Page 99 of Cursed Evermore
“Drink.” The command in his tone warned me not to argue, but I was going to anyway.
“It’s too early for wine.”
“Not on my ship. Now drink.” He tapped the goblet with one tattooed finger.
I rolled my eyes and decided to oblige. We’d already wasted enough time as it was. There was no point wasting any more.
I picked up the goblet and took a sip of the wine, and oh gods, it bloomed across my tongue in an array of succulent flavors, as sweet and delicious as the first batch of summer fruits.My eyelids fluttered closed involuntarily as the flavor cascaded down my throat.
Emabelle would have loved this. She had an addiction to sweet wine. This wine was unlike any I'd ever tasted. It sang with magic that called to something slumbering in my blood.
“What kind of wine is this?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.
I looked up to find Wolfe watching me with keen eyes, as though my reaction had revealed something that intrigued him.
“Same as any other, except it's from the Ravenwood Realm.” The faint smile played across his lips, there and gone like summer lightning. “I thought a taste of yourheart's desirewas in order.” He leaned forward slightly, our eyes locked across the desk. “The Ravenwood is said to have the best wine in all of Vaelthorne.”
I gazed at him, taking slow tentative breaths. This appeared to be an act of kindness, but I was sure it had to be another control tactic. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but feel connected to it in some small way. I’d never had anything from the Ravenwood Realm before.
“It’s nice,” I muttered with faux nonchalance.
When I took another sip, I couldn't help but notice how his eyes tracked the movement of my throat as I swallowed.
“You’re allowed to enjoy it if you want.” Wolfe raised his brows and continued observing me.
I didn’t answer. I just drank the wine and allowed my mind the respite where I imagined Emabelle sitting here sharing it with me.
“See, you don't have to be on edge all the time,” he taunted.
“You're literally keeping me captive on this ship like a pirate, sailing to some unknown land. What exactly did you expect,gratitude?”
Wolfe chuckled. “In all my years, no one has ever called me a pirate to my face.”
“Hard to believe no one's been that honest before.”
“It's true. I've lived many lifetimes, and you've managed it twice in one day. You're either very brave or very lucky.”
That’s the second time he’d hinted at his age. This morning, he said he had decades of practice. Now he was talking about lifetimes. How long was a lifetime to him? “Exactly how old are you?”
He arched a brow, slow and deliberate, looking like he was fascinated with me again. He grabbed another goblet and poured himself some wine, then took a sip before returning his gaze to me.
“How old do you think I am?” His question carried a strange weight, as though testing me.
I hated questions like that. I always felt bad if I got it wrong and caused offence.
I studied him closely, trying to see beyond the intimidation. Past the wild beard and the crude power in Wolfe's expression, I searched for clues in the youthful aspects of his face and decided again that he had to be around Thayden’s age. “Twenty-eight?”
Wolfe laughed and it transformed his face completely. The sharp edges of menace softened, genuine warmth crinkling the corners of his eyes. The laugh was nothing like the terrifying rumble I'd heard before. It revealed something softer beneath the monster.
“No, little mage. I am definitely nottwenty-eight. I can't even remember what it was like to be that age. Try again.”
I gazed back at him, stumped. Something in his voice reminded me of the village elders when they spoke of their youth. It was distant and wistful yet tinged with all the experiences of life, both good and bad.
“Thirty-eight,” I ventured, adding a decade.
“I'm three hundred years old.” He said it simply.
My mouth dropped open and I gazed at him with eyes so wide I feared they might fall out of my head. “Three…hundred? What? But you don’t look…”
