Page 121 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Again, she caught Atlas staring at her, but it was different this time. Like he was daring her, challenging her. And she decided there was something delightfully sinful about kissing someone with her eyes open. Caught in the mesmerizing pull of the lusty green and gold of his gaze, she couldn’t look away. Instead, Everinne scraped her teething along his bottom lip, tugging lightly.
“I never said I love you.”
“Really?”He angled his head, deepening their kiss, and the featherlight brush of his fingers traced her jawline.“So, it wasn’t love when you sucked my cock while it was sandwiched between your breasts?”
Shock slammed into her, and she shoved away from him then, shame coloring her cheeks at his crude dismissal of their shared intimacy.
“You bastard,” she hissed, rearing back to slap that damning smirk and those stupidly adorable dimples right off his face.
But Atlas was faster.
He snagged her wrist midair and twisted, spinning her around so her back was pressed firmly against his chest, and she was pinned in his arms.
“Good girl,” he whispered, his breath skating past her ear and across her cheek. “That was much more believable.”
Sure enough, as much as she hated to admit it, he was right.
Past the spit of flames and curls of smoke, Everinne spied Kralv Oldrich. Shadows crawled up half of his face and the expression he wore was one of calculating interest. If she could make him believe she was merely going along with his plan, dancing for him like a puppet, then she would be able to keep Atlas safe. But if the kralv suspected for one moment that there was something between them, be it a mating bond or even something as simple as mutual affection, she would be putting both of them in danger.
Everinne schooled her face into frustration, giving the appearance of tempered rage, as though she’d rather be anywhere else than in Atlas’s arms. But while she remained trapped against him, she carefully made note of their surroundings. The bonfire to celebrate Zemni Boheme was not nearly as lively as in years past. Not a single witch was present. Toward the outskirts of the center’s square, just beyond the reach of firelight, a handful of vampires lurked in the shadows, lounging against the wall of an alley. There were a few fae scattered about, mostly in pairs or small groups, and none of them mingled with the humans who were present. In fact, the majority of the onlookers were mortal, and they clustered together like a flock of lambs, their eyes shifty, their movements restless.
It was their whispers, however, that gave Everinne pause.
“I hear they’re being hunted, and that Kralv Oldrich is doing nothing to stop it.”
Hunted.
Everinne’s ears perked, and she listened closely to the conversation being discussed among a group of well-dressed mortals who looked as though they had money to burn andsmelled as though they’d spent most of it at one of the city’s parlors.
“That’s terrible news for us.” A woman with silky blonde hair shook her head. “Humans are almost always blamed for such atrocities.”
“Do you think they’ll come after us?” It was a man who spoke this time, his voice low and husky.
“I don’t know, I hope not.” The blonde moved closer to the group, and her paranoid whisper floated through the air. “But I heard the daughter of High Priestess Rozalie was missing, and that does not bode well.”
Everinne’s heart tumbled, dropping into the acidic pit of her stomach. Bile scalded the back of her throat. Certainly, she misheard. It was impossible, there was no way Zoryana was missing. She was safe, she was hiding in the Deszvila Forest. No one would dare go looking for her there. One moment, she was being cradled in Atlas’s arms and the next she was ripping away from him, stalking toward the small gathering of humans.
“What did you say?” she asked, though it came out as more of a demand.
Her tone was all wrong, it was threatening, and the mortals reared back, glimmers of fright reflected in their wide-eyed gazes. Their fear was palpable and lingered heavily in the air.
She tried again, quieter this time, vaguely aware that Atlas was now standing right beside her, his hand gripping her wrist. “Please. Tell me what you know.”
“You mean the disappearances.” The blonde human shared a look of uncertainty with her company before she spoke, and when she did, her voice could barely be heard over the crackling of the bonfire. “The immortals are being hunted.”
“Yes.” Everinne nodded. “But you said something about the daughter of High Priestess Rozalie?”
Atlas’s grip on her arm tightened.
“She’s been taken. Or stolen.” The human’s face mirrored regret, confirming Everinne’s fear. “But so have many others.”
Everinne didn’t care about any of the others.
She only cared about her best friend. About Zoryana.
Zory.
Not Zory.
