Page 36 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“And flirting with a demon summoner?” he interjected. The contempt in his tone left her recoiling.
A single globe of fire spit and sparked from one of her candles, dousing half of him in shadows and the rest in a wash of warm light.
Atlas Skye stood over her and when she dared to meet his gaze, she couldn’t look away. His dark blond hair was tousled,like he’d just rolled out of bed, and it hung in his face, concealing his eyes. But that didn’t matter, she knew exactly what they looked like, she’d committed his face to memory long ago. Eyes that were golden like the sunrise kissing the top of the mountains, or warm green like a spring forest, depending on his mood. His prominent jawline was always shaven smooth, he’d inherited high cheekbones and dimples from his mother and full lips with a slight cleft in his chin from his father.
His dark brown pants hung low on his waist and his fitted shirt was tucked in, the top four buttons undone, revealing inches of golden skin and the snarl of the wolf tattooed on his chest.
It wasn’t fair that someone so arrogant could be so damningly beautiful.
“Answer me,” he demanded, blowing a lock of hair from his face so she could clearly see the fury burning in his eyes.
Everinne locked her spine into place, refusing to back down.
“I wasn’t flirting with him,” she ground out.
“No?” Atlas’s jaw clenched, a vein along his neck pulsed. “Then how else did you find your way into the Mystic Obscura?”
Did he honestly think—that prick.
“I worked for it, Atlas.” She arched off the wall, rolling her hips into him. “Iearnedit.” If he truly thought so little of her, then she would let him believe it. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Your Radiance?”
She thoroughly expected him to jerk away from her, to release her in disgust. But instead, Atlas surprised her in the worst way imaginable.
He palmed her waist then nudged his leg between her thighs, pressing himself flush against her, diminishing every last shred of space. With his muscled leg wedging both of hers apart, the hem of her absurdly short dress rose even higher. The crystals hanging from the fabric tinkled in warning. Her breasts weresquished against the solid wall of his chest, and on each ragged inhale, they threatened to pop free from the strapless confines of silver that barely covered them. His furious gaze dipped to where they swelled, and a different kind of heat banked there before his eyes traveled up her neck, pausing to linger on her lips.
Atlas’s thumb traced a slow, lazy circle along her waist.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmured. Instantly, his jaw locked, his gaze darkening with the promise of vengeance. “Did he fucking hurt you?”
Everinne shook her head, breathless. Her heart refused to cease its incessant pounding, and her lung were entirely too compressed. Why did he always have this effect on her? She hated him, but more than anything, she hated what he did to her all those years ago.
He grabbed her chin once more to inspect the wound on her bottom lip. Faeries might not have fangs like vampires, but those two particular top teeth were sharper than most.
Atlas shifted closer, sending a jolt of heat straight to her core.
“He didn’t hurt me.” She swallowed hard as warmth spread through her, causing her toes to tingle, her belly to clench, and her nipples to harden. “I bit my own lip to…”
To keep it from trembling.
She would never admit he’d scared her.
Suddenly, he was lowering his mouth toward her.
Everinne held her breath and then Atlas’s tongue slid across her bottom lip, swiping gently over the wound. Her entire body vibrated with desire, betraying her completely as she melted into him. His hand squeezed her waist, his fingers digging into her.
Atlas leaned back, just barely. He made a strange noise then, a feral sort of sound. The fusion of a growl and a groan.
When those eyes of his latched onto her, they were tainted with lust.
Alarm fired in the back of her mind, and she stiffened, refusing to allow herself to fall into one of his traps. She knew who he was, what he was, just as she was fully aware of the reputation he wore like a fucking crown.
“Don’t you dare use your magic on me,” she warned. She’d suffered through his torture once before, she would never do so again. She wriggled against him in an effort to break free, a useless endeavor, but she refused to give up.
“That’s all you, Ever.” His careless smile was a dagger to her heart. “I’m not using my magic on you. If I was, you wouldknow.”
Right.
She would know. The feel of his magic was sheer ecstasy, the scent of it like amber and vanilla. Luscious and tempting.
