Page 153 of Wicked Magik

I gripped the large candelabra and tested the weight in my hand. Whoever this person was, wasn’t very smart. They even laid out a new outfit for me to wear, two actually. One with brown leather pants and the other a simple dress.

Each one was easy to move in so they were ready for me to put up a fight.

This person was obviously paying attention to me because they got my sizes right, left grooming products in the large attached bathroom and on top of it all, left the door unlocked.

My captor clearly wanted me to explore beyond this stone chamber. Someone carved the room meticulously into the mountain itself, with only a single window interrupting the rugged walls. Its clean-cut edges and wooden frame held back the frigid mountain air while some unseen source kept the space unexpectedly cozy.

I followed torch-lit corridors chiseled straight through the mountain, where droplets of mineral-rich water trickled down the walls and collected in small stone basins carved into the floor.

I walked along a carpeted hallway, with open doorways lining both sides. No need to search for my kidnapper. Every door stood wide open, revealing rooms as lavishly furnished as my own chamber at the corridor's end.

Each room had its own palette. My chamber dressed in whites and creams that caught the morning light. I passed others awash in fiery oranges and reds, then one wrapped in white like snow, another in browns and forest greens. The corridor stretched on until the clatter of cookware echoed from around the corner. I adjusted my grip on the candelabra, hefting it like a baseball bat, ready to introduce it to my kidnapper's skull.

I was supposed to be bonded by now. I was supposed to connect my soul to the two most important people in my life and they had stolen it from me.

Once this fucker was dead, I don’t know how I would get back to them, but hey, one step at a time, am I right?

And getting kidnapped was getting damn annoying.

I went around the corner and the smell of meat and vegetables cooking hit my nose. My stomach instantly growled and gaveaway my position because the flame that crackled immediately stopped.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd sleep through another meal." The voice was deep and unhurried. He didn't bother turning around as I came around the corner, my fingers still white-knuckled around the candelabra. "That's not a toy, you know. You're liable to hurt yourself. Now put that down and come have some food."

Sylvaine’s long, fire red hair cascaded down his back. He was calm, as I figured my capture would be. He had magik like Veylor did and perhaps he was as strong as Oryx.

But I had something he didn’t have.Sarcasm.

“I’d rather not,” I snapped. “I’d rather do what I intended and that is to knock your front teeth in.”

Leaves swirled around me, the shirt that was tucked into my pants came undone and lifted the shirt to reveal my stomach. I didn’t flinch and held on tight while he chuckled.

"I see Alicia in you—that same fire, that same refusal to bend."

My body stiffened.

Sylvaine slid the sizzling food onto two ceramic plates, turning to face me with one eyebrow arched. His casual movements betrayed no concern about the weapon in my hand as he placed both dishes on the small wooden table. He gestured toward the empty chair with a lazy flick of his wrist, but I remained frozen in the doorway. A weary sigh escaped his lips.

“Come eat, and I’ll tell you a story.”

I shook my head. “If you know anything about my mother, you know I’m not going to willingly sit at a kitchen table as a barter for information. You took me away from Veylor and Oryx. I have no reason to trust you.”

Sylvaine hummed and put his hands behind his back. “Would I get any credit at all, if I said that I was just looking for your best interests? Tried to save you from making a terrible mistake?”

I scoffed. “Nope.”

I’m also stubborn AF.

Sylvaine leaned back against the table, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded me with a mix of amusement and frustration. It was clear that he was unaccustomed to dealing with someone as headstrong and unyielding as I was.

My mother was more… forgiving.

I wasn’t.

"I understand your skepticism," Sylvaine began, his voice softening slightly. "But please, listen."

I hesitated, torn between my instinct to stay guarded and the nagging curiosity that tugged at the corners of my mind. Slowly, I took a cautious step into the room, still clutching the candelabra tightly in my hand. Sylvaine gestured to the empty chair opposite him, a silent invitation to sit and listen.

“Will you tell me how you know about my mother?”