CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #2
He considered her, a slight smile on his lips. Then he brushed his forefinger softly along her jaw—the gentle caress a pretext before he gripped her chin fiercely.
Nev jerked her face close to his. “I could just beat it out of you,” he threatened.
Evylin’s heart pounded, but she forced her fear not to register in her expression.
The reason for playacting was gone. She had no love of pain, but a man willing to follow through with threatened abuse would beat her regardless of cooperation.
If she had to endure a beating, she might as well get some satisfaction from denying him.
“Feel free to try,” she said, not bothering to hide her disdain this time. “I can promise you won’t like the results.”
A slow smirk worked across Nev’s lips. “I like you,” he said slyly. “You’re not like most women.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“Mm.” Nev drew back, studying her thoughtfully. “I do suppose a woman who carries—what was it? Six blades hidden on her person? I would imagine a woman such as that wouldn’t fear much physical harm.”
He dipped his head, brow rising. “But there are other options.”
Evylin narrowed her gaze at his tone. He wasn’t suggesting . . .
As though he heard her doubts, Nev gave her a cruel grin. “I could violate you,” he said softly.
Evylin couldn’t stop the tremor that seized her muscles.
His eyes lit up. “Ah. There, I’ve found your fear.”
And why shouldn’t Evylin fear such a threat?
No man had ever touched her beyond Deckard.
The lack of intimacy she’d sought was a conscious choice, not a fluke.
There had been amorous opportunities aplenty in her youth.
Boys in Whickam Village. Men in Trollenston when she was older.
She’d never allowed it all for one simple reason: The idea of being so vulnerable and intimate with someone scared her.
Despite how much she enjoyed her kisses with Deckard, no matter the way his touch sent a magical current through her, the thought of consummating their marriage still made her nervous, even if she did desire it.
This threat from Nev sent terror straight to Evylin’s core.
Her imagination battered her with visions of how he might assault her.
Her body railed against it, a swell of nausea rising in her gut.
But she refused to let it frighten her into submission.
Like his previous threat, if he followed through with it as a punishment, he would do it regardless of her compliance.
Evylin tightened her jaw, putting all her anger into her stare. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t give you the results you’d like either,” she said with more confidence than she felt. Then, without knowing why, she added, “And my husband certainly wouldn’t take it kindly.”
Nev’s eyes widened a fraction, curiosity piqued. “Your husband, eh?” he said with a chuckle. He glanced at Auden’s prone form. “It isn’t him. The writ named a sister, not a wife.”
Evylin refused to answer.
“So where is he then, this husband of yours?” Nev asked, his interest gleaming with greed. “With the rest of your companions? I could use a hundred and fifty gold.”
Just as he leaned closer, a sudden scream pierced through the floor beneath them. Evylin, Nev, and the rest of the sellswords jumped as the muffled crash and clamor of a fight broke out.
Evylin smiled as hope soothed her previous tension. Her senses heightened once more, the coolness of magic winding across her skin. She met Nev’s worried stare. “I’d say that’s him now,” she remarked.
The sellsword scowled at her, then turned to his men. “You two,” he pointed to the pair at the threshold, “defend the hall. Anyone makes it through that door while you still draw breath, and I’ll personally slit your necks.”
The door slammed shut as Nev gave orders to the other five men. They drew their swords, standing at the ready.
Nev turned back to Evylin, pulling a knife from his belt.
She jerked away from him, but he went for the ropes at her feet instead.
He sliced through them, then the loop around her waist. “Your husband is a fool,” he said, roughly hoisting her to stand.
“We’ve got nineteen men. What can he have with him, eh?
The writ only mentioned seven of you. Five against nineteen? Not odds I’d want to take.”
Evylin smirked. “You don’t know my husband.”
Another scream rent the air, closer this time. The thump of two bodies followed, causing Evylin to hesitate with surprise and confusion. That cry was full of horror and panic. A sound that she couldn’t fathom Deckard inspiring. Was it truly him out there? Or had Blount come for her?
Her breath caught in a fresh fear. If the Night Mage were here, she would have to escape. She couldn’t let him take her alive. Not when that meant he would do worse than Nev could ever threaten.
A loud crack slammed to their right—a door crashing open.
Nev grabbed Evylin’s arm, twisting her around. He wrapped an arm across her chest, pressing her against him as he raised his knife to her throat. The cold metal stung.
Another crack, slightly more distant.
“Don’t let them in,” Nev commanded.
The order held no authority. Not as the door sailed open, its frame splintered from the force that tore the latch from its set.
A man stood in the doorway, shadows of a purple so dark it could be black curling around him.
Evylin’s lips parted as she took in Deckard.
Crimson splatter stained his wool coat. Shimmering forms coalesced and encircled him within the shadows, jagged shards of magic that seemed to emanate from his hands.
Her heart stuttered at the violent look in his dark glare.
The five sellswords took a step back at the frightful sight of him.
Nev pressed his knife tightly to Evylin’s throat. “Stay right there,” he ordered.
Deckard remained still, taking in the room with stoic composure.
Then his gaze landed on Evylin. He studied her in the same manner as she studied him, scanning her as though to confirm her identity.
Their eyes met, and her veins flared with anticipation.
There was a depth and intensity within his stare, his eyes a rich verdant green, darker than she’d ever seen.
This was not the man she’d married. And yet, something in her said that the man before her was in the truest form he’d ever taken.
As magic coiled around his entire frame, the expression on his face fierce and controlled, Evylin stared in awe.
He was terrifying. Yet, the Warrior inside of her had never found him so attractive.
She yearned to tear herself free and run to him.
Her heart pounded, and her muscles quaked, ready for action.
Deckard smiled enticingly. “Hello, dear,” he said, his voice as deep and captivating as his gaze.
An impulsive instinct drew Evylin to take a step forward, only Nev’s grasp and knife halting her. A sharp sting followed by the heat of pain told her the blade had cut through the top layer of skin.
Deckard’s eyes narrowed.
Nev tightened his grip on Evylin, steadying the knife. “A step closer and your lovely wife here is dead,” he threatened.
Deckard gave him a bland glance. “I already killed all your men downstairs,” he said impassively. “You think these few will stop me?”
Nev’s hand began to shake, nicking Evylin again. “You may kill the others, yeah. But if you try to kill me, she’ll die before you make the first move.”
A dry grin pulled on Deckard’s lips. “I don’t intend to kill you,” he said, then tipped his chin toward Evylin. “She’ll do that.”
The ominous remark had its intended effect. Nev hesitated, and Deckard flicked his wrist.
With a cry of horror, Nev’s grip loosened. “I can’t see!” he exclaimed.
The world slowed as, with a sudden surge, the magic raging within Evylin’s veins took dominance.
Each second stretched, giving her the strange ability to take in everything at once.
The five sellswords rushed Deckard as he stepped into the room.
He raised his hands, the purple-black shadows twisting into razor-shaped crystals.
Ethenn swept in behind him, hatchet at the ready.
He took down two guards while she watched as Deckard’s magic tore through the rest. Awe filled her body, tingling along her skin as the moment passed with magically induced omniscience.
As Nev reached for his magic-blinded eyes, their irises shrouded in deep purple, Evylin lifted her bound wrists, slamming her fists into his hand.
He dropped the knife, letting it fall end over end through the air.
Her enhanced sight glimpsed a bead of her blood clinging to the edge.
As she reached for the weapon, a black, crystalline shard swept across the room, slicing through the ropes to free her hands.
The knife’s handle dropped into her palm, and Evylin spun, plunging the blade down.
It severed through flesh and sinew, and Nev collapsed, the weapon protruding from his neck as he thudded to the ground.
And time resumed its natural course.
Evylin turned, relief flooding through her. She hardly had time to process Deckard’s oncoming figure before he was there. She managed a single gasp of air as he took her face in his hands. Then his mouth covered hers.
The lingering remnants of magic snapped taut between them.
Her skin tingled under his fingertips. The rush ripped through her like a current, carrying her far out to sea.
And all at once, she was more alive than ever before.
This was no gentle kiss or tender caress.
It was a furious, demanding passion that refused to let either of them go.