Page 107 of Cursed Evermore

“Oh, that’s the Bloodsworn. They’re training.” Sirril gazed heavenward, eyes wide with fascination.

I didn’t exactly understand what he meant. Were they doing something to the sky? The weather? Or something with the ship?

My answer came seconds later when I spotted flashes of dark wings slicing through the morning sky like obsidian blades.

They wereflying.

Flying through the sky like birds.

No. Not birds. They didn’t have feathers. Their wings were more like that of a dragon, wide and ferocious, forged from shadow and bone.

In the mortal lands, talk of the Fae having wings was practically myth. I’d never even seen any of the paintings depicting them with wings. But here they were.Flying.

Four Fae males darted across the sky so fast I couldn’t make out who was who. They hunted the air, carving through the dawn sky like living shadows, their battle magic leaving trails of midnight frost in its wake. Raw, ancient power crackled between them, the kind that made the air taste of dominance and control.

Swords clashed with violent grace that sent shards of lightning exploding against the backdrop of the sun.

My senses lit up and I stood slowly as if attached to strings.

The Bloodsworn moved in perfect formation, their bodies silhouettes against the pale clouds. Magic crackled around them, visible in the air like heat waves, as they wove complex patterns that seemed to tear holes in reality itself.

Streams of elemental power—fire, ice, shadow—followed their movements, painting deadly arabesques against the sky.

Then I saw him.

Wolfe.

He’d slowed his flight just enough that I could identify him amongst the group. His inky-black hair was drawn back in a half-tied mess, like he’d only cared enough to keep it out of his face while he was training.

His wings unfurled. Vast, terrifying things of shadow and nightmare that made my soul tremble. Unlike the other Bloodsworn's wings, Wolfe's looked like they were forged from living darkness. They were terrifying and beautiful at the same time, in a way that made my skin crawl as they shifted between solid and smoke.

In their solid form, veined membranes stretched over sharp ridges, each curve ending in wicked, talon-like barbs that looked like they could tear the sky apart.

Wolfe was destruction incarnate, moving through the air with a grace that made my heart stutter against my ribs. Each beat of those mighty wings unleashed waves of power that rippled across the deck.

And he was shirtless.

The marking runes etched across his bare chest pulsed with each powerful beat of those wings, drawing my gaze to the rippling muscles beneath.

My skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly painfully alive to his presence. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and I cursed myself for responding to him in such a way when I’d only just renewed my warnings.

I wanted to look away.Neededto look away. But I was caught in his orbit like a moth drawn to deadly flame.

Wolfe surged upward like darkness breaking free of the earth, wings whipping from his back with a sound that thundered in my bones. Then another warrior came at him, rushing like wind. His hair was braided into a warrior plait while both sides of his head were shaved. I guessed he was the other member of the Bloodsworn I hadn’t met yet.

Bastian. I remembered his name.

He and Wolfe collided, clashing swords like they were in a battle to the death.

Steel slammed against steel in a burst of firelight. Their power radiated through the air in waves, stirring the clouds above them.

For a few breathless seconds, Wolfe was pure violence. A wicked blend of brutality, precision, and wrath given form.

That was them training?

They fought like the intention was to leave one Fae standing and the other in the land of the dead.

The other two—Garrick and Wolfe’s brother, Alaric—hung back, hovering in the air, watching.