Page 150 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
He tossed his arm out toward the three hooded figures surrounded by guards.
All the blood drained from Everinne’s face, and she stumbled back a step.
“What?” she asked, breathless.
“And to make it even more interesting,” the kralv continued, fully aware she heard him correctly the first time, “I’ll let you pick which one.”
“No. I can’t.” Everinne shook her head, refusal and determination rolling her shoulders back, filling her with fire. “I won’t.”
“Choose me.”Atlas’s pleading voice was a soft murmur through the walls of her mind, like a mountain stream whose song was silenced by frost.
Her gaze latched onto the three captives kneeling across from the dais. “Atlas?”
The one chained in iron flinched and her heart stopped.
That was why the bond felt distorted and muted. Atlas was locked in cold iron.
Rage ravaged her.
“Atlas!” Everinne jolted forward, but the kralv’s hand captured her shoulder and hauled her backward, his grip fierce enough to grind her bones to dust. She tried to twist away from him, to break loose of his hold, but the more she struggled, the more he increased the pressure, until her knees almost buckled out from underneath her.
“You’re running out of time, Everinne.” Kralv Oldrich’s threat grated on her nerves. “Unless you’d rather I choose for you?”
“No!” She knew what he was implying, knew the warped intention of his mind. He wanted her to hurt Atlas, wanted her to inflict her devastating magic upon his own son.
And she was fucking sick of it.
Everinne could put an end to this madness. She could overpower the kralv, she could be stronger, unleash the full might of her magic so that claws of pain tore into his veil of fear. It was a dangerous, treasonous thought, and she welcomed it. Relished in it. Her power was born of darkness, an endless well of pain and violence. When those wisps of violet and midnight poured from her, bones of the living wept, tears of suffering turned to ash, and the sweet silence of death lingered in her wake. Her magic was exactly as High Priestess Rozalie had claimed, a blessing to those in need of protection, a curse to those who deserved a fate worse than death.
Again, Atlas’s pained voice entered her mind, a caress to her senses.“It’s either myself, Veros, or some unfortunate maid my father wants to punish for not coming to his bed.”
Everinne’s heartstrings snapped.
Kralv Oldrich had her brother, too, and she swore then he would know her wrath.
“So, choose me, Wildheart. Whatever you throw at me, I can take.”
“No,” she whispered, then faced the kralv. Glaring up at him, she held her ground. “No. I refuse. There must be another way.”
Jarek grabbed the back of her neck, ripping her away from the kralv’s cruel grasp.
“Oh, there’s another way.” He inhaled deeply, snaking an arm around her waist, his fingers dipping below her navel. “And it involves me claiming you while your precious mate watches.”
Fear licked up Everinne’s spine, and from across the throne room, Atlas roared.
He thrashed and fought, surging forward to reach her, the black sack slipping from his head to reveal golden green eyes laced with fury. He was feral with rage, baring his teeth like he was a caged beast ready to rip out Jarek’s throat. Veros struggled alongside him, his hood falling away as he lurched toward the dais.
“Damn that boy and his temper,” Oldrich muttered, snapping his fingers so the guards pounced, restraining Atlas further. The kralv whirled on them, jabbing a finger into Jarek’s chest. “You, however, will remove your hands from her at once. We had a deal.”
Everinne’s mouth fell open in shock, but Jarek released her.
“I want what I was promised,” he spat.
“And you’ll have it.” Oldrich raised one hand, his steely gaze narrowing on Everinne. “But not until I ensure she’s thoroughly broken.”
A demonic kind of growl, a primitive snarl, erupted from Jarek. “She is mine to break.”
“NO!” Everinne screamed, power erupting from her as her magic awoke, flooding her veins. She was as fearless as the night,for when the forest’s dark heart had shown its teeth, she flashed a vicious smile of her own. “I will never bend to you, or any male, ever again. I am not a puppet. I am not a pawn. But I will be the last thing you see before you die.”
