Page 176 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

“I don’t know. I can still feel him.” Roremar’s brow creased, and she could tell he was on the verge of a theory, as she was. “But fuck the Fates thrice now. They not only used us, but my brother died for their games.”

Emmeline swallowed, the fury in his voice heating her chest.

“They’ll all fucking die for it,” Roremar swore.

Emmeline didn’t answer, lacing her fingers through his in a vow. She pulled strength from his touch, and could tell he did, too, their eyes locked in a silence that conveyed more than words ever could.

Until a yowling screech echoed over the rushing water.

“What was that?” Emmeline asked, breaking their trance.

Roremar’s brows rose to his hairline, blinking rapidly. The sound echoed again, and the worry marring his features vanished. A laugh burst from him, warmth spreading all the way to Emmeline’s toes at the sound.

“No way,” he whispered, scrambling to the mouth of the cave and peering around the curtain of water. Disbelieving laughter tumbled from him as Emmeline followed.

“What is it?” she called.

Roremar’s gaze was tipped to the top of the twelfth waterfall, head shaking. Without looking away, he held his hand out to Emmeline. Her heart inflated at his joy as she slipped her fingers between his and followed his sightline to⁠—

Jade-green eyes and moonlight glinting off a sleek black form. A glowing crescent moon patch, and a tail swishing happily.

“Cirre,” Roremar breathed.

And Emmeline swore the panther smiled.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Desmond

Desmond’s ass was losing feeling from the cold, hard rock he’d perched on. Though, he had to admit, his head was a little clearer out here.

“What are you thinking about?” Myrella asked.

Desmond grunted, continuing to draw in the dirt with a branch he’d found near the path. The horses stood at the edge of the tree line where the trunks were far enough apart for them to graze on fallen fruit.

Myrella crouched next to him. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

He scowled at her, but she laughed.

“You know nothing is happening between Lola and her guard.”

“Why would that bother me?” Desmond insisted, the branch creaking in his hand as he sketched flowers in the dirt, the tip of the stick digging deeper.

“It’s okay if it does, Desmond.” Her voice was so sincere, he looked up, finding those same, emotion-welling eyes that always got him to share things he’d rather not.

“It doesn’t bother me. It can’t.”

“Why not?” Myrella challenged. Dammit, she was a persistent little thing.

“Because she and I aren’t anything. We never have been.” He gritted his teeth. “The rules have always been clear.”

“Why, though?”

“It was only ever one night when she was home.”

Myrella hummed. “But you’re both here now.”

“So?”