Page 100 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“I’m sorry, Atlas. I failed you.” His lips pressed together in a hard line. “I failed both of you.”
“No. This isn’t your fault. Your soldiers can’t access the Mystic Obscura because we forbade them from giving up a drop of their blood.” Atlas adjusted his legs, drawing up his knees on either side of Everinne’s sleeping form. “I should have forbidden her from going there as soon as I found out.”
Caedian gave a short laugh tainted with sorrow. “That only would’ve emboldened her, my prince. I do not imagine she is one to take orders from you. Or anyone, for that matter.”
“No.” Atlas reached down, smoothing some of her hair back from her face, tucking it behind the delicate pointed tip of her ear, his finger grazing the amethyst studs she wore. “She thinks the rules don’t apply to her.”
“How did she end up in the Marzena, anyway?” Caedian asked, his gaze narrowing.
Anger simmered through Atlas’s veins. “Jarek Zima.”
“The demon summoner?” His captain shoved off the door and moved closer, his voice lowering. “You’re certain?”
“I smelled him on her.” Atlas’s lip curled and he lightly touched Everinne’s shoulder, where the imprint of a skull ring had faded to a milky white color against her skin. “He fucking branded her.”
Caedian’s jaw locked and he inhaled, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. Leave it to the Captain of the Guard to remain sensible when Atlas was ready to explode. “But if Everinne never left the Mystic Obscura, then how did Jarek get her to the Marzena without my scouts detecting her?”
“I don’t know,” Atlas muttered. If Jarek took Everinne to the Marzena without ever leaving the Mystic Obscura, then that could only mean one thing. “There must be an entrance to the Marzena from somewhere inside the Mystic Obscura.”
“If there is,” Caedian rolled his shoulders back, determination hardening his face, “we’ll find it.”
He stayed for a few more moments, then headed for the door. “I will go find Lord Veros and report that Everinne is recovering.” Caedian reached for the handle, then paused, lowering his head.
“Fucking skies, Your Highness.” His voice was hollow. “Her screams.”
“I know.” Atlas would never be able to erase them from his mind. He would hear them in his sleep, they would be thecreation of his every nightmare come to life. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Jarek will pay for this. With his life.”
When Caedian left, Atlas sank lower into the cushioned mattress, anchoring Everinne against his chest. She shivered once, then rolled onto her side, snuggling into him, one hand curled beneath her chin while the other was splayed across his abdomen. He breathed her in, the sweet scent of caramel between layers of rose and blackcurrant as familiar to him as his own soul.
He leaned back against the pillow, his arms wrapped around her like a shield of protection.
Atlas swore to himself right then, he would get her out of the Mystic Obscura and as far away from Jarek Zima as possible. He would bargain with Reine for her life.
No matter the cost.
Thirty-One
Everinne was dead.
At least, she felt like she was dead, for there was no other explanation for the pain splintering through her head, or the weary ache in her bones. She’d expected more from the afterlife, for the death of the fae led to one of three places—Maghmell, the eternal paradise, the Ether, a realm in between worlds for wandering souls, or the Sluagh, a fiery pit of devastation for the most wicked of their kind. Yet for Everinne, there was only bleak nothingness. She was adrift in a fathomless sea, alone in a state of delirium.
Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she hastily blinked them away.
Everyone was lost to her. Veros. Zoryana. Atlas.
Oh gods, Atlas.
With his beautiful golden green eyes and dazzling smile. She missed the way his dark blond curls fell across his forehead, the way he always knew just what to say to piss her off, the way he looked at her like she was his only reason for surviving. For breathing. But she’d said such awful things to him, she’d purposely tried to break his heart, to keep him at arm’s length to protect them both from his father. Now, she would never getthe chance to apologize. To beg for his forgiveness for lying, for refusing him. To tell him she…
A choking cry escaped her, and something warm brushed her cheek, her neck.
Perhaps she was not dead after all.
Her blood continued to pump through her veins and her heart was still beating despite the fact that she felt like she’d fallen from a cliff and broken every bone in her body. But there was something else, something familiar. A gentle tug, a kind of longing tethered to her subconscious.
She grabbed for that strand and pulled, yanking hard, and a soothing, masculine voice filled her mind.
“I’ve got you, Wildheart…I’ve got you.”
