The Ballad of Never After (Once Upon a Broken Heart Book 2)

Another lash ripped across Evangeline’s skin, making her cry out. It hurt like hell and fire. She was dimly aware of biting down, and she feared it was on Jacks’s neck.

“It’s all right,” he rasped. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me, Little Fox.” He kept pressing Evangeline to stay awake when all she wanted to do was pass out.

There were minutes where the agony was so intense she couldn’t breathe. Pain would lash across her back. Her limbs would buck. Her teeth would bite. Her whole life would feel like hurt. Then she’d feel Jacks smoothing the damp hair from her forehead or pressing a cool hand to her cheek.

Her head lolled against his shoulder. They were in a sled, and she was on his lap. He held her with her chest pressed to his, and his arm so low on her waist, it wasn’t really her waist. But her back was made of fire—anything that touched it burned.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered.

She wanted to ask where there was, but her throat was too raw from crying out. All she could do was crack her eyes. The world was gray. Not night or day, just gray. Gray as death and covered in fog that tasted like smoke.

She wondered if perhaps this meant she was dying. Then their sled tumbled forward, speeding over a ravaged road, past the weathered sign that said Welcome to the great Merrywood Manor!

She couldn’t believe Jacks had taken her here. She couldn’t remember why. It hurt too much to think clearly. But Evangeline knew this was not a happy place, especially for him.

Sprays of ice and snow made her shake as Jacks drove the sled faster and harder, past the remains of the manor and deeper into the cursed Merrywood forest. Whenever she cracked her eyes, there were only skeletal trees and more hopeless gray.

The first green leaf daring to live among the gloom felt like a trick, a delusion of her breaking mind. But then there was another and another. A canopy of gorgeous green. Everywhere she looked now, there was sunlight, snow-dusted trees, and chirping blue birds, and she was half-afraid she’d lost her mind.

The flowers came next, in delirious shades of yellow and pink and mermaid teal. They lined a sloping road that led them down into a valley with an inn and a lake and an aged sign that read Welcome to the Hollow!

The name was unfamiliar. It must not have been a Great House, or maybe she just couldn’t remember.

The sled rumbled past more carved signs that pointed toward places she couldn’t quite make out until finally they stopped at an inn that couldn’t be real. It had to be part of a dream.

The rooftop was covered in enormous cheery mushrooms with red caps that had tiny dragons dozing upon them. Then there were the flowers, so large they were the size of small children, with bright-colored petals in every shade, which seemed to perk up as the two of them arrived.

Jacks picked her up in one quick swoop and carried her inside the inn.

Her skin immediately tingled from the warmth, inviting her to keep her eyes open. It was a fight—her wounded body begged her to rest—but she wanted to know why it smelled of spiced ciders and fresh-baked bread and how it managed to feel like home, though even in her current state she was certain she’d never been here before.

Near the door towered a brightly painted clock with jeweled pendulums. But instead of hours, it seemed to have names of food and drink. Things like Dumplings & Meat, Fish Stew, Mystery Stew, Toast and Tea, Porridge, Ale, Beer, Mead, Wine, Cider, Honey Pie, Brambleberry Crisp, Forest Cakes.

She half expected an innkeeper with a long beard and a jolly laugh to greet them as they entered. But it was only Jacks’s heavy boots that swiftly crossed the rough floorboards.

What is this place? she thought.

Jacks didn’t reply or even seem to hear her thought as he started up the stairs. Whatever magic worked here must have severed their link, or she was just too weak.

There were candles glittering light and fires burning in hearths, but not a single person appeared. Fairytale images covered all the closed doors on the second floor: a rabbit in a crown, a knight holding a star-shaped key, a pastry goblin tossing sweets.

Jacks hurriedly carried her past them all. Then up two more flights of stairs until he reached a pair of old glass doors that opened to an even older arched bridge that led into a thick cluster of snow-tipped trees.

“Stay with me a little longer,” he murmured, and then he opened the doors.

Evangeline pressed her head to his chest, bracing for the return of cold, but instead of feeling ice, the chill felt like sparkles against her skin, giving her a small measure of relief.

It was then she also realized, although she was still in pain, she’d not experienced a single new slash or lash since they’d arrived at whatever this place was. She wondered if perhaps it was some sort of new magic that only lived here, or if Apollo was being cared for, too. She remembered Jacks telling Luc to ask Chaos to get Apollo to safety, and she hoped that was happening now.

More snowbirds chirped a cheery tune as the bridge ended at a rounded door tucked high inside the branches of a tree.

Jacks took a deep breath, and Evangeline felt his chest moving against her as they stepped through the door and into a smallish loft. There were no fires or candles, and yet somehow the place was warm and bright with the sun shining through all the many windows. So many windows carefully nestled between branches in a way that made it difficult to see where the glass began and the tree ended.

There might have been some furniture, but her vision was so hazy around the edges it was hard to be entirely sure.

The bed merely looked like a pile of old quilts in faded patterns. Jacks carefully placed her head on a pillow and laid her on her stomach. The blankets were as soft as they looked, but she still hissed from the pain that prickled across her injured back.

“Sorry, Little Fox.” He brushed back the hair that had stuck to her forehead, and it felt a little like a fever dream. Or maybe she was really dying and that’s why Jacks was being so sweet.

“I’ll be right back.” His voice was soft.

Her eyes drifted shut, then she heard his steps, featherlight, as if he didn’t want to wake her.

Her lids fluttered open. She’d expected he would return with some sort of healer. But it was only Jacks with his arms full of supplies.

He set them on the wooden floor near the bed, and then he carefully smoothed her hair away from her back and shoulders. “I need to cut off your dress.”

That was all the warning she got before she heard the tear of a knife as it sliced through her blood-soaked gown from her shoulder blades down to the dip in her waist.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Her head grew even lighter at the feel of Jacks’s hands gently peeling her dress away from her back. The process was excruciatingly slow. Several times, Jacks quietly hissed through his teeth, and she imagined what a mess her back must have been. But he didn’t say a word about it. He just went on to carefully clean her wounds, wiping them with cool, damp cloths. It stung every time the cloth touched a gash. But then his fingers were soothing her by grazing the uninjured side of her ribs, sometimes with his knuckles, other times with his fingertips, and it was all she could do not to gasp.

“You’re good at this,” she murmured. “Do you often travel with girls who’ve been flayed?”

This earned her a soft laugh. “No.” Then quietly, as he ran a cloth along her lower back, just below the dip in her waist, “Would you be jealous if I did?”

I’m not a jealous person was what Evangeline intended to say, but instead the words “Of course” came out.

Jacks laughed, louder this time.

Embarrassment surged through her. “That’s not what I meant to say.”

“It’s all right. I’d probably kill another man if I found him with you like this.” Jacks’s hands pressed harder as they went to her shoulders and, one by one, ripped off the sleeves of her dress so that what remained of the gown completely fell away.

She made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a gasp. “Was that really necessary?”

“No, but everyone should have their clothes ripped off at some point.”

She imagined Jacks was mostly trying to distract her from all the pain, yet she blushed all the way from her cheeks to her chest.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw him smile.

And for a second, nothing hurt.

He strode away from her and returned a few moments later with a folded bundle of cloth that smelled a little like a forest, clean and crisp and woodsy. “You’ll want to prop your arms on this.”

“For what?”

“I need to bandage you now.”

Her stomach dipped as she realized what that meant: to dress her back, he’d have to wrap the cloths around her bare stomach and chest.

“I can close my eyes,” he said, “but then I’ll have to feel my way around your body.”

Evangeline felt fresh butterflies along with the strange feeling that, unlike with his earlier comment, Jacks wasn’t joking now. The thought made her slightly dizzy as she rested her elbows on the pile of cloth.

She briefly closed her eyes, but all that did was make her more aware of Jacks’s breath against her neck as he hovered over her back and put a cool hand under her bare stomach. He was helping to lift her from the mattress, but all she could think was that his fingers were splayed across her naked skin.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Little Fox, or the bandages will be too tight.”

She breathed and tried to focus on the snow that fell on the other side of the windows like feathers, floating down in dreamy flakes, as Jacks started wrapping the cloth around her. He was gentle with the bandage, but a little careless with his hands—every time he wrapped the fabric around, she felt his cool fingertips brushing her stomach or ribs and occasionally her breasts.

Every touch brought a rush of electricity to her skin, and she found herself wanting to lean in. It was absurd—she was injured, and he was merely tending to her wounds. But it didn’t feel like that; it felt like more. Or maybe she just wanted it to be more—maybe she wanted him.

She immediately tried to banish the thought. She couldn’t want Jacks. But it was hard to think of all the terrible things he’d done while he continued bandaging her. She felt his breath against her neck, and she wished for a second their story could have a different ending.

The thought was instantly followed by a hot flash of guilt and a memory of Apollo telling her he wanted to try.

But then she could feel Jacks’s hands again, and she wished that it was Jacks she was trying to save instead of Apollo.

She closed her eyes, forbidding all thoughts of Jacks and willing herself to just think of Apollo—or really anything except for Jacks. When she opened them again, she focused on the twisting branches that helped form the walls of the cozy loft. It was then that she noticed the vertical line of notches on the wood. The sort that children made to measure their height.

There appeared to be about five years’ worth of measurements, with five names carved beside them:

Aurora

Lyric

Castor

Jacks

She wasn’t sure what made her heart stop—the fact that his name was on this wall, or that another name appeared near the top, during the final year: the Archer.