Page 145 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“Get away from me.” Everinne jerked, yanking her arm free from his grasp. “You unhinged bastard.”
Jarek just laughed, cold and calculating. He shoved the bundle of black lace into her arms. “It’s time for your next performance.”
“I already performed.” She crumpled the fine fabric in her hands. “I’m not going out onto another stage again.”
He leaned back then and ran his tongue along his teeth. Folding his arms over his broad chest, he arched a singular brow. “Who said anything about a stage?”
“I…” She glanced down at the lace. “What are you talking about?”
Jarek rummaged through a polished cupboard next to the vanity and produced a decanter of honeyfire and a single glass. The amber liquid gleamed with a sheen of gold, and when hegave the bottle a swirl, the alcohol burned even brighter. He spun to face her, uncorked the crystal decanter, and the scent of honey, warm spice, and something else permeated the air.
“Change into the lace, Everinne.”
“I will do no such thing.” Fury swelled inside of her. She would not be manipulated. Not again. Kralv Oldrich already controlled a piece of her life, she would not give up all she had left. “You don’t own me. I’m not your fucking property. I might be stuck at the Mystic Obscura, but I work for Reine. Not for you.”
“Is that what you think?” A bemused expression softened the hard lines of his face. “I’d have thought you would’ve figured it all out by now. No matter.”
He waved away the thought with a dismissive hand, and Everinne’s stomach clenched in apprehension, sweat slicking her palms. She already knew Jarek was the one hunting the immortals, but what else was missing? What had she overlooked?
“The lace, Everinne,” he commanded, a harsh edge roughing his tone. “If you cannot change of your own accord, then I shall do it for you.”
He reached for her, and she lurched from his grasp.
“Fine!” she snapped, slapping his arm away from her. “I’ll change. But don’t fucking touch me.”
“Suit yourself.” Jarek poured himself a glass of the honeyfire, then pulled out the chair in front of the vanity and dropped into it. He extended his legs, crossing one ankle over the other, then took a slow sip of his drink. He raised the glass. “Carry on.”
“Are you going towatchme?”
“You’re most entertaining.” His shrug was careless. “Yet if you insist, there’s a partition behind you, in the corner.”
If she had a dagger, she would plunge it into his heart.
Everinne whipped around toward the darkened corner, throwing the black lace over her shoulder. She carefully unfolded the partition, ensuring she was safely hidden behind the panels of silver mesh. It wasn’t exactly thick enough to keep her completely from his view, but at least it wasn’t sheer.
She glanced down at her poor feet. They were red, swollen and blistered, but she was grateful they weren’t bleeding. She yanked the wretched tutu off next. It landed in a crumpled heap around her ankles, and she kicked it away. The silk ribbons binding the bodice were a struggle, and she eventually just tore at the soft fabric with her nails in an effort to free herself from its confines. The façade of a ballerina was suffocating. Strangling. By the time she ripped the bodice off, she was panting, each breath labored and painful.
“Are you sure you don’t need any assistance?” Jarek drawled, and Everinne’s hands coiled into fists at her sides.
She whipped around, a stream of vile curses ready to spill from her lips, when she caught sight of him through the partition. He was seated in the chair, but the absolute stillness of his body caused her pulse to jump. Needles of fright pricked her spine. His head was dipped low, his brown hair swept over half of his face, and the light gold of his eyes was focused directly on her. Like he could seethroughthe partition. Like every inch of her was visible to him, despite the layers of thread and mesh. He gripped the arm of the chair with one hand, his knuckles white, and in the other he held the glass of whiskey. Except now it was empty.
Everinne froze, icy fear consuming her veins.
Naked behind the partition, she felt entirely too exposed. Even though she knew,she knew, there was no way he could see her. Not fully. Maybe a vague outline, but not the entirety of her body.
Jarek sucked his teeth, his gaze sliding to the empty glass before refocusing on the flimsy partition dividing them. “You’re taking too long.”
“I’m not!” she yelped, snatching the black lace off the ground. “I’m almost done.”
She held up the outfit and scowled.
It was a bodysuit of sorts, and though it would cover every inch of her, it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She pulled it on, her lip curling at the way black lace roses were strategically placed, barely enough to cover her most sensitive areas, showcasing her curves for everyone to see. The soft fabric melded to her skin, so it resembled glittering paint instead of lace, and Everinne’s lip curled in disgust. Even the tattoo marking her forearm looked as though it was part of the costume.
She slipped into a pair of spiky black heels, wincing as her toes were pinched yet again, then turned only to find the partition had vanished.
And so had Jarek.
“What the…” Everinne glanced around the dressing room, but there was no sign of the demon summoner anywhere. His stench had evaporated, and she could no longer sense the tormenting pressure of his gaze.
