“Come on, Asher, leave her to the mutants,” Tyson said to the boy holding her arm.
“No,” Ace demanded. He led the group with assured steps, shoulders rolled back, head held high, like she was some sort of trophy. Like she was the prey they hunted and brought back for slaughter.
Eventually, they reached a glade, slowing to a stop at a camp. In the center, a large ashen area was surrounded by logs and tree stumps. She assumed it was for hosting roaring bonfires and feasts. A few tents were pitched on the forest floor, but most of their life, it seemed, occurred in the trees.
Adara inclined her head, her gaze following the stairs that wound around the tree trunks, leading to a civilizationtucked into the foliage above. Wooden huts perched in the trees, scattered about the branches, with rope bridges strung between them. Thick vines dangled from tree limbs and wove across the sides of the cottages, shadowed by branches and leaves. Wooden planks were nailed to the trunks as ladders. Lanterns illuminated the place, but they weren’t entirely needed, considering little orbs of yellow light magically floated about the camp, lighting the forest like fireflies.
Their camp was a small city in the heights of the jungle, an image similar to the homes of fairies Adara had seen in the books she read as a child. A safe haven from the horrors of Andreilia’s jungle, like the cave that housed the enchanted water. It was all magic and allure and color. Massive, vibrant mushrooms towered around them, rivulets of glowing vines draping from them like thin curtains of light that cut through the air. Bioluminescent moss hugged the thick trees, winding around the trunks and shining a greenish hue on the huts. Enormous, iridescent webs were strung throughout the vegetation. Spiders the size of her hand, glossy and clear as glass skittered across them. Birds of every color flitted about, chirping melodious tunes.
A small wooden chamber hoisted two Andreilians up into the trees by a rope and pulley system. A young boy with dirty-blond hair walked across branches and then grasped onto a vine, swinging himself between huts. For a boy who appeared to be no older than seven, he moved with such agile strength, so at ease with his home high in the forest.
An icy breeze caressed Adara’s skin. Asher released her, backing away. A chill snaked up her spine.
“I see you took my advice.” His demanding voice cut through the glade. Sharp. Cold. Silence followed in its wake. Not even the birds nesting in the trees made a sound, already scattered on the winds as Dominic Nite approached behind her.
Hesitantly, Adara turned, heart pounding as she prepared to face the boy who struck fear into so many hearts. Damon had never mentioned anything about the King of Keys’s appearance, so she had no idea what to expect. Perhaps his skin was mottled and broken with scars. The eyes of a snake that beguiled girls into falling for his deceit. She wondered if he wore his victim’s keys around his neck like a trophy—a noose that would never tighten, for he held all the power here.
But as she met the Thief of Hearts’s gaze—the most striking emerald eyes she’d ever seen—all thoughts eluded her. Utterly wrong had she been to expect a boy with mangled flesh and horrifying eyes. Who would fall so easily for him then?
Instead, her eyes met those capable of making someone swoon from just one glance. Glittering green irises shone with amusement. An emotion anyone could mistake for joy had it not been for the dark malice that lurked deeper within. A sadistic mirth that came with a predator sizing up its next meal. The sharp angles of his face cast shadows across his tan skin that suggested days in the sun. Silky chestnut hair ruffled in the wind, as if the air answered him when all else were too afraid.
Lean muscles shifted beneath his forest green tunic. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows as he walked toward her with unhurried strides. Magic hummed in the air. Adara’s power sparked within her, poised to strike. Although he appeared to be the same age, merely about a head taller than her, she felt small beneath his scrutinizing gaze towering over her.
He’d seen her before—in the woods when he’d directed her toward the enchanted water—but his eyes still traced her figure, drinking in every part of her. She suppressed a shudder as his gaze raked across her skin—or was that just the wind? She couldn’t tell the difference between what was natural and what was Dominic’s doing. He radiated pure, undiluted power.
Adara scolded herself for not noticing before. She’d even seen it in his eyes then—the cruel pleasure as he’d backed her against a tree with an arrow tip to her throat. The way he played with her by giving her information that he knew would have her mind turning, deciding whether or not to trust him.
He fixed his gaze on her, the same entrancing eyes that made her understand why so many had fallen for him. Paired with that same guileful smirk that told her he’d most likely lost count of the keys he’d stolen and the lives he’d taken.
This was the King of Keys. The boy who ruled Andreilia at the age of nineteen and had not aged since. The Thief of Hearts who made every girl who stepped foot on the island fall in love with him, manipulated everyone who had ever loved him into loving him. That either made him an excellent liar or a truly unlovable monster. This was the brute who claimed the power their keys held and tossed their life, and love, away like it was nothing.
The boy who had ripped out his own heart and, therefore, could never love.
Adara now knew why Damon had spat his name with such bitterness and terror. Her heart twisted inside her chest, aching as something clawed for it. Was she only imagining the hold Dominic would try to have on her heart, or was his magic actually digging inside her?
He gave no hint as he assessed her, head canted slightly. His smirk faded and his expression went stone cold, skittering over her skin like frost. Her magic responded in turn, blood warming.
“Who are you?” His voice was low, menacing. “Why are you here? And how did you get here?”
Adara lifted her chin and took a daring step toward him. She’d escaped the Shadow Empire. Surely she could handle this. “Come on, Nite, don’t be so inane,” she said sweetly, closing the short distance between them.
A muscle in his jaw twitched as she delicately brushed her fingers under his chin, down the column of his neck, letting them trail over his shoulder as she idly circled him.
She would not be afraid. “There’s only one ship that comes to Andreilia, and we all know nothing gets past you.”
“Captain Lunard,” he stated, guttural, such loathing in his tone.
Adara nodded as she halted in front of him.
She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped away from him, unable to stand being so close. “I’m here because I need the same thing as everyone else who comes here: time.”
He rolled his eyes, vexed with her cryptic answers. In a flash, she was pinned against a tree with a knife to her throat, much more forcefully than when they’d first met. The bark scraped against her back, his body pushing against hers. She hated the feel of him grating against her skin, but she did not struggle, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.
“For the last time, who the bloody Hel are you?” he demanded through gritted teeth.
She only smirked, lifted her chin, exposing her neck to the sharp blade. A challenge.
She couldn’t remove her gaze from his eyes, unsure if it was the remarkable beauty of him or the promise of danger and death, both of which she found herself drawn to. A maniacal smile graced her lips as he pressed the blade closer, drawing a rivulet of blood.
