Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
T here was something mystical about the first snowfall in Prava.
Even though the seemingly endless night was upon them and the skies were dark and heavy with clouds, streetlamps burning with golden light highlighted the cascading pieces of lace as they fell from the heavens.
They twirled and danced, billowed in reckless abandon with the frigid wind, and Everinne tilted her head back, letting the flakes cling to her lashes and melt against her cheeks.
Gazing up in wonder, she stared at the halo of the moon, its silver light hazy and obscured. Not a single star in the sky could be seen, and for one breathless moment, it felt as though she was standing in the midst of a snow globe, with only stillness and the eternal beauty of winter around her.
Until the crackle of fire sparked to life and the logs of the bonfire to celebrate Zemni Boheme were set aflame.
The pile of logs and wood chips were stoked, surrounded by slabs of black granite imbued with arcane magic to keep the fire going through the longest nights.
Situated in the center of Starysa, it was guaranteed to burn bright enough until the first rosebud of spring.
Not that it ever truly lasted that long, for eventually, the sun would take its time sinking across the western sky and the days would lengthen.
The cold season, however, was when Prava was most vulnerable.
In the winter, those who had been alive for hundreds of years held their breath, and prayed the woods continued their slumber.
A few musicians gathered near one of the empty fountains, their instruments striking evocative chords, blending into a haunting melody to welcome the upcoming Winter Solstice.
The music stirred something inside of Everinne, its poignancy reminding her of evenings spent cuddled around a hearth, of soft voices and warm embraces, of stories of lore and songs of the season.
A time, she thought with an ache in her heart, that was lost to her.
Memories of her youth that were stolen by the wicked wood.
The faces of her parents were a keepsake in her mind, locked away by time, by Veros, so she never forgot them.
Yet, she could scarcely recall their voices.
So, she’d relegated her mother to the tinkling of faerie bells and her father to the sound of rainfall against stone.
The heat of the silver flames fanned Everinne’s face, drawing her back from the recess of her thoughts as warmth spread through the fur-lined coat she wore.
She shifted her weight, boots crunching in the growing layer of snow, and though she was tempted to loop her arm through Atlas’s, she thought better of it, shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat instead.
She’d forgotten her gloves—again—and the biting cold was already nipping at her fingers, leaving the skin pink and chapped.
As if sensing her discomfort, Atlas draped an arm casually around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, the heat from his body far warmer than the fire blazing before them.
He slid two fingers under her chin, tilting her face up to him, the green and gold of his eyes more alluring than ever. They danced with the flames of the fire.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, where his lips curved into a sensual smile, but then something just beyond his tall frame caught her eye. Against the play of light and shadow, through the hazy smoke, she saw Kralv Oldrich studying her. Watching her. Gauging her reactions to his son.
Atlas lowered his head and Everinne stiffened in his arms, her palms coming to rest on his chest in a poor attempt to push him away.
“Your father is watching ,” she warned, the words sharing the space between their minds.
Atlas’s brow lifted. “In that case…”
He grabbed her throat, fingers digging into the back of her neck as he dragged her against him.
She clutched at his arms as a spike of alarm pierced her spine, a strangled gasp barely escaping her when he increased the pressure, just enough to frighten her.
Everinne’s gaze snapped up and she found Atlas staring back at her, his eyes cold with unfamiliar cruelty.
When he smiled, it was laced with malice, as though he’d donned a mask of deceit, morphing back into the character of the famed prince of pleasure.
“That’s the thing about marriage, Everinne.” Atlas spoke loudly, drawing the curious gaze of onlookers who lurked by the roaring fire. From beyond the silver gleam of flames, the kralv’s dark eyes narrowed. “I can kiss you anytime I want.”
His mouth crashed against hers in a brutal, punishing meeting of lips. He bit hard, nearly drawing blood, and then devoured her whimper of surprise. Curling her fingers into his coat, she held on tightly, gripping the thick fabric as his tongue lashed her own in angry strokes.
“Fight me. ” Despite his merciless kiss and the grip he held on her throat, his voice wove through her like ribbons of cool silk, soft and tempting.
Everinne shifted, tried to break free from him, but his mouth on hers was like drinking from a well of goddess-blessed water, and she was dying of thirst.
Atlas’s answering chuckle caused heat to bloom low in her belly, sent shivers of longing shuddering down her spine so her nipples hardened to aching peaks, and a sigh of pleasure escaped her.
He slid his thumb lazily up the column of her throat. “ You’ll have to do better than that if you want him to believe you don’t love me.”
Everinne frowned and her eyes fluttered open.
Again, she caught Atlas staring at her, but it was different this time.
Like he was daring her, challenging her.
And she decided there was something delightfully sinful about kissing someone with her eyes open.
Caught in the mesmerizing pull of the lusty green and gold of his gaze, she couldn’t look away.
Instead, Everinne scraped her teething along his bottom lip, tugging lightly.
“I never said I love you.”
“Really?” He angled his head, deepening their kiss, and the featherlight brush of his fingers traced her jawline. “So, it wasn’t love when you sucked my cock while it was sandwiched between your breasts?”
Shock slammed into her, and she shoved away from him then, shame coloring her cheeks at his crude dismissal of their shared intimacy.
“You bastard,” she hissed, rearing back to slap that damning smirk and those stupidly adorable dimples right off his face.
But Atlas was faster.
He snagged her wrist midair and twisted, spinning her around so her back was pressed firmly against his chest, and she was pinned in his arms.
“Good girl,” he whispered, his breath skating past her ear and across her cheek. “That was much more believable.”
Sure enough, as much as she hated to admit it, he was right.
Past the spit of flames and curls of smoke, Everinne spied Kralv Oldrich.
Shadows crawled up half of his face and the expression he wore was one of calculating interest. If she could make him believe she was merely going along with his plan, dancing for him like a puppet, then she would be able to keep Atlas safe.
But if the kralv suspected for one moment that there was something between them, be it a mating bond or even something as simple as mutual affection, she would be putting both of them in danger.
Everinne schooled her face into frustration, giving the appearance of tempered rage, as though she’d rather be anywhere else than in Atlas’s arms. But while she remained trapped against him, she carefully made note of their surroundings.
The bonfire to celebrate Zemni Boheme was not nearly as lively as in years past. Not a single witch was present.
Toward the outskirts of the center’s square, just beyond the reach of firelight, a handful of vampires lurked in the shadows, lounging against the wall of an alley.
There were a few fae scattered about, mostly in pairs or small groups, and none of them mingled with the humans who were present.
In fact, the majority of the onlookers were mortal, and they clustered together like a flock of lambs, their eyes shifty, their movements restless.
It was their whispers, however, that gave Everinne pause.
“I hear they’re being hunted, and that Kralv Oldrich is doing nothing to stop it.”
Hunted.
Everinne’s ears perked, and she listened closely to the conversation being discussed among a group of well-dressed mortals who looked as though they had money to burn and smelled as though they’d spent most of it at one of the city’s parlors.
“That’s terrible news for us.” A woman with silky blonde hair shook her head. “Humans are almost always blamed for such atrocities.”
“Do you think they’ll come after us?” It was a man who spoke this time, his voice low and husky.
“I don’t know, I hope not.” The blonde moved closer to the group, and her paranoid whisper floated through the air. “But I heard the daughter of High Priestess Rozalie was missing, and that does not bode well.”
Everinne’s heart tumbled, dropping into the acidic pit of her stomach.
Bile scalded the back of her throat. Certainly, she misheard.
It was impossible, there was no way Zoryana was missing.
She was safe, she was hiding in the Deszvila Forest. No one would dare go looking for her there.
One moment, she was being cradled in Atlas’s arms and the next she was ripping away from him, stalking toward the small gathering of humans.
“What did you say?” she asked, though it came out as more of a demand.
Her tone was all wrong, it was threatening, and the mortals reared back, glimmers of fright reflected in their wide-eyed gazes. Their fear was palpable and lingered heavily in the air.
She tried again, quieter this time, vaguely aware that Atlas was now standing right beside her, his hand gripping her wrist. “Please. Tell me what you know.”