Page 64 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
The Lord of Time shifted his shoulders, tucking his hands behind his back. Always calm. Always collected. “You rarely let your temper get the best of you.”
“It was my fault,” Caedian piped up, taking the sword away and placing it back on the rack with the rest of the weapons. “I was goading him.”
“It wasn’t you.” Atlas shook his head, shoving some longer waves of hair back from his face. He roughed a hand along his jaw, annoyed by his own lack of composure. “I was distracted.”
Veros checked his golden timepiece, where magic still seemed to thrum and whir around its circular shape, then slipped it back into his pocket. “It’s understandable. You’ve had a lot on your mind these past few days.”
Atlas dared a look at Everinne, who boldly met his gaze without hesitation. “So, Ever…what are you doing here? It’s not like you to grace us with your presence twice in one week.”
Her brows narrowed slightly, and she crossed her arms, cocking one hip to the side. The gold rings around her pupils flared with irritation. “Veros is taking me to find a dress. For your ball.”
If she was attempting to provoke him, it was working.
“Right,” he drawled, barricading his mind. The last thing he wanted to know was the truth of her thoughts, especially where he was concerned. Instead, he grinned at Veros. “Going shopping, then?”
The corner of Veros’s mouth lifted into a smile, and he flicked his wrists, loosening the cuffs of his gray sweater. “So it would seem.”
“It wasyouridea,” Everinne countered, poking him roughly in the chest with her finger. “You’re the one who said I needed something suitable to impress…”
Her voice trailed off and she bit her bottom lip, taking up a sudden interest in the cropped hem of her top, where a swatch of lightly tan skin was on display.
So. Veros was taking his sister shopping for a gown to help her catch Lord Tovian’s eye. Not that she needed any help in the matter, but the idea ofhismate being matched with anyone else fueled him with insurmountable fury.
Atlas ground his teeth together. The muscles along his shoulders and the back of his neck grew taut, tense with feral rage. He popped his jaw, desperately trying to hold himself back from reaching out and strangling Veros.
“We’re going before my shift at the Mystic Obscura. And yes,” she continued, waving a hand dismissively through the air so all the bracelets she wore jingled in unison, “I’m looking for another job. I might try to get a position at Belladonna’s Atelier.”
Atlas made a derisive sort of noise. A witch’s bauble shop was better than the Mystic Obscura, though if he had things his way, Everinne wouldn’t need to be looking for another job at all. She’d be living in his palace. Lounging in his arms. Sleeping in his bed.
“Come on, Ever.” Veros guided her away from the training field, nodding to Atlas on his way. “Let’s go before the shops close for the night.”
As they walked down one of the corridors, Atlas simply stood there, half hoping, half wishing, Everinne would turn around once. All he wanted was for her to cast a casual glance over her shoulder, maybe even flash one of those damning smirks. He told himself it would be enough.
But she didn’t look back, and he didn’t look away.
Deflated, he let out a shallow, painful breath.
Caedian strolled up next to him, dusting the dirt from his pants. He planted his hands on his hips, tracking Atlas’s line of sight. Then he loosed a low whistle. “You’re really going to stand by and let her marry some lord from another realm?”
Atlas sighed. Veros may as well have stuck a dagger in his back when he’d made that fucking vow. “I don’t have a choice.”
Twenty-One
Everinne changed out of her costume after her performance and pulled on a pair of black leggings that slung low across her hips and a snug, cropped red top with sheer sleeves. She’d just finished lacing up her boots when Reine breezed into the dressing room, a demure smile on her face.
“Another standing ovation tonight, Everinne.” Reine folded her arms across her chest, her amber eyes sparking with appreciation. Her pin-straight, sleek brown hair was pushed back from her face with a band of jeweled fabric, showcasing her rich umber cheekbones that were dusted with gold. “The crowd seems quite pleased with you.”
“Thank you.” Everinne grabbed her coat from off the rack of clothing. “There’s definitely something freeing about dancing on the hoops. I really love it.”
“How wonderful of you to say so.” Reine moved forward, her silken skirts swishing around her like a river of magenta. She slid a bronze dagger from her pocket, it was skinny enough to be a letter opener, but sharp enough to pierce flesh.
Everinne lurched backward, and Reine laughed, full and sensual.
“There’s nothing to fear,milazk.”She flicked the small blade between her fingers. “I only need to collect a simple drop of blood.”
“Blood,” Everinne repeated, yanking on her coat, her gaze focused on the tip of the dagger. She clenched her hands into tight fists. Her mind reeled, snippets of her earlier conversation with Atlas flooded her thoughts, his warning prickling along the back of her neck. “What for?”
Blood magic was archaic, fabled for being dangerous, and those who used it, whether for good or ill will, were not to be trusted.
