Page 144 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“Your Highness, I concealed that information because I had no choice.” Reine backtracked, the words fumbling from her like she’d forgotten how to speak properly. “I cannot…the words won’t—that is, I don’t…”
“You’re spelled.” Atlas lowered his weapon, sheathing it as his side, and his gaze narrowed. “Who? Who is trying to keep you silent?”
“Those whose powers extend far beyond this world.”
She stole a hasty glance over her shoulder then, as though she thoroughly expected to catch someone eavesdropping on their conversation, and Atlas’s gaze tracked to the walls, for he imagined they whispered as well. Reine stepped closer and dipped her chin, her voice dropping.
“My hands are bound, Your Highness. I am no different from those whose blood I collect.” She lifted her arms slightly and showed him her empty palms. “I, too, am trapped. Merely a pawn in a game with more weight than my life, and to me, the opponents are unknown.”
Part of Atlas wanted to believe her, because he knew such ancient powers existed. But for him, there was only Everinne. She was the only one who mattered to him. For her, he would gladly forfeit his own life.
He shook his head, dismissing Reine’s claims, then pinned her with a ruthless glare. “Let her go.”
“She broke her blood oath.”
“An oath you failed to mention!” His temper flared, fury igniting in his blood. “What is it you want then in exchange for her freedom? Whatever the cost, I’ll pay it.”
“It’s not that simple, Your Highness.” Reine fiddled with the serpent bangle crawling up her arm. Tension draped around her shoulders, causing them to sag. She was unsettled. Anxious. The restlessness spread through her like a disease. “I cannot release her. Nor can I give you the answers you seek.”
Fucking skies.
“Then who can?” Atlas demanded.
Reine’s amber gaze locked onto him as she spoke words he never expected to hear. “No one.”
Forty-Four
Everinne was officially trapped within the Mystic Obscura.
After her ballet performance with Jarek, she’d taken off those godsforsaken pointe shoes and sprinted through the menagerie down to the lower level of the parlor, hoping to find the secret entrance to the Marzena. She’d been willing to take her chances in the eccentric market, but she’d been unable to find the exit. The only room she found was the shoddy dressing room where Jarek had bound her to a chair. It didn’t matter how many halls she explored, how many corners she turned, she was simply running in circles. Every path, every direction, led her right back to that same damning room.
She would never get out.
There would be no escaping him.
Exhaustion left her weary as she approached the door to the forgotten dressing room. Her toes were throbbing, sore from having been pinched into those horrible pointe shoes, and her muscles felt as though they’d been ripped from her bones, shredded and useless. She achedeverywhere. Her skin was too heavy, her hair felt like a crown had been speared into her skull, and the tutu hung from her like the limbs of a dying tree. And she was so tired. The hour must have been late, but there wasno way to determine the time of day since the Mystic Obscura lacked windows or any other glimpse into the outside world. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, smearing iridescent powder and kohl all over her skin.
Giving in to defeat, Everinne slumped against the door of the dressing room and pushed it open.
She knew Jarek was waiting for her before she even stepped inside. His penetrating gaze haunted every fiber of her being, unraveling all of her layers, peeling back her flesh to the vulnerability of her soul. He lurked in the corner, the malicious gold of his eyes watching her, tracking her like a predator to prey. Again, he donned all black. The creepy skull was gone, but the memory of it was seared into her mind.
Stalking into the dimly lit room, she intentionally left the door open, hopeful someone might stumble upon them. But Jarek flicked his wrist, and it slammed shut behind her.
She jolted and glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of having startled her. “What do you want, Skulls?”
He cocked his head to the side, a swath of smooth brown hair falling in front of his face. “Ah, back to the adorable nicknames now, are we?”
“No.” A rod of spite skewered itself between her shoulders and she locked her spine in place. “I just hate saying your name.”
“Just wait,milaszk.”Jarek sauntered forward with a bundle of black lace tossed over one arm. “Soon you’ll be screaming it.”
Everinne gritted her teeth until her temples started to throb. His threats filled her with unease, mostly because she was quite certain they were promises not yet kept. Her magic hummed and simmered, straining to lash out, until the anticipation of the pain she could cause him gave her pause. She could do it, she could unleash the might of her power on him, make him writhe and beg for mercy. He would crumple and contort in heinous pain, the fearsome demon summoner fallen at the feet of a lowly fae.And if she was feeling particularly vindictive, she could shatter his mind.
Another blood rose would mark her arm, but the price of the tattoo would be well worth it.
Suddenly, Jarek’s hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist, lifting her hand. Wisps of shadowy black and violet seeped from her fingertips, and he flashed her an evil smile. She stepped back, away from him, but he matched her. Crowded her. Pressed against her until the back of her thighs met the edge of the vanity and she could no longer put any kind of space between them. Jarek brought her hand close to his face, and she watched in horror as his tongue darted out, licking the air, tasting her magic.
“So beautifully violent,” he murmured, then inhaled deeply and groaned. “Your magic is a summons to my soul. An aphrodisiac to the senses. Go ahead and give me your worst. Watch what happens when the touch of death is met with the chaos of the demonic.”
