Page 104 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

It almost felt like a betrayal when she looked at him, and Emmeline couldn’t make sense of that.

Roremar’s brows rose, amusement tugging at Emmeline’s defenses. “Are you jealous, Huntress?”

She snapped those crumbling defenses back up, cheeks burning. “I find jealousy to be a waste of energy.”

“You must be exhausted then.” Roremar took a step forward. Every inch was temptation.

“On the contrary”—Emmeline turned her back on him, surveying the tunnels branching away from the pond—“I’m feeling rather adventurous. I think there are quite a few people back on the other side of the maze I’d like to speak with.”

Warmth pressed against her back, seeping through her spine and along every inch of her body as Roremar whispered, “Who are you looking for, Emmeline?”

Though she knew they were both aware of what answers they were here for, the question said so much more. Who was she running to? Why was she running from him?

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes dropping to his lips then flicking up to his silver stare. It was molten again. She could count on one hand how often it had done that before Alvan, yet ever since the boat, they’d been pools of ire that seemed to draw her in. Perhaps it was the heady incense from the Lair yesterday toying with their magics or she was still weak from fainting.

Slowly, without a word, Emmeline turned her chin back to the pool, searching the crystalline water, silvers rippling around the edges.

“Whatever you thought you saw, you didn’t. I was only asking that woman a few questions as we agreed we all were supposed to. She had me cornered.” Her heart beat faster at his proximity. “It’s only us here now, Emmeline.” Those words were breathed into the crook of her neck as Roremar leaned forward to peer into their reflection. “What are you looking at?”

She didn’t quite know the answer. It was her, she thought. Her, with eyes swirling silver and white flames haloing her head. Her, with shadows as dark as the voids between stars pressed around her body, hands threatening to rip her from this realm.

They converged, claws sinking and shredding, until the screaming starfire woman faded. A silver staff took her place, only briefly before a glowing insect landed on the water, and circles ebbed out from it, shattering the illusion.

Then, it was only her and Roremar, two portraits framed by antique silver grasses, that could have been as ancient as the Fates themselves, as fitted as twin constellations.

But Emmeline said, “Nothing.”

It came out as more of a breath than she’d intended, and Roremar’s brow quirk echoed in the reflection.

Emmeline faced him, their breath mingling.

“What are you looking at, Reckless?” she challenged.

Reluctance warred across his features, desperation to hear his next words sending Emmeline’s heart pounding.

“You, Emmeline.” A vow laced those words. His hands framed her hips, tugging her a step closer, and she gasped. “I am looking at you. Way more than I should be.”

His thumbs drew circles against the bare skin of her waist, each gentle brush setting her body aflame. Heat pooled between her legs, and for once, she desperately wanted to damn caution and give into the recklessness she scorned.

“I have been looking at you for longer than I care to admit,” he went on, dragging a hand over her collarbone. She nearly whimpered at the featherlight touch.

“But we can’t do this,” Roremar whispered, voice rough and crackling with a restraint she wanted to shatter.

Fates, his breath was warm against her lips. The entirety of her being coiled tight. With one slight shift, she’d unravel at his feet.

“Why?” The question was only a breath. Roremar’s answering groan hummed against her chest, a soft whimper falling from her parted lips. His gaze tracked it. Each drop of his attention threatened to undo her, clinging to her skin, and she wanted to bathe in it. In him. To indulge for once in her Fatesdamned life.

But he’d said they couldn’t, and those words felt like they were ripping away a future she hadn’t even gotten to experience.

His head dipped closer.

And though Emmeline knew she couldn’t—knew everyone close to her wound up dead, she wanted to hear him say it. She forced the question out again, the words nearly a moan as his fingertips grazed her bare spine, and she arched toward him. “Why can’t we, Roremar?”

His eyes glinted silver at his name, lips brushing hers as he muttered, “Because I will be your ruin.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Emmeline