Page 128 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Her lashes fluttered back in shock to find him mostly healed.
He was splayed on his back, his chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. His color had returned, the golden tan of his skin suddenly vibrant and renewed. The slice running along his face had closed and was slowly fading, and the bruising beneath his eye was gone completely. Everinne rose over him, twisting her soaking hair back from her face. Though his eyes remained closed, there was a hard line creasing his brow, but she wasn’t sure if it was one of discomfort or concentration. Gingerly, she dipped her hand below the water, the pads of her fingers gently grazing the horrible wound to his side. Her fingers feathered from his ribs to the dip of his hip, only to find the injury already mended.
Atlas snatched her wrist and she startled.
“You keep doing that,” he murmured, eyes still closed, “and I’m going to return the favor.”
Heat bloomed low in her belly, but she shook off the teasing sensation, focusing her attention on him.
“How?” Everinne asked, her gaze roving over his body. She cupped his cheek, carefully running her thumb just beneath his eye where the bruising had all but vanished. “Your injuries were so severe.”
His eyes blinked open. There was something about the way he looked at her that set her nerves on edge and caused a knot of apprehension to tighten in her chest. His brows were drawn, giving him a look of severity, but his eyes were hauntingly sorrowful, full of secrets and remnants of pain.
“My pool isn’t just for swimming.” Atlas eased himself up, propping his weight on his elbows. “It’s for healing.”
Her hand fell away from his face, and she let her fingers drift through the warm water, realizing the sharp pain in her anklehad faded, her muscles no longer ached, and the weariness had all but bled from her bones. She was still exhausted, though she knew that was from lack of sleep and nothing else, but she didn’t feel tired. Instead, there was a refreshing pulse of energy coursing through her, an invigorating burst of life that renewed her spirit.
She opened her mouth but Atlas spoke, answering her next question before she could ask it.
“It’s imbued with my mother’s magic.” There was a layer of grief in his tone, one she never heard before, because neither of them ever discussed their tragic pasts. “She thought I would likely need it given my father’s love of ruling with an iron fist.”
His mother, Valentyna Skye, was renowned not only for her grace and beauty but also for her healing magic. The few times Everinne had met her, she’d been drawn to the kralvina’s aura, for nothing shined brighter than a pure heart and soul. Her death was untimely and shrouded in mystery—no cause was determined despite Atlas’s push for answers—and after, Atlas had been forced to live in the menacing shadow of his father. Kralv Oldrich was brutal, violent, and unkind. Though it was rumored he never raised a hand to his wife, it was said he spared his only son from no such torment. Everinne clearly remembered Veros telling her stories of the beatings Atlas suffered at his father’s hands, most of it stemming from the kralv’s utter disgust of Atlas’s magic. Unfortunately, his abuse stemmed beyond just physical punishment. The kralv thoroughly enjoyed using his magic to get his way. His power allowed him to know and understand someone’s deepest fear, and to use it against them for his own personal gain.
Bitter wind swept through the hedge of trees surrounding the pool, and Everinne shivered.
“Cold?” Atlas asked, sitting up and pulling her into his arms.
“I’ve been warmer.”
“Let’s remedy that, shall we?”
She barely had time to nod before he was picking her up and carrying her into the deep end of the pool. With each step, they sank lower into the water until she looped her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist to keep afloat. Tiny waves splashed between them and Atlas’s hands skimmed down her back until both of his hands were cupping her bottom. His golden green gaze latched onto hers, hypnotic and tempting all at once. The heated pool continued to lull and soothe, until Everinne found herself leaning forward, resting her head on Atlas’s shoulder while her mouth grazed the column of his throat.
“I’m sorry I almost got us skinned alive by thebaukvist,” she whispered into the warmth of his neck.
His answering chuckle reverberated through her, but then there was an immense stillness about him, and regret hung from his every word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Zoryana the moment I found out.”
Everinne nuzzled closer, clinging to him while she rolled through every possibility in her mind. The mortals at the bonfire had mentioned Zoryana was being hunted, which meant she hadn’t just vanished or disappeared, but that she’d been captured. Or stolen. But the real question was who was behind it, as it had been years since hunters infiltrated the walls of Starysa. And if hunters were within the city, were they only hunting witches, or were they after others as well?
“All of us.” Atlas quieted her mind by pressing a kiss to her temple. “Your thoughts are rather loud.”
“All?” She leaned back and stared at him, taking in his somber expression, the way the teasing light in his eyes dimmed. “You mean fae, witches, and vampires?”
He nodded once. “And I’m afraid it’s worse than that. The forest is awakening.”
Everinne’s stomach dropped, her heart slowly tumbling with it. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and she shook her head, remorse clogging the back of her throat, making it impossible to breathe. If the forest was truly waking from its years-long slumber, then that meant Starysa was no longer safe, and it would once more have to stand against the ancient power of the Deszvila Forest. Perhaps they offended the Mother Goddess, or maybe they cursed the stars or cheated fate, for now it seemed as though every otherworldly entity had seen fit to punish them, to discipline all of Prava. Hunters were one thing, but the forest…the horrors of its last assault still haunted the hearts of those who survived it.
“We’ll survive it again.” Determination hardened Atlas’s tone, and he slid his fingers through her wet hair, pulling her face close to his own. “No matter what comes at us. Be it the wrath of a goddess, the fury of the stars, or the sharpened point of fate’s blade, we will endure it. Together.”
“Atlas…” Her vision swam.
“No tears. Not yet. Only when you’re sitting on my lap in that damn throne room with a crown upon your head as my kralvina. Then you can cry all you want.” He wiped at the corner of her eyes where unshed tears clung to her lashes. “But for now, we will track down every last hunter. We’ll stand against the wicked wood. And I swear on the souls of those before me, I will make whatever sacrifice necessary to keep you safe.”
“Because for me,” he whispered into the breath of space between them, “it hasalwaysbeen you.”
Everinne’s heart, once cold and shattered by unimaginable pain, tainted by her own magic, slowly began to mend. The broken shards softened. The desolate emptiness thawed, soothed by the bond as it expanded and amplified, restoring her soul. Maybe it was the warm waters of the pool imbued with Valentyna Skye’s magic, or maybe it was simply the fact thatEverinne had found herself in Atlas Skye’s arms, and maybe, just maybe, he’d been in love with her all along.
“Kiss me, Wildheart.” Atlas brushed his lips across hers. “Kiss me like it’s the last time.”
