Chapter 29 #3
“I’m not afraid,” Everinne scoffed, forging her spine into steel. At least not of the Marzena. “I’m just wary.”
Because she knew if she ventured into the Marzena with him, she might not ever be found.
Zoryana had been there before a handful of times with her mother, Rozalie, and the accounts she’d given Everinne were both intriguing and frightening.
The Marzena was filled with shops of the cryptic, a place where one could sell secrets in exchange for goods or wares both mystical and diabolic in nature.
It was a market for the unfamiliar, the bizarre, and eccentric—not once had Everinne imagined it would also house taverns and parlors, but that was exactly what she discovered.
Doors were built into the side of archaic brick walls, some of them carved with runes or words in other languages Everinne couldn’t read or decipher.
Panes of glass were crushed between cave openings and held in place with bronze bars.
They were grimy and decorated with cobwebs, making it almost impossible to see what lay beyond the murky windows.
Dozens of people loitered in the dank tunnels—witches, fae, and vampires alike—most of them smoking stigs, sipping drinks, and speaking in hushed tones.
She felt their eyes latch onto her as she passed, appraising her like she was ripe for the picking, and despite her better judgment, she inched closer to Jarek’s side.
“Never been down here before, have you?” Jarek murmured, pausing in front of a nondescript door engraved with whorls and jagged runes.
“I can’t say I’ve ever had the need, it’s like a whole other…” Everinne’s voice trailed off as Jarek knocked on the door and the design of the runes glowed an ethereal blue color.
“World?” he suggested and pulled the door wide. “You could say that.”
His hand released her neck and moved to the small of her back, ushering her into a cramped alcove where wraith-like arms sifted in the shadows, reaching from the dank, arching walls to grab her.
Phantom fingertips skimmed her hips and abdomen, the frozen tendrils curling around her throat and tangling in her hair.
She smacked at them, panic building and bubbling inside her as the icy ribbons of death grabbed at her thighs.
“Keep walking.” Jarek nudged her toward a hollow exit where a glow of amber light flickered, as though it might sputter out at any moment. “If you stop moving, they’ll steal your soul.”
She snorted, her lip curling. “What, like you?”
“I don’t steal souls, Ever.” He snared her wrist and dragged her into the golden wash of amber light. “I sell them.”
Her mouth fell open in horror as he dragged her further into a room where the crush of bodies was overwhelming.
Stagnant air tainted with the stench of mildew, sweat, and cheap alcohol assaulted her, caused her head to spin and her pulse to pound.
There was music, but it was a low, dull thumping kind of sound, and could barely be heard over the cacophony of voices resonating up into the vaulted ceiling.
A rickety bar was shoved against the far corner, made from uneven hardwood planks and a slab of black marble.
Lanterns of cold iron swung overhead from rusty chains, and the lethal metallic odor sent a tremor of awareness skittering down her spine.
Not safe. The words blared in the back of her mind.
This place was not safe.
She needed to leave. Immediately.
But Jarek’s grip on her wrist was like a clamp of cold iron. Powerful and deadly.
Everywhere she looked, she was met with more of the same—people dressed in varying shades of black—some wore long dresses, others were in skin-tight pants and tops that barely covered their breasts.
The males were in pants, many of them without shirts, their muscled bodies glinting with the sheen of sweat.
They moved and swayed in tandem, shouting over one another as they lost themselves to the hypnotic beat of music she couldn’t quite hear.
“Drink up.” Jarek shoved a glass into her hands, and she frowned at the gold-colored substance.
“What is it?” she asked, sniffing. It smelled of whiskey and herbs, not at all appealing. Not to mention the glass was dingy and looked as though it had never been washed.
“Drink first,” he ordered, tilting the cup to her mouth. “Questions later.”
Everinne intended to only take a small sip, but then Jarek grabbed the bottom of the glass and lifted it, forcing the tepid contents down her throat.
She winced and choked the alcohol down, hating the way it spilled from the corner of her mouth to her chin.
It burned like whiskey, but tasted of pine, rotten berries, and dirt.
Swallowing hard, Everinne knocked his hand away and jerked backward.
“What the hell was that for?” she rasped, wishing she had a glass of water to wash the foul contents out of her mouth.
“Questions later,” he repeated, sliding his thumb along her bottom lip. Jarek’s eyes glowed with demonic power, the honey-gold of them streaked with tiny veins of black. “Dance with me.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Already, tiny beads of sweat gathered at the nape of her neck and slid down her spine.
The alcohol had settled in the pit of her gut, where it sloshed and soured her stomach.
Excessive warmth spread through her, as though her entire body was engulfed in white-hot flames, likely the result of whatever drink Jarek had given her.
She blinked, and the world swirled into a blend of misshapen forms and muted colors.
“You’re not married yet, Everinne. One dance won’t hurt.
” Jarek was closer now, looming over her.
She listed to one side, and he caught her by her waist. “Besides, do you remember who you’re marrying?
I highly doubt Prince Atlas is sitting at home in his palace waiting for you to return. He earned his reputation for a reason.”
“No…that’s not, that’s not the real Atlas.” Everinne frowned, trying to focus on Jarek’s face, but it was blurry, and a wave of nausea swept through her. “I know him.”
“Sure you do.” He hauled her against him, fisting his hand against her lower back, and tugged.
The laces of her corset pulled tight, and she stumbled into him, gasping for air.
He yanked harder and the bones lining the bodice dug into her ribs, crushing her lungs.
She thrashed against him, tried to fight him off, but her movements were slow and sluggish, like slogging through a mountain of wet sand.
Heat bled into her cheeks, and she sucked in a labored breath.
Again, she twisted, attempting to claw her way out of his hold, when something stung her shoulder.
Everinne screamed.
Hot pain seared her skin, so intense that her vision went black, and for a moment, she thought she would pass out.
Ash and brimstone clogged her senses, making it impossible to breathe.
Jarek released her then, smirking as she stumbled away from him.
Her knees nearly gave out and she staggered backward, trying desperately not to trip over her own feet.
Dazed, she veered through the crowd of people dancing and shouting, her inability to remain upright increasing with every passing second.
Her mind was muddled, full of incoherent musings and disoriented thoughts as she was jostled and groped, trying to find her way out.
There was a swell of movement behind her, and she pitched forward, slamming right into a solid wall.
She threw her hands up, recognizing cool satin beneath her palms.
Not a wall then, but a chest.
“So…s-sorry.” Everinne’s knees weakened, and she thought the floor might fall out from under her until a strong hand wrapped around her arm.
“Easy there,” a masculine voice sounded from somewhere above her.
Above? Was she on the ground? She could no longer tell the difference. She craned her neck back, blinking rapidly to see who, or what, had caught her this time. Cast half in shadows, she peered up and spied a handsome face, long twists of midnight hair, and the flash of fangs.
Perfect.
A vampire.
“I know you.” His velvety voice seemed to be everywhere at once, like a distant echo.
Everinne tried to shake her head, but her whole body moved, and bile scalded the back of her throat. She was going to be sick.
“Yes, I do,” said the vampire. “You dance at the Mystic Obscura. I’ve seen you there. But you’re also engaged to the Prince of Prava, are you not?”
Prince. Atlas. Home.
“Atlas.” She managed to get his name out in one long, sluggish sound.
Her knees softened and her head lolled to the side. Each breath was a fight. She swore she was burning, that she’d been devoured by riotous flames, but her teeth were chattering and her hands were like ice.
The vampire took hold of her other arm. “What in the bleeding skies are you doing here?”
“Please,” she croaked, her voice hoarse. Her tongue felt thick and papery. “I need…home.”
“Yeah, I’d say so.” He braced her elbow with his hand. “Come on, I’ll get you back to the palace.”
“What’s…” Her eyelids continued to droop until she wasn’t sure she could keep them open any longer. “Name?”
“You can call me Davorin.”
She repeated his name in her mind, but it came out all wrong, slurred together and unintelligible. “Dav…vrrrin”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he grumbled. He wrapped one arm around her waist, then scooped her off her feet. “Hold on to me and don’t let go.”
Everinne clutched at the satin of his shirt, slumping against his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut as the world swirled around her in a haze of colors. Frigid air and the rush of power surrounded her, cryptic and dark, and then there was nothing at all.