Page 63 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

One corner of his lips lifted at her taunt. Even now, she mocked him. This time, he didn’t mind.

“What happened?”

“Came home to it,” she forced out through quivering lips. Her tongue flicked across them, and Roremar tracked the movement. “Someone grabbed me.”

His anger spiked, heart galloping enough to burst through his ribs. He forced it down, taking a deep breath and focusing on her. They’d find the bastard that did this later. Right now, Emmeline needed help.

Maybe needed him.

Fates knew Roremar was good at being needed.

He cast a quick glance up at Desmond to ensure he’d heard that someone else had been in this room. Nico was outside with the guards, but his friend’s hardened amber stare promised he’d assess the scene, and Roremar gave his full attention back to Emmeline.

“Did they hurt you?” Roremar asked, much softer than the screaming in his mind.

Emmeline whimpered, her chin ducking in what he thought was a nod. She arched her neck, wincing, and the moonlight streaking through the window highlighted it. A string of oddly shaped purple bruises ringing her throat, and a shallow, bloody slice to her chest that was already healing.

Roremar’s hands fisted against the aged rug, the fabric scratching against his skin at the knowledge that someone had their hands on Emmeline, that someone had violated this space for her.

But he also could tell that releasing all that rage wouldn’t help her right now, and it certainly wouldn’t find the person responsible for his.

“Can you sit up, Huntress?” he asked. She considered that request for a long moment, searching his gaze for some sort of assurance, so Roremar added, “Can I help you?”

She gave another gentle nod and whispered a barely perceptible, “Please.”

And fuck if that broken sound didn’t carve out a place in his heart for all eternity.

Roremar rose first, wrapping an arm around Emmeline’s shoulder and propping her up right beside him. Once she was steady, she lifted her chin to look at him, hissing as the motion stretched the patchwork of bruises across her neck.

Roremar’s gaze drifted to them again, trying to place the shape, and Emmeline’s shoulders curved inward, her own stare dropping shamefully.

“No,” Roremar said gently, placing a knuckle beneath her chin to lift her attention back to his. “Don’t hide,” he whispered. His chest ached at the tears gathered along her lashes, but she didn’t let them fall. “Whoever did this—they are the one who should be ashamed. This is not your fault, Emmeline.”

She twirled her opal ring around her finger as his words hovered between them, neither of them saying anything else.

Spirits, why was he in such agony over her? Why did seeing this brave, confident woman clam up threaten to shatter his entire world? She was only one person, one who he was forced to work with, sure, but this wrenching fear was so foreign to him. Other than his siblings and his mother—and occasionally Desmond—he wasn’t supposed to feel this level of distraught for anyone.

Yet there was no other way to describe that hole carving itself through his chest or the bloody promise of vengeance that overflowed in its wake as the deepest, most bone-deep level of devotion.

Emmeline’s eyes flicked to the message on the wall, and she inhaled a sharp breath as she read. Her eyes clenched, her hand flying to Roremar’s chest.

Why had someone done this to her? What made her a target?

Beyond the door, the muttered voices were growing louder. Impatient. He recognized his uncle’s among them as well as some strangers.

Fates, she was still trembling. He couldn’t have them all coming in here. Her fucking hands could barely grip his leathers. It lodged a knot in his throat and tore at his chest like his damn heart was being shredded by a jungle cat, with fangs and claws; it could have him if only it would make her stop shaking.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Roremar muttered.

“I-I’m ok-kay.”

“You aren’t staying here, Emmeline,” he asserted, her quivering making his own voice waver.

“I-I am o⁠—”

She shook her head as Roremar crouched. “Do you trust me?” he whispered in her ear. The answering hitch in her breath echoed through his entire body.

Wordlessly, Emmeline pulled back to meet his eyes. And she nodded.