Page 151 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Swirls of violet and black swarmed the throne room.
In the distance, she heard Atlas and Veros calling for her, begging for her to stop. But she did not listen. She would never let another rule her, own her, ever again.
“You dare defy me?” Kralv Oldrich boomed, his thunderous voice echoing up into the vaulted ceiling.
“I willneverstop defying you,” Everinne hissed, taking one menacing step toward him. “I will fight you, every day, until I have nothing left.”
“Then I shall be forced to break your will.” The kralv crossed his arms and his lips twisted into a smug smile. “And your mate will suffer the consequences of your transgressions.”
Everinne released her caged power. Slashes of violence lashed out, snapping and gnashing like the jaws of a ferocious monster. It swirled around her, dense and heinous, a frenzied wall of pain and suffering. This time, the agony would be sweet. She would delight in the kralv’s screams, marvel in the way his mind would shatter at her hands, watch as he crumpled into a husk of a body at her feet. Kralv Oldrich was a poison, a disease plaguing his own kingdom. And Everinne was going to purge it.
Except his screams never reached her ears.
Instead, it was Jarek who stepped through the intense cruelty of her magic, his honey-colored eyes gleaming with desire, a sadistic smile tugging at his lips.
“Your lust for death is most enchanting,temny feya.” Jarek grabbed her arm with one hand, then pressed his skull ring into her shoulder, searing the metal into the same place he marked her once before. “You performed so well tonight. Take a bow.”
Everinne screamed as the skull burned into her skin, as pulsing heat spread through her, charring her lungs, scalding her throat. Beads of sweat slid down her back and her knees softened. Darkness clouded the outskirts of her vision, slowly consuming all color and light until there was nothing left. She swayed, lightheaded and dazed, her body toppling into Jarek’s arms.
“Atlas.”
She reached for her mate one final time before the bond, and the rest of the world, went silent.
Forty-Seven
“Everinne!” Atlas roared her name, hating the way she was limp in Jarek’s arms, the way her head lolled like a broken doll.
Cold iron seared into his skin, stifling his magic further, making it impossible to even summon his wings. He strained for her, ached for her, but every movement was like slogging through wet sand. Strenuous and taxing. It didn’t matter how hard he fought, his muscles would not work. Fatigue riddled his bones, and the powerful metal clamped around his wrists and ankles rendered him useless.
“Let her go,” he seethed, because at least the fury in his voice had not yet failed him.
“Calm yourself, boy.” Oldrich motioned toward the guards standing watch behind Atlas. One of them stalked forward, snatched Everinne from Jarek’s arms without a word, then swiftly carried her out of the throne room. “She’ll wake up eventually.”
“Where are you taking her?” Atlas demanded, but from the corner of his eye he saw Veros slump, as though he already knew.
Oldrich snorted in annoyance, his chest puffing out, while he blatantly ignored his son’s question. “I need you to understand something, Atlas. You willneverwear the crown. Prava willneverbelong to you.”
He stomped down the dais, his boots clicking against the polished granite, each step an enunciation of his blatant tyranny. Pausing in front of Atlas, he looked down the length of his nose at him, like he’d stepped in something foul. “When Everinne returns from her little adventure, broken in mind and soul, you will wed her as planned. You will plant your seed in her. And once she births a healthy heir, you will be free from your responsibilities.”
Atlas tilted his head back, spasms of pain ricocheting down his spine as he craned his neck to glare up at his father. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The kralv suffered him a sigh.
“I will no longer have any need for you. But since the gods and goddesses do not look kindly upon the slaughter of one’s child, I’ve come up with a compromise.” Oldrich snapped his fingers. “Remove the iron.”
A guard hauled Atlas to his feet. The clanking of metal rang in his ears as the iron chains were removed and the moment they fell away, he was renewed, as though the very essence of life flowed through his veins. His magic and strength were restored, his heart pounded, his lungs expanded, and calm rage wound him tightly with tension. The bond tying him to Everinne was still intact, their heartbeats intertwined, the pull of her soul called to him like an ancient song full of eternal promises.
Yet all he wanted was to kill his father, to plunge a blade into his chest and carve out his heart, then crush it with his bare hands until it was nothing more than a pulpy mess. But he could do none of those things. He’d been stripped of weapons, and worse, Everinne had been taken. Again. Until Atlas had theanswers he sought, he would keep his father alive, and then he would end the bastard’s life.
Kneeling beside him, Veros looked up, caution flashing in his turquoise eyes. There was a hollowness there, a silent grief that bled into the gold around his pupils. Atlas had known Veros foryears. He remembered it clearly, the day he first arrived at the palace, just like he remembered when Veros rescued Everinne from the Deszvila Forest, before it devoured their village. Before it stole the lives of their parents. Only then had Atlas witnessed such a deeply harbored sorrow in Veros, only then had the Lord of Time worn a mask of despair.
Until now.
Whatever they were about to endure…it would be devastating.
“What compromise?” Atlas rubbed his wrists, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin where his flesh was left charred and burned from the iron. “I only agreed to an unnamed favor.”
“Exactly.” Oldrich’s gaze slid toward the dais, and Jarek strolled forward, his cloak of black moving around him like slithering shadows, the skull rings he wore emanating a reddish, evil glow.
