Chapter 38 #2
She shoved her wild hair back from her face as they soared, and when the misty glint of sunlight bounced off his loose golden curls and midnight wings, she got her first good look at him.
A sob stuck in the back of her throat.
Blood matted his hair to the side of his face and a gash ran from the corner of his left eye to his chin.
The skin of his cheek was discolored where a bluish-purple bruise had formed.
His coat was gone, scraps of his shirt stuck to his abdomen, fused by blood and grime.
Claw marks mauled most of his flesh, especially across the wolf tattoo on his left chest and shoulder, as though the baukvist had tried to scratch the ink off his skin.
His breathing was labored, each inhale a coarse wheeze, and she saw the horrid wound left behind on his ribs—one of the fleshflayer’s claws had ripped him open, and a river of crimson trailed down to his hip.
There were so many injuries. And so much blood. Even with the magic of his fae blood, it could take days, perhaps longer, before he was fully healed.
She captured his face, gently cupping his cheeks, and her bottom lip quivered as she spoke. “You’re hurt.”
His gaze slid lazily to her. “You should see the other guys.”
Everinne scowled. “That’s not funny.”
Atlas didn’t even blink. “I’m not laughing.”
She slid her arms around his neck, the tips of her fingers lightly grazing his feathered wings, and he groaned softly, pressing his forehead to hers. “Almost there.”
She couldn’t tell if his voice was hoarse from pain, exhaustion, or something else altogether. So, she blew out a soft breath, shivered into him, and held on as Atlas flew them back to Starysa.
By the time Atlas’s verandah and pool came into view, Everinne’s eyes were heavy with sleep, but it was his pallid and weak complexion that kept her awake.
He looked worse than before, and though his grip on her never faltered, she knew he was drained.
The wound from the fleshflayer continued to ooze blood, weakening him.
His wings moved in a slow and steady rhythm, stretching and gliding as the sleek black feathers dipped in gold sliced through the bitter wind.
Atlas soared over the garden, then tucked his wings and swooped low between the lingering mist, clutching her to his chest.
“Hold your breath, Wildheart.”
Everinne sucked in a gulp of air, curling into Atlas as he plunged them into the pool.
Warm water surrounded her, rushing past her ears, soothing the chill that settled in her blood and the weeping ache of her body.
The familiar pulse of Atlas’s heart fell into cadence with her own, yet beyond the perpetual beating, there was something else.
A feminine voice, lyrical and soft, called to her, the discordant words barely a whisper in a language Everinne didn’t understand.
The song was calming, like an atmospheric lullaby, slowly luring her to sleep.
A moment later, Atlas shot skyward, and they crashed through the surface of the pool, the eerily haunting voice fading like the remnants of the night.
Everinne gasped and sputtered, shoving her soaking hair back from her face as Atlas easily maneuvered them both through the steaming crystal waters.
He looped an arm around her waist and used the other to cut through the pool, swimming toward the sloping, smooth ledge that gradually disappeared beneath the water’s edge.
He hauled them onto the shimmery gray stone veined with ribbons of silver and Everinne dropped onto her back, chest heaving, as Atlas collapsed beside her.
The heated, serene pool water covered most of her body, and tiny waves lapped near her shoulders, neck, and ears.
Her uneven breaths puffed out before her in bursts of frosty mist, as curls of steam wafted across the pool like a marine layer rolling in from the Ladova Bay.
The stabbing pain in her ankle subsided and she relaxed, a weightless sensation moving through her while she wiggled her fingers and toes to regain some feeling.
Her leather leggings clung to her skin and the torn sweater floated in pieces around her, the violet fabric billowing in the small ripples.
Beside her, Atlas groaned in discomfort, and she rolled onto her side to examine him.
Her lashes fluttered back in shock to find him mostly healed.
He was splayed on his back, his chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths.
His color had returned, the golden tan of his skin suddenly vibrant and renewed.
The slice running along his face had closed and was slowly fading, and the bruising beneath his eye was gone completely.
Everinne rose over him, twisting her soaking hair back from her face.
Though his eyes remained closed, there was a hard line creasing his brow, but she wasn’t sure if it was one of discomfort or concentration.
Gingerly, she dipped her hand below the water, the pads of her fingers gently grazing the horrible wound to his side.
Her fingers feathered from his ribs to the dip of his hip, only to find the injury already mended.
Atlas snatched her wrist and she startled.
“You keep doing that,” he murmured, eyes still closed, “and I’m going to return the favor.”
Heat bloomed low in her belly, but she shook off the teasing sensation, focusing her attention on him.
“How?” Everinne asked, her gaze roving over his body. She cupped his cheek, carefully running her thumb just beneath his eye where the bruising had all but vanished. “Your injuries were so severe.”
His eyes blinked open. There was something about the way he looked at her that set her nerves on edge and caused a knot of apprehension to tighten in her chest. His brows were drawn, giving him a look of severity, but his eyes were hauntingly sorrowful, full of secrets and remnants of pain.
“My pool isn’t just for swimming.” Atlas eased himself up, propping his weight on his elbows. “It’s for healing.”
Her hand fell away from his face, and she let her fingers drift through the warm water, realizing the sharp pain in her ankle had faded, her muscles no longer ached, and the weariness had all but bled from her bones.
She was still exhausted, though she knew that was from lack of sleep and nothing else, but she didn’t feel tired.
Instead, there was a refreshing pulse of energy coursing through her, an invigorating burst of life that renewed her spirit.
She opened her mouth but Atlas spoke, answering her next question before she could ask it.
“It’s imbued with my mother’s magic.” There was a layer of grief in his tone, one she never heard before, because neither of them ever discussed their tragic pasts. “She thought I would likely need it given my father’s love of ruling with an iron fist.”
His mother, Valentyna Skye, was renowned not only for her grace and beauty but also for her healing magic.
The few times Everinne had met her, she’d been drawn to the kralvina’s aura, for nothing shined brighter than a pure heart and soul.
Her death was untimely and shrouded in mystery—no cause was determined despite Atlas’s push for answers—and after, Atlas had been forced to live in the menacing shadow of his father.
Kralv Oldrich was brutal, violent, and unkind.
Though it was rumored he never raised a hand to his wife, it was said he spared his only son from no such torment.
Everinne clearly remembered Veros telling her stories of the beatings Atlas suffered at his father’s hands, most of it stemming from the kralv’s utter disgust of Atlas’s magic.
Unfortunately, his abuse stemmed beyond just physical punishment.
The kralv thoroughly enjoyed using his magic to get his way.
His power allowed him to know and understand someone’s deepest fear, and to use it against them for his own personal gain.
Bitter wind swept through the hedge of trees surrounding the pool, and Everinne shivered.
“Cold?” Atlas asked, sitting up and pulling her into his arms.
“I’ve been warmer.”
“Let’s remedy that, shall we?”
She barely had time to nod before he was picking her up and carrying her into the deep end of the pool.
With each step, they sank lower into the water until she looped her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist to keep afloat.
Tiny waves splashed between them and Atlas’s hands skimmed down her back until both of his hands were cupping her bottom.
His golden green gaze latched onto hers, hypnotic and tempting all at once.
The heated pool continued to lull and soothe, until Everinne found herself leaning forward, resting her head on Atlas’s shoulder while her mouth grazed the column of his throat.
“I’m sorry I almost got us skinned alive by the baukvist ,” she whispered into the warmth of his neck.
His answering chuckle reverberated through her, but then there was an immense stillness about him, and regret hung from his every word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Zoryana the moment I found out.”
Everinne nuzzled closer, clinging to him while she rolled through every possibility in her mind.
The mortals at the bonfire had mentioned Zoryana was being hunted, which meant she hadn’t just vanished or disappeared, but that she’d been captured.
Or stolen. But the real question was who was behind it, as it had been years since hunters infiltrated the walls of Starysa.
And if hunters were within the city, were they only hunting witches, or were they after others as well?
“All of us.” Atlas quieted her mind by pressing a kiss to her temple. “Your thoughts are rather loud.”
“All?” She leaned back and stared at him, taking in his somber expression, the way the teasing light in his eyes dimmed. “You mean fae, witches, and vampires?”
He nodded once. “And I’m afraid it’s worse than that. The forest is awakening.”
Everinne’s stomach dropped, her heart slowly tumbling with it.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and she shook her head, remorse clogging the back of her throat, making it impossible to breathe.
If the forest was truly waking from its years-long slumber, then that meant Starysa was no longer safe, and it would once more have to stand against the ancient power of the Deszvila Forest. Perhaps they offended the Mother Goddess, or maybe they cursed the stars or cheated fate, for now it seemed as though every otherworldly entity had seen fit to punish them, to discipline all of Prava.
Hunters were one thing, but the forest…the horrors of its last assault still haunted the hearts of those who survived it.
“We’ll survive it again.” Determination hardened Atlas’s tone, and he slid his fingers through her wet hair, pulling her face close to his own. “No matter what comes at us. Be it the wrath of a goddess, the fury of the stars, or the sharpened point of fate’s blade, we will endure it. Together.”
“Atlas…” Her vision swam.
“No tears. Not yet. Only when you’re sitting on my lap in that damn throne room with a crown upon your head as my kralvina.
Then you can cry all you want.” He wiped at the corner of her eyes where unshed tears clung to her lashes.
“But for now, we will track down every last hunter. We’ll stand against the wicked wood.
And I swear on the souls of those before me, I will make whatever sacrifice necessary to keep you safe. ”
“Because for me,” he whispered into the breath of space between them, “it has always been you.”
Everinne’s heart, once cold and shattered by unimaginable pain, tainted by her own magic, slowly began to mend.
The broken shards softened. The desolate emptiness thawed, soothed by the bond as it expanded and amplified, restoring her soul.
Maybe it was the warm waters of the pool imbued with Valentyna Skye’s magic, or maybe it was simply the fact that Everinne had found herself in Atlas Skye’s arms, and maybe, just maybe, he’d been in love with her all along.
“Kiss me, Wildheart.” Atlas brushed his lips across hers. “Kiss me like it’s the last time.”
She wove her arms around his neck and her lashes fluttered closed. When his mouth found hers, she inhaled, breathing his woodsy, spicy scent into her. She took every layer, fusing him into her blood, wrapping her essence around him, and vowing to never let go.
Once upon a time, Everinne fancied herself in love with the Imperial Prince of Prava, but their shared kiss told another story—the one where she’d never fallen out of love with him, the one where she knew he would belong to her for an eternity.