Chapter 29 #2
Everinne’s stomach lurched, dread roiled within her like a pit of acidic despair. Her palms became cool and damp, and she clutched Aisling’s hands tighter. “For how long?”
The pretty rose hue coloring Aisling’s cheeks waned. “Forever.”
Bile scalded the back of Everinne’s throat, she should have listened to Atlas, to Veros, but before she could respond, the door of the dressing room groaned open. She half expected it to be Reine, but it was Jarek who stood there instead, and his honey-colored eyes were zeroed in on her.
He wore a steel gray overcoat that fell around him like churning storm clouds and a black ribbed sweater that hugged his muscular frame.
His pants were trim and tucked into polished boots with silver chains that clinked together as he stepped into the dressing room.
He’d slicked back his brown hair so it swept away from his face, and his jaw was clenched so severely, Everinne swore she could strike a match against his cut jawline and it would ignite.
Skull rings still adorned his fingers, but she didn’t miss the way his hands fisted at his side before he quickly relaxed them.
His gaze flicked toward Aisling, and he jerked his head to the open door.
“I require a word with Everinne.” His voice was cold, lacking its usual charm, and it was as though his very presence leached all the warmth from the room.
A shiver of trepidation trekked down Everinne’s spine, and though she held onto Aisling’s hands firmly, her friend pulled herself from her grasp.
“Of course, Jarek.” Aisling ducked her head and shuffled past him, like she was trying to make herself as small as possible to avoid any more of his notice. “I was just leaving.”
Jarek waited until she left, until the door clicked closed behind her, before he spoke. He tucked his hands behind his back, leveling her with a penetrating stare. “I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to offer my congratulations.”
Everinne found that very difficult to believe.
“Thank you, but if you’d excuse me, I need to change.” She forced a practiced smile, hoping she wouldn’t give herself away. The last thing she wanted was for him to have the upper hand, for him to know his company left her tense, radiating with apprehension.
“I quite like what you’re wearing now,” he drawled, his gaze slowly raking over her.
He tracked the midnight satin bodice that was intolerably snug, seeming to admire the way it shoved up her breasts and cinched her waist to the point of pain.
His eyes dipped lower, to the high cut of the bodysuit that put her hips on full display, then to the sheer, diamond-studded stockings that clung to her upper thighs.
She fought back the urge to squirm beneath his lingering assessment, wishing she’d chosen to wear boots instead of absurdly high heels, as they would be much easier to run in if she found herself needing to escape.
The urge to flee was growing increasingly stronger with each passing second.
Jarek strode over to the vanity and propped himself against its cluttered edge, folding his arms across his broad chest. The skull rings he wore twinkled in the glowing lights above him.
“So, the Prince of Prava,” he mused, running his tongue along his teeth. “I never would have pegged you for the blond royal type.”
Everinne stiffened, locking her spine and rolling her shoulders back. “I don’t have a type.”
“Don’t you though?” He angled his head as he considered her, one dark brow raising in question.
“You fancy males who walk with an air of danger, whose very kiss could mean life or death. Isn’t that the sort that usually draws your eye?
” Jarek shoved off the vanity and strode closer, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to step away from him.
“Prince Atlas pined over you for years, but his loyalty to your brother held him back. And Callum…well, he lusted after his faerie prize, even though he was sworn to slay you. So, perhaps that was where I went wrong by moving too quickly. I should have chased you first.”
Everinne swallowed her shock, and a spike of fear lanced straight through her heart.
Alarm pebbled her skin with goosebumps, and she suppressed a shudder.
Her magic snarled at the threat and she wrapped her arms around herself, grasping at the fraying fibers of her control.
She could not lose herself to her power here, not in front of Jarek.
It was bad enough Kralv Oldrich intended to wield her as a weapon for his own devices, and the last thing she wanted to do was fall prey to another male’s desire to command her.
She had no idea how Jarek knew about Callum, but she would not give him the satisfaction of realizing he’d taken her by surprise.
Nor would she display any outward panic, no matter how unsettled his words left her.
He inhaled deeply, as if trying to pinpoint her scent. “Is that it? Would the pretty Everinne Auvyre prefer to be hunted?”
Her heartbeat quickened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She attempted to dismiss his claims with casual indifference, but her voice wavered, shaking her confidence.
Jarek loomed over her, and he grazed her cheek with his knuckles, the metal of the skull rings he wore chilling her skin. “Pity you chose him over me. We could have been so good together.”
“My choices are my own,” she muttered, even if they were forced upon her.
“So they are.” The corner of his mouth curved in a wicked half smile. “Come with me to the afterparty tonight.”
“I’m afraid I’m needed at the palace. Atlas is expecting my return.” Everinne turned away in search of her clothing. There was no time to change. She needed to grab everything and go, otherwise she might not ever get out. “My absence will be noticed.”
Cold fingers gripped the back of her neck and she froze, panic rushing over her in crashing waves.
Dark magic prodded at her mind, seeking entry.
It assaulted her, pinning her in place, and her head snapped backward.
Screams and pleas for mercy echoed in her ears, the sound of a thousand lost souls.
She winced, squeezing her eyes shut, as a whimper escaped her and the pungent scent of ash and brimstone overwhelmed her senses.
“You mistake me, milazk.” Jarek kept his hand planted firmly in place, refusing to release her.
He applied more pressure, until his fingers were bruising, forcing her to look up into his face where she finally saw the truth of his power.
His eyes burned with the flames of an inferno and his flesh thinned to reveal the monster lurking beneath the disguise.
A vile and wicked demon summoner. His evil grin sharpened and Everinne’s knees almost gave out from under her. “I am not asking.”
The chilling grip of Jarek’s fingers remained firmly clamped around the back of Everinne’s neck as he guided her out of the dressing room and into the dimly lit, shimmering halls beneath the Mystic Obscura.
Instead of returning to the menagerie, however, it seemed as though he was taking her to another lower level altogether.
Gradually, the smooth corridor gave way to a damp tunnel of crumbling brick.
The gleaming lights of bronze sconces were replaced with makeshift torches fastened to the walls, the flames of faerie fire burning a violent red.
They descended a winding stairwell of uneven stone, each step taking her further into a convoluted maze of underground passages.
The air was cool yet thick, like walking through a dense layer of fog in the Deszvila Forest, coating her skin like the touch of death.
Her magic pulsed through her veins, harbored yet restless, as though it was waiting for something.
It was the first time in years Everinne could sense the monstrous power inside her awaken without being subjected to the turmoil of her emotions.
For once she was calm, if not slightly unnerved, and though her deadly magic stirred to life, it did not riot or seek to escape her control.
The darkness she possessed seemed to prowl, like it was on the hunt, and her fingers tingled in response.
She coiled her hands into fists, taking in her increasingly daunting surroundings, and whispered words of pleading tranquility through her mind in an effort to quell the rising angst.
“Where is this afterparty, exactly?” she asked, her harsh whisper echoing off the cavernous walls surrounding them.
Jarek barely spared her a glance. “It’s in the Marzena.”
Everinne dug her heels into the stone and drew up short. “What?”
His answering chuckle did little to alleviate her growing dread.
He looked over at her then, and the slashes of red firelight illuminated the sharp planes of his face, making him appear possessed.
His sadistic smile reminded her of a story she’d heard as a child, about a bloodthirsty demon who used his charm to lure heedless maidens into the wicked woods of Prava, where he tempted them with promises of everlasting beauty and immortality if they swore to give their virtue to him.
Some were willing, some were not, but he took them either way, claiming the young females as his own.
It was said that during whatever carnal act he forced upon them, he sank his fangs into their breast and drained them of their blood.
Once his spend was inside the maidens, their skin turned a charred crimson, their hair fell in stringy clumps, and they were doomed to wander the forest for an eternity as nothing more than the husk of a lost soul.
Zolvost, the Demon of Lust, is what everyone called him, and his creations were deszlings .
The first time Everinne ever heard that story, she vowed to never give herself to a demon, no matter what promises they made.
Jarek applied more pressure to her neck, his nails biting against her soft flesh, urging her forward. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”