Page 116 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Everinne raked her hands through her hair, remorse twisting in her stomach like a serrated knife.
The guard swung open the door to Atlas’s bedroom and she walked in, flinching as he closed it soundly behind her.
She inhaled, struggling to catch her breath as her heart pounded.
Without warning, a large mass of feathers and stone collided into her, sending her careening backward into the wall. Something cushioned the back of her head as the world tilted, and when she blinked her surroundings back into focus, she saw Atlas.
He’d barricaded her against the wall of his room, pinning her in place. His black and gold-dipped wings were stretched behind him, one hand was tucked behind her head, the other was fastened to her waist. His brows were drawn into a pinched scowl, his chest heaved against her own, and the golden green of his eyes was cold with rage.
He was furious and she had no idea why, but it didn’t matter. Because at least his anger was familiar. At least his scent was comforting, it melded with her own in soothing, intoxicating layers. And because at least, for once, she finally wasn’t alone.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Atlas demanded, glaring down at her.
And Everinne almost cried.
Thirty-Five
“Atlas.”
There was a tremor in Everinne’s voice, a waver that set Atlas’s nerves on edge, and then she did the unthinkable. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest.
Atlas stilled.
His Everinne wasn’t soft. She wasn’t an abundance of spring flowers or afternoon garden walks. She was wildfire, she was stolen kisses during the witching hour and dark satin sheets. Yet in this moment, she was somehow delicate. Like the fragile petals of a late blooming rose right before the first frost.
Atlas eased back, his wings vanishing, and he carefully stroked a hand down her hair.
“Hey,” he murmured when she didn’t lift her face to his. “What’s wrong? Why are you?—”
His question died on the tip of his tongue as the assault on his senses fully registered. The smell hit him first. Musty rot, stagnant air, the metallic tang of stale blood.
The dungeon.
Acid roiled in his stomach and his blood froze, stopping his heart as an all too familiar underlying stench taunted him. Sulfur and smoke. The reek of his father.
If that prick hurt her, if he touched her, if he even looked at her the wrong way, Atlas vowed right then and there that he would kill him. Blood or not.
Atlas grabbed Everinne’s shoulders, and this time her head fell back when she looked up at him. He saw it in her eyes first, the shadowy threads of fear mixing with the pools of turquoise and ribbons of gold. Her breathing was even, but there was the faintest hitch, as though she’d been trying to keep it under control. And he didn’t miss the way she bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
“What did he do to you?” Atlas demanded, searching her face for the answers he sought.
Her eyes widened, the shadows in them expanding. “I…”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, and don’t you dare cover for that bastard.” His hands skated up over her shoulders to her neck, where his thumbs gently grazed the smooth line of her perfect jaw. “Traces of his stench linger in your hair. And I can smell the stink of the dungeon as well. So, I am going to ask one more time, what did he do to you?”
That bottom lip of hers quivered again, but the lie fell from her with ease. “Nothing.”
He inhaled slowly, stealing a calming breath, then reached for the bond between them. He could envision the luminous thread, imagine how it moved like shimmery ribbons of silk between his fingers as he twirled it, wove it, gradually tugging her closer to him. Everinne gasped then, barely even audible over the beating of her heart, but the sound of it caused his blood to hum. She shivered against him while he soothed and caressed the strand of fate binding them, as he eased the haunting darkness from her eyes.
Her hands found his arms and held, lashes fluttering as her gaze fastened to his mouth.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
A tiny frown formed between her brows. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Atlas, you don’t understand.” She shook her head and tried to pull away from him, but he held her slender neck with both hands, and a sigh of frustration escaped her. “I can’t tell you. I can never tell you.”
