Page 67 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Three lives she’d taken so far. Callum, and these two males. And tonight, she would steal three more. But there was no regret. No remorse. She was numb on the inside, a vast well of emptiness. Perhaps in the morning she would feel guilt for her actions, or perhaps she would simply feel nothing at all. It made no difference to her. For now, survival was all that mattered, and if the only way to do so was through a lack of mercy and violence, then so be it.
Power hummed, lifting the hair from her shoulders, preparing to strike again, when a rough cloth was clamped over Everinne’s nose and mouth.
She choked and gagged as the stench of damp woods and herbs flooded her senses. Alarm fired through her. Arms flailing, she struggled to fight, to escape, but her movements were sluggish and heavy. Her lungs burned for air as though she’d been shoved underwater.
Without warning, the world tilted, Everinne’s body swayed, and everything went dark.
Flickering lights danced behind Everinne’s eyelids, wavering in and out of focus to the pounding ache throbbing at her temples. She felt as though she’d been bashed upside the head with the hilt of a sword, the pain sending a wave of nausea roiling through her. Groaning, she clutched her stomach, sucking in a breath of air that smelled oddly yet sickeningly familiar. Sulfur and smoke. It triggered something in the back of her mind, almost like a warning, but her mind was swimming in a haze of delirium, and she couldn’t tell if she was awake or still falling into oblivion.
“Everinne.” A subdued, masculine voice prodded at her.
Her head lolled to the side as she tried to peel her eyes open. She blinked in a desperate attempt to focus, but her vision was barely more than a smear of watercolors.
She knew she was seated on a sofa, or perhaps a chair. She couldn’t be sure, but there was a soft cushion cradling her weakened body. The lights burned a little brighter and she squinted, gritting her teeth against the assault on her senses.A figure loomed over her, then crouched down, and Kralv Oldrich’s face came into view.
Everinne startled, swallowing a yelp. She slid from the chair, her muscles spasming, as she fought to stop herself from tumbling toward the floor in front of the kralv.
He snared her by the shoulders, dragging her back upward, and repositioned her in the seat. “Easy, Everinne. The effect of wolfsbane takes some time to wear off. It will be a few hours yet before you regain full control of your body.”
Hours?
How long had she been out?
Her bleary gaze slid around the room, gradually taking in her surroundings. The walls were all dark, papered with black satin scrollwork and gilded shelves housing a sparse, untouched collection of dust-laden books. A large desk was behind the kralv, its glossy surface free from any kind of clutter, as though it was rarely used. Sconces shaped like wolf heads with gaping jaws lined the walls, golden fire illuminating the eyes, giving the impression of ferocious beasts. There was only one window in the expanse of the room, and the thick, black draperies were pulled closed, revealing only a sliver of the outside.
From what Everinne could gather, which wasn’t much, dawn was approaching.
The kralv stood, edging backward so he leaned the bulk of his weight upon the desk. He crossed his arms and angled his head, his dark brown hair with slashes of gray covering half of his face. “You’re in quite a bit of trouble, Everinne.”
“Trouble?” She swallowed around the word, her throat dry and scratchy like she’d slept with her mouth open.
Kralv Oldrich ran a thumb along his beard, his dark eyes narrowing slightly beneath two bushy brows. “Do you remember what happened?”
“Yes,” she croaked. “I…”
Everinne’s voice trailed off, the memory of only a few hours ago just out of her reach. She could vaguely remember her conversation with Reine, the prick of a dagger, and then…nothing. It was a bleak void of emptiness, and no matter how hard she grasped at the time that had been stolen from her, she couldn’t recall anything after leaving the Mystic Obscura. The pressure in her head only amplified.
“Would you like me to remind you?” the kralv asked, arching a brow.
She winced. “Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“My guards were on patrol when they discovered you curled up in a ball in a dank alleyway, a few blocks away from the Mystic Obscura.” He heaved his large frame off the desk, tucking his meaty hands behind his back. “They offered you assistance, an escort to return you safely back home, which you refused.”
“But I—” She snapped her mouth shut when his gaze cut to her with cruel authority.
He inhaled deeply, his chest puffing out. “You then attacked them. Killing two.”
“What?” Everinne shrieked. She slumped further into the chair, attempting to dig her heels into the black fur carpet to keep from sliding. But her legs simply would not work. “No. I would never.”
Except she had, because on her right forearm, the vine tattoo had lengthened, and two more blood roses had appeared.
“Do try to be still, you’re only making things worse.” The kralv sighed with an air of disappointment, his expression almost pitying. “You’re lucky they only chose to subdue you as opposed to using force, which would have been thoroughly warranted, I might add.”
She rolled her head from side to side in a pathetic attempt to dispute the accusation. “Your Majesty, please. That can’t be right…I wouldn’t…couldn’t. I have no such power.”
“I have seen the bodies, Everinne. Or at least, what is left of them.” He paced around the study, and she tracked him with her eyes until he disappeared from view, walking behind her. When he spoke again, his hard voice scraped past her cheek. “Do you know what the punishment is for killing a kralv’s guard?”
She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “Lashings?”
