Page 38

Evander

I stomp through the crisp snow, icy now in the night chill, and the snapping sound rings in my ears. Blinded by my rage, I stormed out of the inn, shoving through Quinn in the process and not even knowing where I was headed. I still don’t really know.

Maybe I should go to the stables. Take out a stallion and ride off into the night.

I could be gone before anyone was the wiser.

Be rid of this place, of the prophecy and of her.

There are plenty of small towns aligned with the rebels who would take me in.

But even the thought of leaving her, of never seeing her again, causes me anguish.

It’s foolish. I’m a commander in the rebel army, and I have a job to do.

Leaving would be abandoning that job. And tomorrow my role will require me to spend a day and a half with her. And with Silas.

My stomach flips and then knots when I recall Silas and Bria—his hand on her back, how close he stood to her.

And her face. Her face had shown with a brilliance I’ve never seen when Silas touched her.

She had vibrated with energy, it had pulsed from her, and I couldn’t have been the only one to notice. So much magic flowed between them.

I grimace at the images and set my sights on the inn. No matter what I feel right now, the right decision is to go to bed. Even if I have to drink myself into oblivion to make that happen. I can sleep it off and deal with whatever comes in the morning.

My mind has other plans, and I can’t stop the racing thoughts.

Did the other night mean nothing to her?

I understand we shared only a few kisses, but it felt like so much more.

It had felt like things were building between us—a connection that I’ve never experienced with anyone else.

I had stayed with her that night, happy to just be in her presence, to smell her and touch her and taste her.

A snarl escapes me as I reach the door to the inn, thinking about how foolish I was and how I should have heeded Quinn’s warnings.

My fist slams into the hard wood, splintering it with the impact.

Knuckles bursting open, a fine spray of blood mists the night air and falls to the snow beneath me.

I lean my head against the door, feeling the cool surface beneath my skin, and breathe.

Better the door than Silas’s face. I can’t bear the thought of how she would look at me if I pummel the boy.

If she only knew how many noses I had crushed, how many cheekbones I had broken over the years for her.

I’m not sure how long I stand there, just waiting until my breathing evens out. It’s long enough that the blood on my hand is beginning to clot, the rivulets running down my arm drying in the frigid breeze.

Eventually, I force myself into the cozy atmosphere of the inn, quiet and still. I make my way up to my room, determined to wash away the memory of tonight.

By any means necessary.