Page 87 of Wicked Elites

“Willow, having you here has been fantastic. Your presence has helped fill a void in my heart. I’m not sure I can go through this again. I can’t lose another sister to the royals.” He pulled himself to his feet and stalked toward the door.

I stumbled after him and grabbed his arm. “You think someone killed her?”

“Corrine would never have committed suicide.” His voice broke. “Every day, I go through those last months of her life, thinking about what I could have done to help her, flogging myself for not being there when she died.”

“But you can’t be with someone every hour of the—”

“I should have known!” he roared. “I was her twin.”

“Cormac.”

He shrugged me off and walked past me, back to the chairs. “Now I see you going down the same path, and there’s not a thing I can do to stop you, is there?”

“But I won’t—”

“You think those girls will stop at pork ribs? Their next attack will stick. Or if that doesn’t work, one of the kings will resort to staging your suicide when they tire of you.”

My mouth gaped open. I was going to ask who Cormac thought had murdered Corrine, but he spoke first.

“Bullies always escalate. Always.” He stormed out of the infirmary, his back as straight as a rod.

I stared at my feet, gaze swimming with a combination of exhaustion, blood loss, and dehydration from vomiting. Then I walked over to the bell, pressed it again, and waited on a plastic seat. I checked my pockets for my phone but found only my car key.

After ten minutes and no sight of Dr. Forrester, I guessed the doctor probably wasn’t coming. I’d have to see if Prakash could patch me up. Or maybe if I bumped into someone else in the hallway, they’d take me to the nearest Accident and Emergency.

The hallways were dark and empty and a mass of kaleidoscopic blurs. Something or someone tripped me, and I fell flat on my hands and knees.

Bile rose to the back of my throat. If I didn’t speak to someone or get help, I would go mad. Or die. I headed up the stairs toward Prakash’s room. He might be able to help me with his first aid kit.

I knocked on what I hoped was his door and pressed my ear against the wood. Someone was scuffling inside. Maybe the boys were play fighting like how I’d caught Sebastian wrestling Leopold that evening in the swimming block.

“Prakash, are you in?”

The movement stopped.

“Willow?” said Sebastian’s voice.

“I need to talk.”

“Can we do this tomorrow?”

My brows furrowed. Was he fighting with Prakash? The sound of something heavy hitting the door reverberated through to the other side.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” His voice was strained. “Just go.”

I sucked in a deep breath. If either of the kings were fighting about something that had happened this evening, I had to stop them. I turned the handle, stepped inside and blinked.

In the semi-darkness, a dark-haired woman pinned a shirtless and struggling Sebastian to the bed and covered his body with bite marks.

Bianca. I’d kill her.

“S-stop!” Sebastian flinched with every bite.

“Get off him,” I snarled.

The woman turned around. It was Miss Claymore, the fucking deputy headmistress.