Page 50 of Cursed Evermore
Thayden Fairstrom.Even his fucking name reeked of entitlement.
Her family thought he was worthy of her? Pathetic.
I saw him when he first arrived at the manor. It was clear the little fucker thought he was a god and acted like one, too.
Although he’d made a detour to fuck three of the bar maidens before seeing Elariya’s mother, I knew, just from looking at him, that he had feelings for Elariya.
I noticed it in the way he looked at her when they entered the hall, how he couldn't take his eyes off her.
I didn’t get to listen in when he was alone with her in her father’s study because I’d been watching the grandmother as she tried to ward the place. I kept a close eye on her to see what she was doing. I didn’t want any more setbacks like last night. Thankfully everything the grandmother put in place was useless on me.
She was no more a threat than Thayden, who I knew would make it his duty to find Elariya.
He was in love with her and had a lot to gain from their marriage, so he wouldn’t give up on her so easily. That was fine. Let him come thinking he could take her back from me. I would enjoy eviscerating him.
The mage was mine now.
Through the mystical bond Elariya shifted in her enchanted sleep, as if she sensed my dark thoughts.
Maybe she did. It didn’t matter, though. I had an empire to reclaim and a curse to break. Everything else, including the strange pull I felt toward my sleeping captive, was irrelevant. This mage was merely a means to an end, a path to getting what was rightfully mine.
It was time to speak with my Veythral. They'd be eager to hear from me since I hadn't seen them since yesterday, and they'd only know I'd successfully taken Elariya once the ship had started to set sail.
I turned away from her, forcing the thoughts clawing through my head into silence as I moved toward the door.
I shouldn't have looked back. But I did.
The sight of her stopped me cold. As I gazed at her sleeping form, the realization struck that she looked like something pure, something I'd never deserve. But it wasn't in my nature to back down when I wanted something, or someone. I would have taken her anyway and dragged her down to my underworld with me. Just like Hades did with Persephone.
Enough. I forced myself to turn away once more and left.
Through the Veythra bond, I summoned my Veythral Circle to the meeting room. Our bond had never been more useful than during the last few days in the mortal lands.
There were five of us in all. Each—except Arielle—bore the black Veythra sigil on our wrist, pressed into the skin during the blood rite. It allowed us to send thoughts directly to one another, silent and undetectable, even to the sharpest magical wards.
Moments later, I stood at the door. I could hear them inside talking. About me.
The instant I stepped inside, the conversation died.
It was morning, and I’d most likely gotten them out of their beds, so they all wore casual clothing.
I shut the door behind me and met each of their gazes around the round mahogany table.
Bastian. Alaric. Garrick. And Arielle, my royal advisor. I avoided looking at her too much. As a mage, she was still pissed off at me for kidnapping one of her own. It didn’t matter that she’d never met Elariya.
She was the only woman in my court, a mage advisor sworn to serve the royal line. But to me, she was like kin. Like another sister. Despite our familial bond, I needed her on this voyage for her Fray magic. Arielle had the ability to conceal anything, so she’d been hiding us since we went through the Veil, concealingus and our magic. Her powers would also hide Elariya’s magic so no one could track her by trying to detect her powers.
I walked to the head of the table and sat in the empty chair waiting for me.
“Come on, Wolfe, don’t keep us waiting.” Alaric frowned. “Tell us what’s going on.”
“I have the mage secured in the brig in a soul sleep.”
“At least you put her in soul sleep.” Arielle’s tone was biting. She was a year older than Elariya but had more balls than most males who’d gone to war. “Though, I’m surprised you didn’t return to us wearing her skin.”
“Arielle, stop,” Bastian chided, tapping a tattooed finger on the table. Like a mediator, he always stepped in when she crossed the line with me. She listened to him.Sometimes.
“He needs her alive, remember,” Garrick taunted with a wicked smile.
