Page 35 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
But first, a shot of honeyfire, and then bed.
“Did you have fun tonight?” a low, masculine voice rumbled from the penetrating darkness of her apartment.
Everinne startled, her heart hammering against the tight wall of her chest, and her blood turned to ice.
She plastered herself against the door, a spike of terror running straight through her. With practiced ease, she slid her thumb along the band of her amethyst ring, a faint clicking sound echoing in the stillness as the blade sprung loose. Her eyes strained into the pitch of the kitchen, searching for something—an unfamiliar shadow, or the barest of movements. Anything to give her some idea of where the intruder was hiding.
“What do you want?” she demanded, slinking closer to where she knew the small round table was located. She kept her right hand coiled into a fist, ready to strike, while the other remained stretched out to her side, grabbing only air.
Fuck, why was it so dark in here?
And why in the stars weren’t her candles illuminating? Usually, they flickered to life as soon as she walked through the door. She’d bought them from one of the witchy stores in the shopping district for that exact reason. She hated the dark.
“You should really learn to lock your door,” the deep voice mused, his threatening whisper coming from her right.
At least, she thought that’s where the voice came from.
Everinne turned in a slow circle, panic lodging in the back of her throat. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling until the metallic tang of blood coated her tongue. Herbreathing grew shallow, each breath becoming more difficult to control as the ruthless beast she kept caged inside of her slowly awoke.
Frenzied, brutal magic poured through her veins, primed for release. It slid from within her like a venomous serpent, coiling around her tightly, ready to strike. Sinister power crawled along her skin, stretching out in vicious tendrils on the hunt for its prey. Her thread of control wavered, then frayed, and her lungs hollowed out. Everinne squeezed her eyes shut, and the darkness she possessed sunk its vicious claws into her mind, beckoning her to surrender to her violent nature. It would be so easy to crush bones until there was nothing left but ash and dust. Easy and lovely. With a flick of her wrist, she could render a beating heart into a pulpy mess, inflicting a pain so torturous and devastating, her victim would beg for mercy. Until she finally granted it, by shattering their minds.
Her emotions fueled her magic, and the dread bubbling up inside her coaxed the fiend inside her to life.
Pain, it whispered.
She gritted her teeth and her eyes flew open. Shuddering, she desperately tried to restrain the terror slipping from her grasp.
Everinne swore her power leered at her. Mocked her.
She was touched by death.
“I can hear the erratic beating of your heart. Which can only mean one of two things.” The voice wrapped around her like tempting silk, soft and seductive. “Either I frighten you…”
Warm breath coasted across her neck and she whirled, but no one was there. She sucked in a ragged gulp of air, fighting against only herself.
“Or?” she prompted, angling the blade of her ring, prepared to lash out.
“Or I excite you.” Phantom fingertips grazed her waist.
Blind fury ricocheted through her.
“In your dreams, you cock-sucking bastard.” Everinne lunged.
The attacker knocked her hand away and her balance faltered. Her heels slid against the hardwood floor, and she cried out. She stumbled backward, smacking her head against the wall as tiny stars danced before her eyes.
A strong arm snared both of her wrists, yanking them up over her head, pinning her in place. She struggled, thrashing against the assault, until two fingers hooked her chin, forcing her head up.
There was the click of a tongue.
“Attacking the imperial prince is a death sentence, Wildheart.”
Everinne froze. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach and all at once, the scent of cedar layered with delicious citrus and a hint of spice consumed her.
“Atlas,” she hissed, trying to free herself from his hold. His grip on her wrists only tightened. She peered up into the faceless dark, where she knew he towered above her, even with the extra height from her damned shoes. “What in the bleeding skies do you think you’re doing?”
“I could ask the same of you,” he fired back, that seductive voice of his fueled with venom.
“Ilivehere.” She sucked in another ragged breath. Damn it, his overwhelming scent was everywhere. Impossible to escape. Just like him. “I’m getting ready for bed and?—”
