Page 136 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Roremar flashed her a sheepish look that said he hoped it was okay the others were here. Based on Myrella’s curious stare flicking between the two of them, he hadn’t enlightened them as to what happened last night, but her friend clearly knew something was going on.

Emmeline cleared her throat. “Thank you.” She gave Myrella a look that said she’d explain later. Maybe. When she was ready to rehash what had happened.

Fangs and scales iridescent in the winking mystlights. Low, gentle hisses that roved her nightmares and shivered along her bones.

She squeezed her eyes tight, shaking her head to dislodge the memories. With the soft blanket still tight against her skin, Emmeline stood and crossed to examine the pastries on the table. Dropping into a chair, she chose a tart at random and picked at the flaky crust.

“I guess we should discuss everything you learned last night,” she said, attempting to direct them down a path that wouldn’t hurt so badly to dig into.

Her scars still ached, an ever-present reminder, but another memory trailed each bead of pain. Gentle fingers and a deep, calming voice. Salve massaged into her skin just before she drifted off to sleep.

Her eyes flicked to Roremar. He had both feet braced on the floor, elbows resting on his knees and taut muscles flexing as he studied her, long fingers laced together. Those hands.

Emmeline hadn’t wanted to admit that having his hands on such an intimate part of her didn’t feel wrong or like crossing a barrier. But as the memory flickered through her mind again, she couldn’t deny it felt…safe.

How would it feel to be held by him when she wasn’t breaking down? How would his bare skin feel against hers, his lips trailing down her body?

Even now, in the wake of all that had happened last night, a part of her that acknowledged how good he was wanted that.

Myrella leaned across the table, shattering Emmeline’s trance as she grabbed her own breakfast. “Yes, we need to hear everything. Start at the begin⁠—”

The door slammed open.

Roremar’s sword was in his hand before the shadow broke the threshold, but it dropped just as quickly.

“Morning,” Desmond drawled, kicking the door shut so hard, the wood shuddered. He crossed to the counter and propped himself against it. “What are we all doing up here?”

Nico’s and Myrella’s eyes swiveled between Emmeline and Desmond, but he pointedly didn’t acknowledge her. Roremar didn’t look away from his friend, squinting as if trying to decipher him. It was the hyper-observant look Emmeline had become familiar with. Brows slightly scrunched so his scar looked like a jagged bolt, gaze picking up things no one else saw.

She hated when it was directed at her, how it saw right through her. Now, she didn’t mind.

“Emmeline and Roremar were going to tell us what information they got last night,” Nico explained slowly when no one else bothered.

Myrella sat straight-backed, lips clamped between her teeth, fighting herself so hard from interjecting, she actually grabbed Nico’s hand atop the table. Despite the clear tension in the room, Nico beamed at her.

“Last night?” Desmond asked, turning to Roremar with more than a little hurt in his stare. “What did you learn? I came by to find you when I closed the parlor, but you were gone. Thought it was your night off.”

“I was here,” Roremar answered matter-of-factly, still standing with his sword aimed at the floor. “Then Emmeline showed up with news, and we went to the Mezzanine.”

“Oh, don’t we just love when Emmeline has news.”

Her skin prickled at the derision in his tone, but Emmeline swallowed down her offense.

Roremar grumbled something beneath his breath, rolling his eyes. “Des, you know I have to keep working on this case. We need to find the killer and I—” His mouth snapped closed.

Desmond’s brows rose, arms flexing as he leaned back against the marble counter. “You what?”

Fates, she hated how her accusation and the fact that she and Roremar were still partners drove a wedge in their friendship.

Sighing, she said, “Desmond, I⁠—”

“Oh, you can speak to me?” Laughter bubbled through his words.

Emmeline balked. “What?”

“I figured since you outright accused me of murder without ever once asking about any of the evidence you gathered that you and I were unable to speak to one another.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It would have been pretty foolish of me to tell my suspect I was on their trail. Even if I ended up being wrong.”