Page 106 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

They’d gotten on the first ship back to Lyra. Their request to the War Master of Alvan be damned, she could write to them if she had anything important to share.

Under the cover of night, the five of them gathered in a private cabin with two sets of bunk beds and a bottle of rum, the waves rocking them just as the weight of their discoveries did.

Lips pressed together, Emmeline nodded.

“And one of them is Anphrosia?”

“Yes,” she answered plainly, thankfully not getting impatient with his cyclical questioning.

Spirits, she made a lot more sense now. The first time he saw her read, it was so instinctual, he’d been curious, but she’d mentioned being tied to Metrina. The Fate of Prophecy and Demise was known for the most complex—untrustworthy—readings. Roremar had presumed that had spawned some deeper well of magic within Emmeline.

Apparently he was a fool to think so small when it came to this woman. She hadn’t only been given one celestial connection but two.

“And the murderer is killing women tied to Anphrosia,” Nico parroted, taking a swig straight from the bottle of rum and handing it to Desmond across the circle. Silent anger rolled off Des as he downed more than his fair share of the liquor. Roremar wasn’t sure why, but he made a mental note to check with him about it later.

Right now, his attention was preoccupied.

Roremar’s eyes locked on Emmeline’s, and his heart fucking rioted. He’d been trying to pull away from her all day, but that goal had gone to the Fates now. It was as if his heart was trying to reach out of his chest and grab on to her, ensure she wasn’t another victim.

“It makes sense,” Myrella said, round eyes distraught. “Emmeline was attacked. Now at least we know why.” Cross-legged beside Nico, their backs against one of the lower bunks, Myrella glanced worriedly up at him. Hesitantly, Nico wrapped an arm around her, and Myrella didn’t shake him off.

“That’s why the friends of the first victim went to Byron instead of Alvan,” Emmeline said, more to him than to the others. “To hold a vigil in Starviewer Fields.”

It was an old-fashioned mourning tradition some Starsearchers upheld if the deceased was aligned to Anphrosia. Every Fate had their own.

“You’re more of a target than we guessed, Huntress,” Roremar said, leaning back against the bottom bunk and bracing his elbows on his knees.

“Seems like it,” she deadpanned. The unusual monotony bit at his nerves as Emmeline spun her opal ring around her finger.

That break in at the Academy wasn’t just because they were getting closer to the culprit. It was because she was woven among the victims. A star-crossed fucking prophecy if he’d ever heard one.

Bags under her eyes, Emmeline chewed her lip and absently nodded along to every word as the others continued to rehash the information Roremar and Emmeline had seen in the reflecting pool.

“There’s likely already been more deaths,” Myrella said, voice small. “If there were more than just the three women shown in the pool.”

“The two original missing women, plus some,” Nico agreed.

That wasn’t the image seared into Roremar’s mind, though. He kept seeing Emmeline, eyes burning silver and white flames shrouding her. Tendrils of darkness digging into her being, trying to claim her.

As Emmeline’s gaze flicked up to his, he didn’t miss the way her lips parted, and he couldn’t help but remember how they’d felt as they brushed his. His entire fucking body remembered it. He’d been so close to caving in the Mourning Gardens, to tasting her and letting himself have what he craved. To spinning her against the hedges and dropping to his knees before her. The utter divinity he imagined waiting between her legs had consumed him.

The way her cheeks had flamed with jealousy when she’d thought she’d found him with another woman. At first, twisted satisfaction had shot through him. She’d looked so damn good worked up over him, and his chest had heated with pride to think someone as good as her could want him.

But then something splintered behind her stare, and his own chest had ached.

Nothing had been happening with the woman. He’d been honest when he told Emmeline she’d cornered him. But to see the hurt he didn’t even think she fully registered…it woke a primal instinct within him. And he’d been ready to dive across that edge of temptation with her.

Now, as a swallow worked the column of her throat and he wanted to drag his tongue over it, it was really fucking hard to remember why he hadn’t.

You will be her ruin, that voice repeated.

Nausea washed over him. He pretended it was from the ebb of the tide and stale cabin air, not images of her as the next victim. It certainly wasn’t the sound of her heart pounding as if through his own blood. How many of those heartbeats was a killer counting down?

No. There wasn’t a chance in the Fate Realm Roremar would allow that to come true, but the threat did cool some of the lust pouring through him.

Sighing, Roremar pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to force away the haunting images.

Blinking away the blinding spots behind his lids, Roremar looked at Emmeline. “You’re sure you’re okay?”