Page 163 of The Ember that Tethers

Unable to decide how to feel or think or process that statement, she ignored her worries and demanded, “Tell me which key will get me into Deimos’s study.”

“The study?” The Treasurer tilted his head, picking her apart. “And what is it you wish to see? Perhaps, I can help you.”

“Just the key is fine.” She offered a mocking smile. “Or shall I find out exactly how you’ll scream when these chains melt into your flesh?”

The Treasurer, who still wore Destonne’s face and Shade’s eyes, blinked. Blinked again. Likely tried to decipher how they could sway this. “It seems you cannot get in without my help.”

Emmery peered at the keys and shrugged. “If I can’t pick one, I’ll just have to take them all. Your hand with it.”

And then his eyes flashed. The green snapped to a crimson, the same she had seen in her dreams, the colour of blood and death and endings.

Then he laughed a wicked, cruel sound. “Such a feisty, vivacious woman, with eyes of both innocence and peril. Very well,” he drawled. He jingled his left wrist. “It’s of no consequence to me. All will fall into place. Take your key. Black iron with the heart-shaped handle.”

Emmery hoped to the gods he spoke the truth, and this wasn’t some trick. But she really had no other choice. As she caught sight of it, she noticed anScarved into the handle. For study she presumed, though that felt too obvious.

She braced a hand on the bed to get a good angle—

The Treasurer lunged, but the chain snapped him back against the bed as he flailed, and yet he tried to get his legs around her.

Emmery flared her flame and snarled at him, ready to melt his damn face off. The Treasurer made a small pathetic noise and shrank back against the bed as if he wished he could sink into it.

“Behave or I’ll make good on my promise,” she said through gritted teeth.

Emmery sparked her flame and melted the ring holding the key.

The Treasurer wasn’t done with his nonsense. “Now that you have your key, release me.”

Emmery tucked it between her cleavage alongside the handcuff key. As she surveyed those crimson eyes, she felt absolutely no remorse. So, she said in her best sing-song voice, “I don’t think so.”

She jogged for the door, slipped outside, and slammed it shut behind her.

Her heart raced as she burst back into the club. The Treasurer’s cries were luckily absorbed by the music. Because now that she had the key, she needed—

Dez.

Emmery searched the room, shoved people aside, and her eyes darted everywhere. He couldn’t have left without her, could he? Her heartbeat ticked like a clock, counting down the seconds, and she didn’t know how long they had or if they would make it at all.

Emmery darted through the crowd, her eyes peeled for that familiar curly hair, tall stature, and broad shoulders. A few times she thought she caught sight of Dez, but they faded back into that black silhouette and she surged on. Her elbows swung. She didn’t care if she struck someone. They were all too intoxicated and lust drunk anyway.

Maybe something had happened to him, he’d been caught or—

When a hand snagged her elbow, she squealed and spun with her flame ready at her fingertips.

A heavy relieved sigh slipped between her lips as she met Dez’s eyes. Then, unable to control herself, she stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her feet lifted off the ground as he held her to him, their bodies flush.

He smelled thickly of blood, and it covered him: his chest, neck, and face. Had someone done that to him? Why werehis curls strung out like someone had run their hands through them? But maybe she’d done that earlier. Her stomach sank.

He set her back on the ground and gave her a stupid little smirk.

Emmery shoved his chest. “Where the fuck were you?”

“Your affection knows no bounds.” The smirk grew into a smile. “Careful now. Wouldn’t want it to go to my head.”

“Whatever,” she grumbled. She spun for the exit. “Let’s go.”

They made their way across the club to where Reize claimed Deimos’s study dwelled below. The close location surely wasn’t a coincidence. It seemed typical of a god to mix pleasure and work so carelessly. As they ran, Emmery’s feet slapped against the stone floor, and she winced as the pain radiated through her heels.

“Where are your shoes?” Dez hissed over his shoulder as they darted down a shadowed hallway lit in the same amber hue as the rest of the Hollow.