Page 96 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“What is it?” she asked, sniffing. It smelled of whiskey and herbs, not at all appealing. Not to mention the glass was dingy and looked as though it had never been washed.
“Drink first,” he ordered, tilting the cup to her mouth. “Questions later.”
Everinne intended to only take a small sip, but then Jarek grabbed the bottom of the glass and lifted it, forcing the tepid contents down her throat. She winced and choked the alcohol down, hating the way it spilled from the corner of her mouth to her chin. It burned like whiskey, but tasted of pine, rotten berries, and dirt. Swallowing hard, Everinne knocked his hand away and jerked backward.
“What the hell was that for?” she rasped, wishing she had a glass of water to wash the foul contents out of her mouth.
“Questions later,” he repeated, sliding his thumb along her bottom lip. Jarek’s eyes glowed with demonic power, the honey-gold of them streaked with tiny veins of black. “Dance with me.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Already, tiny beads of sweat gathered at the nape of her neck and slid down her spine. The alcohol had settled in the pit of her gut, where it sloshed and soured her stomach. Excessive warmthspread through her, as though her entire body was engulfed in white-hot flames, likely the result of whatever drink Jarek had given her. She blinked, and the world swirled into a blend of misshapen forms and muted colors.
“You’re not married yet, Everinne. One dance won’t hurt.” Jarek was closer now, looming over her. She listed to one side, and he caught her by her waist. “Besides, do you remember who you’re marrying? I highly doubt Prince Atlas is sitting at home in his palace waiting for you to return. He earned his reputation for a reason.”
“No…that’s not, that’s not the real Atlas.” Everinne frowned, trying to focus on Jarek’s face, but it was blurry, and a wave of nausea swept through her. “I know him.”
“Sure you do.” He hauled her against him, fisting his hand against her lower back, and tugged.
The laces of her corset pulled tight, and she stumbled into him, gasping for air. He yanked harder and the bones lining the bodice dug into her ribs, crushing her lungs. She thrashed against him, tried to fight him off, but her movements were slow and sluggish, like slogging through a mountain of wet sand. Heat bled into her cheeks, and she sucked in a labored breath. Again, she twisted, attempting to claw her way out of his hold, when something stung her shoulder.
Everinne screamed.
Hot pain seared her skin, so intense that her vision went black, and for a moment, she thought she would pass out. Ash and brimstone clogged her senses, making it impossible to breathe. Jarek released her then, smirking as she stumbled away from him. Her knees nearly gave out and she staggered backward, trying desperately not to trip over her own feet. Dazed, she veered through the crowd of people dancing and shouting, her inability to remain upright increasing with every passing second. Her mind was muddled, full of incoherentmusings and disoriented thoughts as she was jostled and groped, trying to find her way out.
There was a swell of movement behind her, and she pitched forward, slamming right into a solid wall.
She threw her hands up, recognizing cool satin beneath her palms.
Not a wall then, but a chest.
“So…s-sorry.” Everinne’s knees weakened, and she thought the floor might fall out from under her until a strong hand wrapped around her arm.
“Easy there,” a masculine voice sounded from somewhere above her.
Above? Was she on the ground? She could no longer tell the difference. She craned her neck back, blinking rapidly to see who, or what, had caught her this time. Cast half in shadows, she peered up and spied a handsome face, long twists of midnight hair, and the flash of fangs.
Perfect.
A vampire.
“I know you.” His velvety voice seemed to be everywhere at once, like a distant echo.
Everinne tried to shake her head, but her whole body moved, and bile scalded the back of her throat. She was going to be sick.
“Yes, I do,” said the vampire. “You dance at the Mystic Obscura. I’ve seen you there. But you’re also engaged to the Prince of Prava, are you not?”
Prince. Atlas. Home.
“Atlas.” She managed to get his name out in one long, sluggish sound.
Her knees softened and her head lolled to the side. Each breath was a fight. She swore she was burning, that she’d been devoured by riotous flames, but her teeth were chattering and her hands were like ice.
The vampire took hold of her other arm. “What in the bleeding skies are you doing here?”
“Please,” she croaked, her voice hoarse. Her tongue felt thick and papery. “I need…home.”
“Yeah, I’d say so.” He braced her elbow with his hand. “Come on, I’ll get you back to the palace.”
