Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
A tlas’s soul ached.
It didn’t matter if he was still furious at Everinne for rejecting him, for denying the bond, because it was there, bleeding from him to her, binding them.
He’d heard her whisper his name as keenly as if her lips had brushed his ear, and the sound of her voice in his mind did something to him, left him filled with a deep, insatiable kind of longing.
For years, years , he’d known she was fated to be his, to belong to him, and he’d suffered in agonizing silence.
He’d lost himself to surface level pleasure, pretending the next lover would be good enough, seeing Everinne’s face every time he shared the bed of another female.
He watched as she danced a waltz with death, slipping further from his grasp with each reckless twirl, and now that the truth was finally splayed open between them, Everinne had struck him where it hurt the most.
There would be time later to convince her to come to her senses, to have her accept him as her mate.
Right now, he had to figure out why immortals with rare magic were vanishing, and who was taking them.
Caedian had chosen the Dancing Nymph as their meeting point with Rozalie and Valaina.
While the parlor was ideal for its secluded seating arrangements behind veils of glamour, moody lighting, and a panache for the discreet, Atlas wished his Captain of the Guard had picked a place where he wasn’t so famously known.
Atlas had spent more than his fair of time tucked away inside the numerous dancing rooms of the parlor, drinking and fucking his way into a mediocre oblivion.
No sooner had they arrived than he was swarmed by half-naked females, each one vying for his attention and whispering lustful promises as he passed them.
Caedian guided him to one of the back rooms of the pleasure hall, where sheer draperies of scarlet and gold swirled like silky mist, framed with black beaded curtains.
Music floated between rooms and the winding halls, a low, melodic cadence highlighted by sensual moans.
The scent of heady floral perfume lingered in the air, coupled with the minty smoke of freshly lit stigs and expensive alcohol.
Gilded floors reflected warm faerie fire from ornately shaped lanterns lining the walls, casting flickering shadows and glimpses of golden light.
A shimmering ward was cast over the far back room of the Dancing Nymph, its gossamer facade impenetrable by sight, allowing those within to speak freely, their voices muffled and unrecognizable to anyone outside of the magical barrier.
Atlas walked through it, with Caedian on his heels, and a tingling sensation floated over him.
His skin prickled and the hairs along the back of his neck stood on end as he moved through the layers of enchantment.
It was like wading through a river of honey, thick and warm, smelling heavily of citrusy woods.
Inside the room, Veros was already waiting for them.
He lounged in an ebony chair, his elbow propped on the cushions, his legs stretched out before him.
The Lord of Time was dressed in his court finery—sleek black pants tailored with gold thread, a crisp white button-down shirt, and he twirled the chain of his timepiece around his finger, spinning it through the air.
Rozalie was there as well, perched on a crimson sofa that seemed to curve like a wave.
The High Priestess watched Atlas carefully as he entered, her sharp green gaze narrowing slightly before she inclined her head in acknowledgement.
Valaina was there as well, sprawled on a pile of silk floor pillows, with Davorin standing watch right behind her.
His arms were crossed and his mouth was pulled into a harsh scowl, as though he’d rather be anywhere else than in the company of a fae and a witch.
“I assume there’s no need for introductions or pleasantries.” Atlas discarded his winter coat, tossing it over the back of a chair embroidered with red roses. He rolled the cuffs of his sleeves, meeting the knowing gaze of every soul in the room. “Let’s discuss what we know so far.”
“Immortals are disappearing.” Davorin canted his head to one side, the hue of golden light playing off his deep umber skin.
One side of his head was shaved smooth, the rest of his hair falling in long, intricately woven twists to his shoulders.
He huffed out a breath of frustration. “And Kralv Oldrich is doing nothing to stop it.”
“Exactly. Which is why I’m here.” Atlas rolled his neck once, then dropped into the embroidered chair, motioning for Caedian to step forward. “Captain, how many immortals have gone missing?”
Caedian stood at attention, tucking his hands behind his back. “In the course of the past six months, twelve immortals in total. Two vampires, three witches, and seven fae.”
He cleared his throat, glancing down at his polished boots. “And those are only the ones whose absences have been noticed and reported.”
“There could be more?” Rozalie asked, twisting the large onyx ring she wore around her finger.
“Yes, High Priestess.” Caedian nodded firmly, his broad shoulders expanding with tension.
“There very well could be many more. Especially when you consider the trooping and solitary fae. Not only that, but we don’t know if these disappearances are localized to Prava, or if they are more widespread. ”
Widespread, meaning other kingdoms and realms…something Atlas hadn’t even considered.
“Lord Veros and I were discussing the matter, and one rather distinguishable conclusion has been drawn.” Atlas shifted in his seat, leaning his weight to one side. “All of these immortals have something in common.”
Davorin scoffed. “Unlikely.”
“Hush, Dav darling,” Valaina admonished with a wave of her slender hand. “Let the prince speak.”
Davorin glowered, his piercing gold eyes narrowing.
Atlas ignored him. “They each possess a rare magic or power.”
At that, Davorin seemed to waver on his feet.
He rocked back slightly, then squeezed his eyes shut.
The vampire’s mouth pulled into a hard line, and when he opened his eyes once more, his gaze dipped to where Valaina sat up from the cushions, her long nails sinking into the plush fabric.
Her pale blonde hair was piled high on her head, woven into delicate braids and wispy curls.
Rubies dangled from her ears and neck like drops of blood, and when she spoke, the lushness of her voice was replaced by a sharpened edge.
“This is terribly distressing.” The blue of her eyes grew colder. “More so than I originally imagined.”
“Indeed,” Rozalie agreed. Though her hands were folded gently in her lap, Atlas took note of the way her knuckles whitened, of the way she gripped her fingers so tightly, he thought she’d snap her own bones.
“Your Imperial Highness, if what you and Lord Veros speak is the truth, then these immortals aren’t simply disappearing. ”
Apprehension carved into Atlas’s gut, hollowing him out.
Rozalie swallowed, the golden bronze of her cheeks fading slightly. “They’re being hunted.”
Fuck.
Atlas raked a hand through his hair, shoving the curls back from his face.
That singular word haunted him, spread through him like a plague.
He stole a glance at Veros, and though his closest friend maintained an expression of calm neutrality, it was his eyes that gave him away.
They were a storm of worry, clouded with swells of panic and dread.
Atlas hated that he didn’t realize it sooner, because the memory that was troubling the Lord of Time was the very same one that tormented him the most.
Everinne had been hunted once.
She’d almost lost her life.
“This should come as no surprise to any of us.” Valaina held out her hand to Davorin, and he swiftly pulled her to her feet, his arm wrapping snugly around her waist, their fluid movements blurred around the edges.
She rubbed her painted red lips together once.
Twice. “They have existed for centuries. Vampire hunters. Witch hunters. Fae hunters. And they’ve all always had something in common as well. ”
“Human,” Davorin ground the word out as rage rolled off him, flooding the space with tension. “The hunters are always human.”
“Wait a minute.” Atlas lifted one hand, leveling the fuming vampire with a look of malice. “We cannot just assume the humans, or mortals dwelling within the city limits of Starysa in general, are the ones to blame for this.”
“And why not?” Davorin growled, his fangs lengthening. “They’ve done it before.”
A valid point.
The man who hunted Everinne was a human.
Still, doubt prodded at the back of Atlas’s mind.
“What motive would they have?” Veros asked, drumming his finger idly along the arm of his chair.
Strands of dark hair fell in front of his face, concealing his eyes, but it did nothing to hide his growing disdain for the male vampire.
“They are treated as equals here in Prava. They would have no reason to suddenly start ambushing immortals and making off with them in the middle of the night.”
“Not only that,” Caedian interjected, moving closer to stand by Atlas’s chair.
“But the humans who live in Starysa specifically aren’t exactly educated in magic.
They know nothing of our true capabilities, of our raw nature.
If they are behind this, and I think the chances of that are incredibly slim, then someone of significant power would have to be the one calling the shots.
And the bounty would have to be of great value. ”
“My dear Captain,” Valaina crooned, her smile one of pure seduction laced with poison. “I think you are underestimating the workings of the human mind.”