe we’d hide our faces from you at this point? It wasn’t us. All that proves is there’s someone else just as interested in your family history as we are.”
He adds with a mocking tone, “Can you think of any group who would want to stop us, sweetwitch?”
“It wasn’t the Vultures,” I insist through the sinking stone in my stomach. “They came after and must’ve spooked the intruder. Kaspian can attest to that.”
“I’m not agreeing to anything,” Kaspian says mildly. “There are five active Vultures that we know of, and we only saw two.”
“They’re not interested in finding the Heart,” I reason as best I can while holding a weapon to Wilder’s throat. “They don’t believe it’s real. So why would they break into my house to search for it? Just—back off. All of you.”
Kaspian scoffs, a harsh bark. “Or what?”
Axe shifts his stance, subtly angling himself to leap between me and Wilder if he has to.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I retort, glaring at Kaspian. “And you can wipe that smug look off your face. I may not have grown up in this deranged multiverse of yours, but I’m a quick study.”
Kaspian’s beryl green irises flicker with something akin to tolerance and … is that amusement? “Oh, beastie, no one ever accused you of being slow-witted.”
“No, just naive.”
Cav’s voice sounds out behind me, and I whirl toward it, knife first.
He strides out of the corridor’s black hole and into the altar room, his blue eyes shimmering turquoise in the eerie light.
“Stupidly brave, maybe,” he continues, his attention on me.
Despite Maverick’s warnings ringing in my head, I scan Cav head-to-toe, searching for any spots of blood leaking through his white shirt, any indication of a wince on his face.
Only an arrogant swagger and a cocky smirk on his pale face answer my silent worry.
“I may have been sliced into, but I recover just fine, butterfly,” Cav says. Then he adds in a low voice, “Thanks to you.”
Relief threatens to take hold of my muscles and soften them in his presence. To wrap my arms around his neck and whisper gratitude into the air that he is okay, despite the scar that will linger, the ghastly combination of circles and triangles and dark, hellish worship imbued in the scalpel that harmed him.
My knuckles blanch around the knife’s hilt. The blade wavers, catching the pockets of light leaking into the room.
Kaspian’s lip curls, his expression showing no surprise at Cav’s unexpected appearance. “Put the knife down, Elara. We both know you won’t use it.”
I don’t lower it. It’s the only thing I have standing between me and them, a temporary blockade while I collect my thoughts and pick through Maverick’s last words. These four men weren’t at Titan Falls when Maverick was here. My brother died six years ago, and the current Court has walked through—and under—campus for four years. Yet there are over twenty initiates currently angling for these men’s spots.
It occurs to me to ask, “How many initiates were with you before you became members?”
I don’t ask it to anyone in particular.
Axe answers, “Around twenty. Why?”
“Would that have been the same for Maverick? He was with nineteen others?”
Kaspian gives a slow nod, his eyes growing small as he assesses me.
“And what happens to the rest of them?” I keep my knife between us. “The ones who don’t make it.”
Cav considers this. At last, I get my proof that he’s not superhuman when he crosses his arms, then grimaces at the contact to his chest. He lowers them carefully. “They’re disposed of accordingly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.