Asher grabs the back of my jacket in time to slow my crash, but my knees hit hard, and I barely get my hands down to keep from eating dirt. “Whoa, P. Are you good?”
“Yeah.” But the prickling heat spreading across my spine tells me I’m not.
Behind us, high-pitched laughter rings out.
I don’t need to turn around to know who it is, but as Asher helps me to my feet, I do anyway.
Amber Draven stands with two other mean-girls flanking her like discount bodyguards. All three wear matching smirks and expensive fall fashion that screams ‘trust fund seasonal capsule wardrobe.’
Amber tosses her honey-blonde hair over one shoulder, her mouth curving into something that might pass for a smile if it weren’t so venomous. “Aw, what happened, Poppy? I’d bet those disgusting boots tripped you up. Where did you get those anyway? Are they from your life as a street rat?”
One of her friends snickers. “Must be hard, always stumbling around in the midst of her betters.”
Asher tenses beside me, but Wylder steps forward first.
His expression is ice. Pure, controlled fury wrapped in perfect stillness. “Back off, Amber.”
She blinks up at him through expertly mascara’d lashes. “Relax, Wylder. We were just having a little fun. No harm done, right?” Her gaze flicks to me, dismissively. “I’m sure she’s used to worse. She’s a survivor, after all.”
Wylder steps between us, blocking her mocking stare. “I said, back off.”
The steel in his voice cuts through the ambient noise of the festival. A few passersby slow, sensing unfolding drama.
Amber’s smile falters, but only for a second. Then she’s laughing again, stepping closer to Wylder with the confidence that comes from never being told no.
“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.” She gestures toward me like I’m some unfortunate stray that wandered onto the fairgrounds. “Are you really going to throw away your standingin the coven, your family legacy, and yourfutureto slum it with someone who doesn’t even belong here?”
Wylder doesn’t move. “She belongs here more than you ever will.”
Amber’s face flushes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Poppy doesn’t strut around expecting people to fawn over her just because she hails from a founding family. While you’re putting yourself above everyone else, she actually focuses on her skills, training the goddess-given gifts she’s been given. Tell me, when was the last time you spent even an hour on training?”
She rolls her eyes. “Who needs to train when you’re a natural?”
Wylder scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that. Now, run along and find someone else to bully. We’re actually doing something important.”
He turns his back on her and closes the distance, frowning at my muddy palms and knees.
“Wylder.” Amber’s voice drops, saccharine sweet and coaxing. “Think about what you’re doing. You’re making a mistake here, but it’s not too late. If you look beyond this moment, you’ll see that as Emberwood’s power couple, we could?—”
His face twists like he’s just taken a drink of sour milk, and he wheels back to face her. “Power couple? What makes you think I have any interest in you? You’re spoiled, entitled, and mean. I actually pity any guy who looks at you and doesn’t see that the only thing beautiful about you is the outer package. And even that is fake.”
The words land like a slap.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Her perfectly composed mask cracks just enough for me to see the rage underneath.
“And you’re pathetic,” she hisses. “Wasting your potential on some nobody who got her magic handed back to her like charity. Her mother was a disgrace, and she’s worse. At least Zoe Hallowind had the decency to die before?—”
That’s it.
I lunge.
But Wylder is faster.
His arm hooks around my waist, spinning me into his chest before I can reach Amber’s perfectly highlighted hair. I’m pressed against him, breathing hard, ready to incinerate her smug face with spirit fire and consequences be damned.
And then Wylder kisses me.
