Page 171 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

She thought back to all those nights she and her mother sat alone beneath the stars, her words whispered on the breeze beyond their secluded cottage.

“Do you know the Myth of the Lost Daughter?” When he nodded, she said, “It’s something like that. The water was from the tears of a Fate. They lost what they cherished most, and the rivers never stopped flowing because they never recovered whatever it was. It explains why the land is always considered even more magical here.”

“Like Fatetouched Land on the Constellation Isles,” Roremar said, gazing into the falls below. Then, he flicked a mischievous glance at Emmeline, her heart tumbling with it.

“What’s the look for?” she asked.

Without answering, Roremar stepped away from her. His eyes held hers as he reached behind his head and gripped his tunic by the neck, pulling it off. He tossed it to the floor, and heat pulsed through her as he stared back at her.

She couldn’t stop her eyes from dragging appreciatively over his body. He’d held her atop that well today, made her fall apart without even touching her in the catacombs, but she hadn’t seen him like this since before they lost Nico.

Hadn’t gotten to indulge in the cut of his muscles and his broad chest, the way ink artfully decorated his skin and painted the stories of all those he loved.

Now, as he was cast in starlight, practically cut from the sky itself, she dragged her gaze over his corded forearms and each Fate sigil. Along each hand, recalling how heat scorched through her at his touch.

She studied the constellation and date across his ribs, the name of his father’s boat and the wound from the other night, healing thanks to Cyren’s help and Roremar’s warrior blood.

As her gaze trailed south, to that defined line of muscles that disappeared into the waistband of his low-slung pants, she squeezed her thighs together. She remembered what he looked like as he stroked himself, how he sounded.

Desperate.

She was desperate for him.

Roremar cleared his throat, and Emmeline’s gaze shot up. He was smirking—insufferable, reckless, damningly attractive man.

“Everything okay, Huntress?” he asked, blinking dramatically as he removed his pants, standing in only his undershorts. She could easily see the outline of his cock, hard and thick, and she was certain he knew it.

But she could never give in to his taunts that easily. Emmeline licked her lips, a motion Roremar tracked. “Yes, of course.”

“You look a little…flushed.”

“It’s warm.” Her cheeks, her neck, her entire body was flaming.

Roremar nodded. “In a jungle. At night. As winter approaches.”

“Yes, practically boiling conditions.”

“Agitated by the heat?” Roremar stretched and dragged a hand down his chest. Starlight carved the lines of his torso, as if pointing right where she shouldn’t look.

“Entirely calm.”

“Mm-hmm.” He looked over his shoulder, dark hair swishing. “Then do you feel like doing something reckless with me?”

“What—”

“Only one way to find out what waits in the tears of the Fates.”

And without another word, he winked and flipped backward into Wisteria Falls.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Emmeline

The water was cold as Emmeline plunged into it. Not freezing as she expected for near winter, the undercurrent benefiting from the effects of nearby hot springs, but it shocked her senses and had goosebumps rising along her skin.

And she’d been right. Something about the freedom of it, about following Roremar over the ledge, felt like pure magic.

She surfaced, gulping down air as she spun in the water to find Roremar. Her hair clung to her skin, breath fanning in front of her when she exhaled.