Page 124 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Atlas ran his hand along the damp stone wall and his palm came away smeared with soot and an oily substance he didn’t recognize. Rubbing his fingers together, he looked over at Everinne, who had finally joined him inside the hut.
She moved past him quietly, taking a slow turn about the ruined space, her gaze fixating on every mark, every piece of rubble, absorbing the full extent of the damage. He watched as she peered beneath broken slabs of furniture and rifled through the burnt remains of what should have been a kitchen, searching for clues, for any information that would lead her to Zoryana’s whereabouts. But Atlas already knew they would unearth nothing here, they would only discover that which was meant to be found.
Evidence of the vile and demonic. The truly evil.
Another scent infiltrated the air, a gentler, floral smell. Midnight lilacs.
Everinne’s magic stirred and she swiped at the silent tears sliding down her cheeks, wisps of violet and midnight spilling from the tips of her fingers. The beating of her heart thudded loudly in Atlas’s ears and her chest heaved as her power awakened inside of her, cunning and ruthless, sending tremors of terror and dread down the bond. There were whispers of unease as well, and it was then he realized Everinne feared her power. Feared what she would do, what she would become if she stepped into it fully, if she embraced its strength.
When she sniffled and her breath hitched, he gradually coaxed her power back below the surface of her emotions.
“Think of your magic as a current in the ocean. There to guide you when you need it, but it is not the rogue wave that will drown you.” He reached out, running one thumb beneath her eye to collect another fallen tear. “Who’s in control?”
“Me.” She sniffed again and loosed a shaky breath. Wrapping her arms around herself, she seemed to bury herself deeper within her fur coat, but then she lifted her chin in spite. “I am. I’m in control.”
There was a waver in her voice, as though she didn’t quite believe herself, but the rising tide of magic quelled.
Atlas lowered his head, brushed his lips across hers once. They were icy and cold, he needed to get her back to the palace. But not without a promise. “We’ll find her, Ever. We’ll find all of them.”
A sigh escaped her but she nodded once, and when her gaze lifted to his, her eyes were hard with determination. Steadfast resolution.
And then the embers died.
A penetrating coldness sank deep into Atlas’s bones, the fangs of frost biting all the way through his warming layers until even his blood froze. Everinne shivered in his arms and he gathered her close, his eyes straining against the slants of obscured moonlight trickling in through the door frame. Monstrous shadows lurked just beyond shattered windows, sulking like beasts of the night. The distinctive sound of gnashing teeth sent a shudder of apprehension racing down his spine. There was a scrape of claws against the outer stone wall of the hut, like nails being dragged across rough granite, the kind of noise that made Atlas lock his jaw. Again, he cursed himself for not bringing a fucking weapon.
The thatched roof creaked, and Atlas’s gaze darted skyward. He tracked the movements, gripped Everinne tighter when bits of rock and debris tumbled down the hearth.
Fuck.
This was not good.
The fragments of moonlight vanished as a massive shadow took up residency where the door to the hut should have been, and dread curdled in Atlas’s gut.
Thebaukvist.
He’d never seen them before, only ever heard the horrifying stories, but nothing could have prepared him for their grotesque appearance.
Two of them lurked in the door, their corpse-like bodies on full display. Elongated bones protruded from gray stretches of decaying skin pulled taut over rotten muscle. A foul, putrid stench, like that of an unearthed grave, hung heavy in the air. Thick and rancid. Beneath the thin layer of decomposing flesh, their corrupt hearts continued to beat, pulpy, malnourished organs that pumped black blood through their tainted veins. They possessed yellowed, curving claws instead of nails and where their eyes should have been, there was nothing butempty, bloodied sockets, as though they’d been gouged out long ago. Sharp, pointy teeth filled their gaping mouths and scarlet tongues, like that of a serpent, flickered out from between their papery lips, as though they were tasting the air.
Everinne jerked, her body spasming, and Atlas swiftly clamped one hand over her mouth.
“Don’t scream,”he pleaded through their bond. “Thebaukvisthave no sight. They rely solely upon scent and sound. Be very, very still.”
Her heart hammered in time to his, the erratic beating echoed in his ears like a ticking timepiece.
“Won’t they smell us?”her voice cracked through his mind.
“Let’s hope not.”
The heat from her nervous breaths dampened his palm, and he carefully slid one arm around her waist, ensuring she was pulled flush against him—her back pressed firmly to his chest. It would be a painful escape. He’d only ever burst through a roof with his wings once before and he’d almost knocked himself unconscious. He’d been absolutely shit-faced and had only done it because Veros told him it was impossible, but nevertheless, he’d survived. So, shooting through a poorly thatched roof should be fairly easy, save for a few bumps and scratches.
Atlas’s grip on Everinne tightened.
He was a second away from summoning his wings when he felt the prickle of frost along the back of his neck.
Fuck.
The windows.
