Page 71 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Not now.
Not now.
Atlas’s gaze slid to his right, where he found Veros watching him. A swath of dark hair fell across half of his face, and his eyes, a perfect match to Everinne’s, were unblinking. He wore black pants and a crisp white shirt, a little formal given the raging party carrying on around them. Then again, the Lord of Time was always impeccably dressed, no matter the occasion. He swung the gold chain on his timepiece in a quick circle around his finger, then casually reversed the direction.
Atlas shoved his hands into his pockets to keep his composure, the last thing he wanted to do was get into a fight with Veros over Everinne. His gut twisted and an uncomfortable sinking sensation filled him with remorse about keeping his plans quiet. But when his fingers accidentally brushed across the small engraved box containing his mother’s ring, his heart thundered, colliding against the stiff wall of his chest.
“Yeah.” He sauntered closer to Veros, determined not to look over at Everinne, even though it was killing him. “I’m trying to find my future bride tonight, remember?”
Veros nodded, his expression one of cool, measured indifference. There was no sign of suspicion or accusation, but he watched Atlas’s face with guarded interest all the same. “Any luck?”
“Not yet.” Atlas rocked back onto his heels, feigning boredom. “But I’ve only just started looking.”
He dared a glance over to where Everinne was last standing, only to discover she was no longer there.
Shit.
“Something wrong?” Veros asked, his dark brow quirked in question.
“No,” Atlas answered smoothly, but his jaw locked and his nails bit into his palms. “Nothing.”
Veros nodded once, tucking his timepiece into his pocket, then started to stroll away. “Enjoy yourself, Your Highness. I’m going to go find a drink. Preferably a strong one.”
Atlas called out after him. “The least you can do is find one for me as well.”
Veros paused, spinning back around to face him. The corner of his mouth ticked upward, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More like an acknowledgement. “Needing some liquid courage tonight?”
“And then some,” Atlas muttered. His mouth was dry, his tongue heavy, and he swallowed around the knot of panic clogging the back of his throat.
He tried not to think about the fact that he was stabbing his best friend in the back, that he was breaking the vow he had made. The mere thought of it turned his stomach, left his insides roiling with acid. He’d always prided himself on the friendship he shared with Veros, there was rarely a truth they didn’t share with one another. Their loyalty ran deeper than blood, and there was not a damn thing Atlas wouldn’t do for Veros, including putting his own life on the line. Just like he knew without a doubt, Veros would do the same for him.
But he clutched the small box hidden away in the pockets of his pants, and Atlas knew all of that was about to change.
Atlas saw Everinne a moment later, dancing with that damned lord of starlight. They were on the outskirts of the dance floor, not quite deep enough in the mix to be swallowed by the sea of bodies. His hands were on her waist, pulling her close, but the second he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, letting his knuckles graze her cheek, Atlas’s blood roared.
He was violence and wrath. Obsession and envy. The bond crackled and hissed, thrashing and reaching, ready to mark her, to bind her, to make her belong to him. All the while, one word continued to hum through his mind with vengeance until it matched the steady beating of his heart.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Caedian was right.
Atlas had to choose Everinne, and he’d find a way to ensure she accepted him. Because if not, there was a good chance he was going to kill any other male who stood in the way.
Twenty-Three
Lord Tovian Starstorm was chivalrous, handsome, and damn near perfect.
Almost too perfect, if Everinne was being honest.
He danced with practiced ease, like he’d been doing it his whole life, spinning her out then dragging her back against him as the music pulsed and the colored lights slashed across their skin. His movements were elegant, more refined than the other males around them who were grinding their hips against the rears of their dance partners, and even when he held her close enough to feel the warmth of his breath tickle her ear, his hands never slid any lower than her hips. Every so often, however, his mouth would find the inside of her wrist and brush the lightest of kisses across her flesh. The gesture sent her stomach fluttering, but the cold stab of regret quickly followed.
She would have to break his heart.
Not that she imagined Lord Tovian was in love with her already, but it was clear by the broad, dimpled smile he’d maintained since pulling her into his arms that he had no intention of letting her go anytime soon.
