Page 113 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

And though her mind was still spinning, she realized whose arms she was in.

“Roremar,” she breathed. “We can’t⁠—”

We can’t be seen.

Fierce determination hardened his steel eyes. “Come on.”

And he pulled her into one of the alcoves.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Roremar

Roremar thought his days of finding himself with Emmeline DeLeoste pressed against him were over. He held her to the wall in one of the alcoves, a winged statue masking their hiding place.

Her breath rattled against his neck, every exhale so much shakier than he’d expected it to be. And every exhale hitting his throat in a fucking tempting way that shot straight to his cock.

“Shh,” he soothed, trying to distract himself from the very real ache settling into his bones. The whistling grew closer, the tune jaunty and effortless, a folksong he couldn’t remember the lyrics to but that sounded so damn familiar.

It was likely a grave robber who found their way into the crypt, probably desperate for something to sell. The one saving grace was that he knew it couldn’t be anyone following them maliciously, or they wouldn’t be so fucking loud.

But if it was a thief, how had they found this place? He and Emmeline only had because her Fate ties led her here.

Whoever was out there couldn’t be here by accident. Call it schemes of the Fates, this all felt perfectly orchestrated. The haunting whistling mounted, and Emmeline trembled against him unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Her magic, he realized. It had to be driving her wild after that display.

When they were walking down here, she’d said it felt euphoric. Now, it was peaking, and she panted against him.

“It’s okay,” he barely mumbled, pressing the words into her hair. Fates, her sweet floral scent was alluring as it shrouded this tiny alcove.

The whistle shifted into gentle humming, and Roremar could tell by the low tone that whoever it was was in the cavern now. He wished he had his damn sword. Holy site be damned, he’d fight his way out of this if it meant making sure Emmeline was safe.

The humming carried past their alcove, drifting around the room.

Emmeline tilted her face up, her quaking stalling as she listened. Roremar met her stare, and…fuck.

She was right. They shouldn’t be this close.

He couldn’t look at anything other than her lips, full and parted and begging for him to take them. He remembered what they tasted like, how she moaned into him, and he dreamed about what they’d feel like wrapped around him. So fucking warm⁠—

He wasn’t good for her, he reminded himself. He wasn’t good for her, no matter what she’d said in the mausoleum.

Their visitor’s song was slowly growing more distant, exploring one of the tunnels and taking all the time in the fucking realms, but they could turn back any second. And he could still feel Emmeline’s every breath on his lips. Could smell nothing but the lavender soap she loved and incense lingering on her skin and hair, slightly smoky tonight, not even the light rain enough to wash it away.

He never got a taste of her. Sure, there was the kiss in the seeing chamber—cut much too short for his liking—and there was the other night when he was on his knees for her and licked liquor from her skin. There was the thing in his chest that tied them together that he knew she refused to acknowledge. But he hadn’t gotten to truly taste her, to bury his tongue in her cunt and make her fall apart. His skin was too tight around his bones at the thought.

None of it was fucking enough.

And here, right now, with her pressed against him and every breath pushing her closer, with her looking at his lips like she wanted him even half as desperately as he did her, he forgot every logical reason why he resisted.

He fucking ached for her.

Emmeline whispered, “Do you think—” But the words died on her tongue when their eyes met. She inhaled sharply, quiet enough that anyone in the cavern wouldn’t hear.

Roremar shook his head, the motion bringing them close enough his nose brushed hers.

There might be people outside looking for you. They could be City Guards who think you’re a murderer or Starsearchers who swear you’re dangerous for the woman you’re obsessed with⁠—