Chapter 41 #2
Atlas stepped around a large blue vase overflowing with oddly shaped branches and dried flowers when a woman—a witch—appeared before him.
Her hair was silvery white, like moonlight, and fell past her shoulders in bouncy, tightly coiled curls.
Icy blue eyes lined with dark kohl pinned him with a look of subdued curiosity, and her red lips were pursed in question.
She wore a black skirt with a slit that reached her thigh, dark red leather boots to her knees, and an ivory lace sweater tugged over a snug black bodice.
Silver bangles dangled from her wrists—two of them were decorated with wolf charms—she wore at least half a dozen necklaces of varying lengths, and large hoops hung from her ears.
She fisted her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Something I can help you find?”
Before Atlas could respond, Everinne squeezed herself in front of him and faced the witch head on.
“I know you.” Her statement was met with calm resolve.
Surprise registered briefly in the witch’s eyes before she blinked it away. “You do?”
“Yes. You’re Belladonna.” Everinne smiled then, wide and beautiful. “You own the atelier in the shopping district.”
The corner of the witch’s mouth lifted into a wry grin. “I do.”
Belladonna.
The name triggered a distant memory in Atlas’s mind, and he startled. “Wait. Belladonna…as in, Aran Ruhdneah’s Belladonna?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m his.” Belladonna shimmied a little and crossed her arms over her chest with an air of disdain. “He made his choice long ago, and as you can tell, it wasn’t me.”
So it was her. This was the notorious witch that won the heart of the High Prince of Faeven. Last Atlas checked, Aran was still madly in love with her. Unfortunately for Aran, he’d yet to make such a declaration, and it appeared as though Belladonna had every intention of holding it against him.
“Ah.” Atlas lifted a finger and winked. “But he wears the wound you gave him like a badge of honor.”
Her dark brows furrowed. “Wound?”
“You stabbed him once, didn’t you?”
A blush stained her cheeks. “I…yes. I mean, I did, but it was an accident.”
He shrugged, lifting his hands. “A forgivable offense in matters of love.”
Belladonna fumbled for words then, and Caedian wasted no time derailing the conversation.
“Why are you working down here, in the Marzena?” he asked, his gaze skimming their surroundings, his voice tinged with suspicion. “If you own an atelier in Starysa.”
For the first time, Belladonna appeared nervous.
She glanced toward the door, her pale blue eyes peering into every corner of the shop.
“Above ground is no longer safe for my kind. It is easier to run a storefront for the occult and obscure and not draw attention to myself down here than it is to always look over my shoulder.”
“Valid reasoning,” Veros mused, and Belladonna’s gaze narrowed in mild interest, as though she’d seen him before. “Tell me, have you seen anything unusual or suspicious as of late? Or overheard any talk of hunters or vanishing immortals?”
Belladonna bristled. “Who’s asking?”
Atlas leaned in casually, flashed his most charming smile, so his dimples were on full display. “Your prince.”
She startled, her eyes widening in shock as she looked between the group of them. Then she dropped into a practiced curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness. I didn’t recognize you. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The honor is all mine.” Atlas bowed, not missing the way Everinne watched him with mocking amusement. “But if you wouldn’t mind telling us what it is you know? It’s a matter of great importance.”
“I understand, Your Highness.” Belladonna pretended to busy herself by tidying a satin tray full of crystal spheres, each of them enclosing a different season. “I can only tell you what I know to be truth.”
“And that is?” Everinne pressed quietly.
Belladonna met her gaze and held. “The Mystic Obscura is not what it seems.”
“Obviously,” Veros drawled, and Belladonna cut him with a scathing look.
“It breeds danger and dark magic. The demonic and necrotic. They bind those who enter with blood, damning them to a lifetime of servitude. Of performances. Then traffic them to places unknown.” Belladonna shook her head and lowered her gaze.
“The Mystic Obscura is treacherous. A plague unto all of Prava.”
Atlas’s heart tumbled into the pit of his stomach, where it roiled with acidic dread. Next to him, Everinne’s complexion waned, and he quickly slid one arm around her waist to keep her upright.
“Trafficked,” Veros repeated, the word ringing in their ears as numbness coupled with alarm settled between them.
The immortals were being trafficked. Hunted with purpose. It was far worse than anything Atlas ever could have imagined.
“Who?” Caedian demanded. “Who’s hunting them?”
Belladonna ducked her head, and a curtain of curls shielded her face. “The spawn of the one they call?—”
The walls trembled and glass shattered as the tray of crystal spheres Belladonna was holding smashed to the ground. Overhead, the lights flickered, and the earth beneath their feet started to quake.
Belladonna grabbed Atlas’s shoulder, her nails digging into the layers of his coat.
“Run, my prince.” Her eyes widened as the towers of books fell and the tinkling of bells was suddenly silenced. “Run.”
Atlas grabbed Everinne’s hand and hauled her out of Belladonna’s shop into the pitch of the rumbling tunnels.
Every lantern had been snuffed out and the stench of rotten, foul magic was more pronounced than before.
He blinked, furiously trying to see into the endless swath of darkness, but it was like losing his sight completely, leaving every other sense fully alert and heightened.
The pounding of Everinne’s heart beat in time with his own, their labored breathing echoing into the vast nothingness.
Wisps of her hair tickled his cheek as she stumbled forward blindly, tumbling into him.
He caught what he hoped was her waist, the layers of winter clothing making it difficult to keep a firm grip on her.
“Atlas?” Her voice danced past his ear, and he turned toward the sound, hauling her closer, letting her familiar scent consume him.
“I’m right here.” His eyes slowly adjusted, and he could just barely see the outline of the side of her face. He reached out, carefully, until the tips of his fingers grazed her cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
That was one promise he would die trying to keep.
“Let’s go.” Veros’s stern voice bounced off the tunnel’s arching walls and Atlas couldn’t pinpoint the direction. Whether the Lord of Time was in front of him or behind him, he couldn’t be sure. “We have to get out of here.”
There was a grunt of agreement that sounded from everywhere all at once.
“I can’t see shit,” Caedian grumbled, but it was the unsettling stillness following his complaint that set Atlas on edge.
The ground ceased its relentless trembling, yet the dismal light of the floating lanterns had not returned.
If anything, the surrounding darkness seemed to thicken.
The hairs along the back of Atlas’s neck stood on end, and in the gaping mouth of the tunnel, there was scraping noise that sent a shiver of unease racing down his spine, like that of nails being dragged across a surface of rough stone.
Everinne shuddered into him, and he held her closer, one hand reaching for his sword because this time, he’d sworn to be prepared.
In the distance, further into the Marzena, a set of fiery red eyes appeared.
Atlas shoved Everinne behind him and drew his weapon, the hiss of metal sliding against the sheath reverberating through the passage.
“On your guard,” he warned as another set of angry red eyes appeared.
Then another.
And another.
There were so many now, Atlas lost count. A chilling, chittering noise flooded the Marzena, like the skittering of a thousand beetles, and only as the flaring crimson eyes edged closer did Atlas realize what they were truly about to face.
“What the—” Caedian’s question died as Veros’s shout of warning split through impregnable darkness.
“Demons!”
The foul stench of ash and brimstone slammed into Atlas as dozens of creatures descended upon them.
Necrotic energy snapped through the air as the demons scoured the walls and crawled along the ceiling.
They were no taller than a small child, but their skin was black like tar and fire burned in their eyes.
Long, shiny claws protruded from their hands and feet, their faces were smashed and flattened, as though they’d been beaten, and rows of pointy white teeth gleamed like vampire fangs.
At once, the Marzena erupted with the clash of battle—roars, growls, and the squelching sound of swords meeting demonic flesh.
“Stay with me!” Atlas called over his shoulder to Everinne. “No matter what, don’t let go!”
He grabbed her hand, fending off a swarm of demons with the other.
They slashed at him, their dagger-like claws shredding through the thick layers of fur and wool, yet never sinking deep enough to reach his skin.
The glint of his blade cut through the dark, piercing them with ease, but even as he struck one down, another took its place.
They were vastly outnumbered.
“Atlas!” The fear in Everinne’s voice sent a spear of panic into his heart.
If she unleashed her magic now, if she lost control, it could kill them all.
“Where the fuck did they come from?” Caedian boomed as a howl of agony splintered through the air. “There’s too many of them!”
His Captain of the Guard was right.
If they wanted to survive this, they would need to—the bond lurched and Everinne’s scream tore open his heart.
Atlas was yanked backward, his arm wrenched in pain as something tried to pull Everinne from his grasp. He whipped around to face her, to hold on to her, but those gloves, those fucking gloves, gave him no traction.
“Ever!” he shouted, dropping his sword so it clattered loudly, using both of his hands to maintain a steady grip.
He dug the heels of his boots into the ground, clasping her forearm and tugging.
He gritted his teeth against the sting of claws as they bit into his legs, his shoulders, his neck.
Searing pain burned through him as they tore through his clothing, finally reaching his flesh.
The scour of their claws was fiery and hot, like a blade fresh from the forge.
Agony splintered through him, but the pain would be nothing if he lost Everinne.
The horde of demons grappled him, smothered him, suffocated him. His knees were starting to buckle, and his boots were sliding against the damp ground.
“Atlas!” Everinne screamed, and tremors of fear ricocheted down their bond. “Don’t let me go!”
“I won’t!” The words were a hoarse promise, slipping through his clenched jaw.
But her arm was sliding through that damn coat and the fucking demons were plucking at his fingers like violin strings, loosening his grip.
His palms skated down the soft fur of her sleeve and he winced as another demon pounced upon his back, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and snapped his head back.
Atlas spat out a vile curse as pain exploded through his head, pounding at his temples, then down, ripping at his spine.
Another hard tug from the vile demons and his hands slid to Everinne’s wrist, where the glove she wore was starting to slacken.
He felt her sobs in his bones, they rattled him, upended him.
There was a suffocating crush of demonic energy, and the reek of vile, corrupt magic pressed in on him from all sides. It was tearing them apart, dragging her away from him into the fathomless darkness.
“Everinne,” Atlas ground out her name, ready to grind his teeth to dust, as the glove slipped from her hand.
Her answering scream was cut short, silenced by some unseen force.
The demons vanished, evaporating as though they were made of nothing more than ash and air.
Atlas dropped to his knees, grasping the singular glove in his hand as each hollow, ragged breath was carved out of him.
The mangled lanterns floating along the ceiling of the Marzena flickered to life, the faerie fire in them producing a waning amber glow.
Wounds littered his body, but they were only insignificant tears of the flesh compared to the sensation of having his heart ripped out.
His gaze trekked over the floor, and he grabbed his fallen sword, clutching the hilt with one bloody fist.
“I will find her.”
He lifted his gaze to where Caedian and Veros stood watching him, their faces marred with filth and blood, their expressions mirror images of defeat.
“Mark my words.” Atlas shoved up from the ground, vengeance coursing through his blood, scalding him from the inside out with rage. “I will find her. And then I will kill him.”
Veros cocked his head to one side, ignoring the trail of scarlet seeping down his chin. “Him?”
Atlas flashed a merciless grin. “Jarek.”