Page 38 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
There was no sharp metallic tang—instead she tasted of stolen kisses during the witching hour, when the moon was full and high, and the rest of the world was still. She was silk sheets and seductive whispers, a midnight swim when the heat of summer hung thick in the air. That singular drop of her blood weakened him. Owned him. Consumed him. She was a complexity of everything he longed for in this life yet would forever be just out of his reach.
Atlas hit the accelerator on hisarcanic voltand peeled away from the curb of Everinne’s apartment. The arcane magic powering the vehicle thrummed beneath him and the two wheels shrieked against the rough cobblestone as he sped away. He flipped up his visor as the brisk air cooled his heated body. The steady hum of the engine crackled like kindling to a fire, shooting out silvery blue sparks from the back pipe in his wake. Gripping both handlebars, he cruised through the nearly empty streets of Starysa to clear his head.
To rid his thoughts of Everinne.
Yet she occupied every darkened corner of his mind.
When he had her pinned against that wall, his knee nestled between her thighs, he’d wanted nothing more than to rip off that dress and bury himself so deep inside her that he forgot his own name. He would’ve given his soul to run his tongue over the sweet swell of her breasts, to suck her nipple into his mouth until her knees weakened and she unraveled in his arms. Each breath she took set his blood on fire. He could picture her clearly—naked and tangled in his sheets, that mouth of hers cursing him while he used his cock, his tongue, his magic, to coax her to life.
He shifted on the leather seat of thevolt, adjusting his aching erection.
It would be easy enough to find a willing female to help erase the desire coursing through him, though it wouldn’t make a difference because he would only be imagining a pair of turquoise eyes with gold rings around the center and the lushest lips he’d ever seen.
But Everinne Auvyre was strictly forbidden.
Atlas had sworn to Veros that he would do everything within his power to keep her safe and protected, with the unspoken understanding that included keeping her out of his bed. Not only was she off limits as his best friend’s sister, but she was also dangerous, capable of inflicting immeasurable amounts of pain. So long as her magic continued to control her, she was a risk. Simply being in her presence was like standing on the edge of a gaping chasm, waiting for a gust of wind to send him careening to his death. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted her. She could come all over him one moment and kill him in the next.
He shook his head.
Definitely too much of a risk.
He rode along one of the winding roads that followed the outlying mountains of the city toward the scenic overlook situated on the highest peak. The overlook faced west, toward the Ladova Bay, where calm teal waters were home to the dozensof ships in port. The harbor itself curved like a crescent moon and was dotted with small wooden structures to house imports, fresh fish markets, and numerous stalls where local merchants sold their wares. Stable docks stretched out into the bay and behind Atlas, the early glow of dawn blanketed the city in a wash of gold. A breeze billowed up the cliffside, carrying with it the scent of the sea, briny with the faintest hint of magic.
He scanned the port, watching as sailors, traders, and vendors gradually opened the harbor for business. His gaze sought anything out of the ordinary, something that might give him a hint about the immortals who were disappearing from his kingdom. But then he caught sight of a vessel sailing across the smooth waves of the bay, preparing to dock. The hull stood out among the rest of the ships with its stern and bow curling like majestic vines, the polished wood glinting in the morning sunlight. Despite not having any sails, it propelled through the water with ease, and when the wind unfurled its burnt orange banners, Atlas smiled.
A black creature with three heads, each one similar to an eagle with golden beaks and skinny horns, was embellished upon the main banner. The body was like a dragon and covered in scales, and its feathered wings were reminiscent of a flame. It had been some time since Atlas had seen atrechen, and there was only one person he knew who sailed under the flag of such a magnificent beast.
Aran Ruhdneah, the High Prince of the Autumn Court of Faeven, had returned to Prava.
Atlas parked hisvolton the docks and removed his helmet. Salt spray whipped through his hair on the stiff breeze, and heran a hand through the thick strands, shoving it back from his face only to have it fall forward again. Bulky shadows lounged in the alley behind him, the glint of their swords unmistakable. Somehow, Caedian always knew where to find him. At least these guards weren’t the pompous dickheads roaming the halls of the palace in their shiny black and gold leather armor. No, these were elite warriors who moved like wraiths in the night, hand-selected by Caedian to protect Atlas in case he couldn’t be there to do it himself.
He glanced over his shoulder, nodding stiffly to one of the guards lurking between the buildings.
Another gust of cold wind swept off the bay and through the harbor, and he grit his teeth. If he had known he was going to be at the bay this early in the morning, he would’ve brought a coat, but instead he took the bite of chilly air in stride. He adjusted the rolled cuffs of his shirt, smoothing away any wrinkles, and strolled down the pier toward where theAmshirwas docked.
Plank after plank unfolded from the right side of the hull, and the scent of orange blossom and cedarwood mingled with the brine of the sea. Crossing his arms and with a steady smirk on his face, Atlas peered up at the main deck.
A moment later, a fae male appeared, the echo of his boots striking the wooden deck pierced through the harbor’s usual bustling noise. His pants were dark brown and stitched with gold thread. He wore a shirt the color of fire rubies and his topaz overcoat was embroidered with tiny autumn leaves on each shoulder. Red hair was pulled up into a knot on top of his head and around his neck hung a piece of leather adorned with beads. Dangling from the necklace was a compass, one Atlas knew always pointed back to the Autumn Court of Faeven, and attached to it was what looked like a piece of rosy pink glass.
Beyond him, two other males emerged from the below deck.
Atlas didn’t recognize them, but anyone who sailed with Aran Ruhdneah wouldn’t be a stranger for long.
Aran spotted him instantly and strode down the planks, the two males following his lead. He grinned, his emerald eyes crinkling at the corners, and fisted both hands on his waist.
“When I requested the royal treatment upon my arrival, I never expected to be welcomed by the Imperial Prince himself.” Aran laughed, walking towards him. They gripped each other’s forearms in greeting. Far too much time had passed since his last visit. “How are you, old friend?”
“Better than ever.” Atlas released him and shoved his hands into his pockets, but the High Prince was anything but a fool.
Aran tilted his head, his smile vanishing. “Your eyes deceive you.”
Atlas nodded once, returning the prince’s knowing stare. “As do yours.”
Ghosts of regret and despair haunted the prince’s eyes. His shoulders dropped and he faltered, his mask of confidence slipping just slightly. “The war was…”
The war for Faeven had taken its toll upon the High Prince. Atlas had heard rumors from across the Gaelsong Sea of its atrocities.Temny feya—or dark fae, as Aran called them—had damn near decimated the legions of the Summer, Autumn, and Winter Courts. The casualties had been atrocious. They’d prevailed with the help of some allies, though there was one in particular Atlas wouldn’t trust even if he was the last man on earth. Atlas wanted to send reinforcements to aid their cause, but Aran never asked, and though an explanation wasn’t necessary, he knew why.
The kralv of Prava could not be trusted.
