Chapter 37 #2
There was a waver in her voice, as though she didn’t quite believe herself, but the rising tide of magic quelled.
Atlas lowered his head, brushed his lips across hers once. They were icy and cold, he needed to get her back to the palace. But not without a promise. “We’ll find her, Ever. We’ll find all of them.”
A sigh escaped her but she nodded once, and when her gaze lifted to his, her eyes were hard with determination. Steadfast resolution.
And then the embers died.
A penetrating coldness sank deep into Atlas’s bones, the fangs of frost biting all the way through his warming layers until even his blood froze.
Everinne shivered in his arms and he gathered her close, his eyes straining against the slants of obscured moonlight trickling in through the door frame.
Monstrous shadows lurked just beyond shattered windows, sulking like beasts of the night.
The distinctive sound of gnashing teeth sent a shudder of apprehension racing down his spine.
There was a scrape of claws against the outer stone wall of the hut, like nails being dragged across rough granite, the kind of noise that made Atlas lock his jaw.
Again, he cursed himself for not bringing a fucking weapon.
The thatched roof creaked, and Atlas’s gaze darted skyward. He tracked the movements, gripped Everinne tighter when bits of rock and debris tumbled down the hearth.
Fuck.
This was not good.
The fragments of moonlight vanished as a massive shadow took up residency where the door to the hut should have been, and dread curdled in Atlas’s gut.
The baukvist.
He’d never seen them before, only ever heard the horrifying stories, but nothing could have prepared him for their grotesque appearance.
Two of them lurked in the door, their corpse-like bodies on full display.
Elongated bones protruded from gray stretches of decaying skin pulled taut over rotten muscle.
A foul, putrid stench, like that of an unearthed grave, hung heavy in the air.
Thick and rancid. Beneath the thin layer of decomposing flesh, their corrupt hearts continued to beat, pulpy, malnourished organs that pumped black blood through their tainted veins.
They possessed yellowed, curving claws instead of nails and where their eyes should have been, there was nothing but empty, bloodied sockets, as though they’d been gouged out long ago.
Sharp, pointy teeth filled their gaping mouths and scarlet tongues, like that of a serpent, flickered out from between their papery lips, as though they were tasting the air.
Everinne jerked, her body spasming, and Atlas swiftly clamped one hand over her mouth.
“Don’t scream,” he pleaded through their bond. “ The baukvist have no sight. They rely solely upon scent and sound. Be very, very still.”
Her heart hammered in time to his, the erratic beating echoed in his ears like a ticking timepiece.
“Won’t they smell us?” her voice cracked through his mind.
“Let’s hope not.”
The heat from her nervous breaths dampened his palm, and he carefully slid one arm around her waist, ensuring she was pulled flush against him—her back pressed firmly to his chest. It would be a painful escape.
He’d only ever burst through a roof with his wings once before and he’d almost knocked himself unconscious.
He’d been absolutely shit-faced and had only done it because Veros told him it was impossible, but nevertheless, he’d survived.
So, shooting through a poorly thatched roof should be fairly easy, save for a few bumps and scratches.
Atlas’s grip on Everinne tightened.
He was a second away from summoning his wings when he felt the prickle of frost along the back of his neck.
Fuck.
The windows.
Five searing claw tips pierced his shoulder, ripping through his coat, and then Everinne screamed. She was ripped from his arms a second later.
Atlas watched, helpless, as Everinne was dragged toward the window.
She flailed and thrashed as one of the baukvist twisted her arm in a horrible angle and yanked her across the uneven floorboards.
Her keen of agony fueled a fathomless rage, and Atlas grabbed the clawed hand tearing into his flesh, wrenching himself free from its spindly grasp.
He leapt across the splintered furnishings and reached for the iron stoker that had been mangled and contorted.
It wasn’t the best weapon, but it would have to do.
The moment his fist closed around the rod of cold iron, his skin hissed and the stench of charred flesh filled his nose. He ignored the burning pain, didn’t give a fuck if his entire hand melted off, he’d be damned if he was going to let that fleshflayer take his mate.
Atlas heaved the stoker behind his head, then slammed it down with a fury, severing the monster’s arm.
It yowled in agony, snapping its jaws and swinging aimlessly with its other gangly arm.
Black blood spurted like sticky ooze from its hacked off member, sliding down the walls as it lurched away from the window.
Its blood coated the oak floors like oil, staining them like spilled ink.
Everinne toppled forward, clutching her arm to her chest, her eyes wide with fright.
Another baukvist appeared at the window where the other had fallen back.
Claws tore through the roof as gaunt hands and arms reached between the sparse thatches of woven hay, grasping and clutching, desperate to flay the flesh from Atlas and Everinne’s bones.
The two by the door lumbered forward, their tongues lashing the air with each raspy growl.
They were surrounded.
Atlas grabbed Everinne’s chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “When I say run, you run.”
“No.” She shook her head violently, a line of determination creasing across her brow. “I’m not leaving you here.”
He grinned. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Atlas—”
“Stop arguing with me.” He kissed her hard, knowing it would never be enough. “Just promise me you’ll run.”
Her mouth opened, then closed and he took her silence as acceptance.
His shoulder was on fire, his shirt stuck to his skin, the metallic tang of his own blood filling his nostrils as it slid down to his elbow.
He grabbed the hilt of the stoker and raised it high—the skin of his palm was charred, the flesh melding to the cold iron, the pain white hot so beads of sweat formed along his brow.
But he didn’t care. He would only ever care about one thing.
Her.
Everinne.
Always.
Atlas charged toward the two baukvist staggering into the hut. He didn’t spare Everinne a glance as he yelled, “Run!”