10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Evandra
I sat at the farthest corner table in the tavern, my fingernail tracing the knots and grooves in the aged wood.
It was a futile attempt to keep my mind occupied, to push away the dissatisfaction with the event that was about to take place.
Last night, the encounter with Drake burned behind my ribs; today, I have a date with Colin.
The air felt heavy, the room too quiet despite the hum of conversation from the other patrons.
I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to the dream.
Colin’s shredded features, the visceral horror etched into his face, the relentless tearing of claws.
Was it truly a vision of the future or just a twisted nightmare born of my fear and confusion?
I sighed, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
If I felt like I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here.
But in Winshire, choices were often a luxury.
Refusing Colin Junior’s advances outright was one thing, but standing him up tonight?
That was another matter entirely. You didn’t offend the wealthiest family in town without consequence, and those consequences wouldn’t just fall on me—they’d fall on my father, too.
So here I sat, waiting for Colin to make his grand appearance, trapped between obligation and revulsion.
Eldrake’s face flashed across my mind. His molten silver eyes, the way his scales shimmered in the candlelight, his rough voice low and commanding.
I imagined how those scales would feel against my bare skin, the texture of them brushing over me.
My fingers on his broad chest. I gasped, heat pooling low in my belly, and I shifted again, trying to quell the thoughts.
This was ridiculous.
The copper bell above the door rang, jolting me from my reverie. My heart sank as Colin strode inside, his presence a sharp contrast to the heat and intrigue of my imaginings.
“Good evening, Evandra,” he greeted me in that nasal tone of his, his voice grating against my nerves.
He sauntered over to me, his slim frame outlined in what was unmistakably a new, tailored white suit.
The candlelight reflected off his slicked-back blonde hair, giving him a polished, almost artificial sheen.
His blue eyes bore into me with an intensity I couldn’t describe as anything but… entitled.
“Hello, Colin,” I replied, forcing my voice into something resembling civility but failing to mask the chill beneath it.
He extended his elbow toward me, a gesture so practiced and stiff it felt like a command.
Reluctantly, I slid my hand into the crook of his arm, silently steeling myself for whatever this “date” would entail.
We stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin as we walked down the cobblestone street. The inn faded behind us, and I kept my eyes on the uneven stones beneath my feet, my mind already bargaining with itself.
An hour, I told myself. I’ll listen to him talk for an hour, maybe offer a quick peck on the cheek, and then he’ll let me go home.
The thought brought me no comfort. No matter how I spun it, I felt trapped, my chest tightening with every step. As Colin droned on about something—likely his father’s business or his imagined grandeur—I tuned him out, my thoughts drifting once more to Eldrake.
Would I see him again tonight?
The idea sent a flicker of warmth through me, a strange and fleeting hope amidst the monotony of Colin’s presence. But for now, all I could do was endure.
“You couldn’t have dressed up a bit?” Colin sneered, his eyes raking over me with barely concealed disdain. “My, Eva, it looks like you’ve just woken up.” I rolled my eyes, biting back a retort. He wasn’t worth the effort.
“How was your day?” he asked, his tone forced, as if he were attempting polite small talk but couldn’t be bothered to hide his condescension. I couldn’t help but compare his oily grin to Drake’s molten silence...
“Fine,” I said shortly, shrugging. “Yours?” I could at least manage simple conversation, though my lack of enthusiasm must have been apparent.
That was all the invitation he needed. He launched into a long-winded ramble about his prize horse again, his voice grating against my ears like nails on stone.
I’d banked on him doing most of the talking—less effort for me—but I quickly regretted it.
I had nothing to say to him. Nothing I wanted to say to him.
I cursed myself again for agreeing to this farce of a date. I tried to tune him out, though the occasional phrase managed to break through the haze of my disinterest.
“He wasn’t even wearing cufflinks!” I caught, his voice laced with indignation, as though the absence of cufflinks were a personal affront to his existence.
I rolled my eyes again, suppressing a groan.
Irritation. It seemed to be the only emotion he could elicit from me.
What was I even doing here, trudging alongside him, when my mind was spinning in circles of DrakeDrakeDrake?
We walked a half mile down the moonlit street, passing familiar landmarks that should have felt comforting but only reminded me of how small my world had always been.
The general store and the tailor’s shop stood silent; their shutters closed tight against the cool night.
Mr. Peters’s chickens clucked softly in their coop, nestled beside the burnt rubble of what was once my childhood home.
My chest tightened at the sight, but I quickly looked away, unwilling to let the past pull me under.
Finally, we passed the doctor’s house, its windows were dark, signaling that even he had retired for the night.
Colin’s voice droned on beside me, filling the empty spaces with his complaints and self-important musings.
By the time we reached the bench at the edge of town, it felt like an eternity had passed.
The bench overlooked the babbling creek that marked the border of Winshire, its gentle whispers the only sound breaking the oppressive silence.
Beyond the creek, the forest loomed—just as dark, just as silent as the woods on the east side of town.
I tilted my head back, letting my gaze drift up to the glittering sky.
But no matter how beautiful the night was, no matter how serene the creek or how vast the sky, my thoughts kept returning to one place. One person.
“And that’s why she makes a better show horse than anything.” Colin concluded, his voice tinged with self-satisfaction.
“Wow.” I said flatly, offering only the barest acknowledgment.
“You’re a good listener.” he said, turning toward me with a sleazy, practiced smile that he likely flashed all the girls.
I returned his look with my best thin-lipped grin that felt like it looked like a scowl.
I hoped it conveyed just how little I cared.
My gaze flicked to his upper lip, where a faint, wispy mustache perched awkwardly. I hated it.
Colin leaned in, his intentions clear, and my body responded before my mind could fully register what was happening.
Is he going in for a kiss!? I instinctively recoiled, leaning back as his cloying cologne assaulted my senses—a sickly mix of musk and something overly sweet.
He hesitated, his face twitching as he pivoted, pretending he’d simply been brushing a stray hair from my cheek.
He didn’t acknowledge the rejection, though the stiffness in his movements betrayed his bruised ego.
My Gods, he’s insufferable.
A breeze swept past, cold enough to raise goosebumps on my skin. The air around us was unnervingly silent, the usual sounds of the forest absent. I glanced around, my ears straining, but there was nothing—just Colin’s incessant voice.
“So, Eva , how’s Philip?” he asked, his tone overly casual as he peered at me, his use of my nickname deliberate and grating. I stared straight ahead, determined not to meet his gaze. I knew if I did, he’d take it as an invitation to try and kiss me again.
“My father is fine,” I replied tersely, my voice sharp. “And my name is Evandra. To you, at least.”
“Look, Evandra, ” he drawled, over-enunciating the name as though mocking me.
“Just for a moment, set your prejudices aside and think about what it would be like to be married to the richest and most important man within a 25-mile radius,” he purred, leaning closer, his bony hand landing too high on my thigh.
My body stiffened in revulsion. His pale, spidery fingers gripped me possessively like I was something he’d already claimed.
“Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” he continued, a smirk curling his thin lips.
“I know you’d clean up nice if we got you some decent clothes,” he leaned in further.
Slowly. Deliberately. His nose grazed the side of my neck as he inhaled deeply.
My stomach turned. His cologne singed the back of my throat.
I stood abruptly, knocking his hand away. “Get away from me!” but before I could put real space between us, his fingers clamped around my elbow, painfully tight. I gasped as he yanked me back toward him.
“Think of what I could give you,” he hissed, his breath hot and sour against my cheek. His grip tightened. “And all you’d need to give me in return…” His other hand slid beneath my skirt, fingers brushing the soft skin of my inner thigh. “…is you.”
My breath hitched. I froze.
No. No, no, no?—
His eyes raked over me—my dress, my messy hair, my tired face. He sneered. “It’s not like men are lining up around the block to court… this .”
Hot tears began to blur my vision. Humiliation. Disgust. Rage. And before the pain of his words could settle, my hand moved on instinct.
CRACK.