14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
“I’m hungry.”
Emmaline stretched, her muscles languid and deliciously sore, her body melting further against Deyric’s warmth. She burrowed in, pressing closer to the muscled roundness of his shoulder, her fingers idly tracing the ridges of his chest.
The pile of sumptuous linens beneath them—typically reserved for grand castle functions, like a ball—was hopelessly disheveled, tangled around them like the remnants of a fever dream.
She had no idea how long they’d been hidden away in the secret storeroom. It could have been minutes or an eternity. Nor did she know how many times they’d—
Her whole body flushed, pleasure licking up her spine at the memories.
“You’re hungry?” Deyric’s voice was a lazy rasp, his lips skimming the curve of her neck as he nipped at her skin. “I’m sure there’s... something in here we could put in your mouth. Again.”
“You wish.” She reached back, aiming a playful swat at his head, but he moved before her hand could land.
In a heartbeat, she was on her back, her breath punched out of her lungs as Deyric flipped her in one smooth motion.
He hovered over her, his weight balanced perfectly on all fours.
Emerald hair fell in a silken curtain, the strands brushing against her collarbone, tickling her already sensitive skin.
“Oh, I do wish.” His eyes burned into hers, dark with something wicked, wanting, and dangerously insatiable. Then he lowered himself, his mouth claiming the taut peak of a breast, his teeth dragging before he sucked, tongue flicking over the mark he left behind.
A sharp gasp burst from her lips as her back arched up, desperate to close the distance between them, to pull him flush against her again. His hips met hers with a slow, torturous grind, the firm press of him sending a delicious shockwave straight through her entire body.
Fingers clawing into his back, her legs spread—
A soft knock shattered the moment.
She froze, breath still ragged, body still thrumming.
A voice—muffled but familiar—drifted through the hidden door. “They’re gone, Deyric. It’s safe to come out.”
The knock was like a bucket of cold water, and yet neither of them moved. Deyric’s breath was still hot against her neck as Emmaline’s fingers tangled into those emerald locks, not quite willing to let go yet.
Then the voice came again. “They’re gone, Deyric. It’s safe to come out. Should I open the door?”
Emmaline groaned, dropping her head back against the makeshift bedding and scowling at the ceiling. “Who in rot and ruin is that?”
Deyric sighed, rolling onto his side as he ran a hand through his thoroughly mussed hair.
“Jenni. One of the cooks.” His fingers trailed down her bare thigh before he gave it a final, reluctant squeeze. “You might have to settle for actual food to quell your hunger.”
Huffing, Emmaline rolled upright and smoothed out the fabric of her dress where it had been bunched and wrinkled in all the wrong places.
Deyric stretched, muscles flexing before he snagged his shirt from atop a sack of rice, shaking it out before yanking it over his head. “If we stay in here much longer, she’ll leave, and we’ll be stuck all night.”
Emmaline paused, one hand still gripping the laces at the back of her dress. “And?”
He turned, catching the look in her eye, his brows lifting. “Gods, woman. Is it the insanity that lends itself to such… endurance?”
A wicked smile crept onto her lips, but he was already moving toward the hidden door before she could answer, rapping his knuckles against the stone. “Give us a minute, Jenni.”
From the other side came a pointed scoff. “Us?”
Emmaline bit back a laugh as she tied the last of her laces.
When she looked up, Deyric was watching her, something unreadable but strangely fond flickering in his gaze.
He stepped in front of her, lifting a hand, and ran his fingers through the disheveled waves spilling over her shoulders, taming the worst of it.
She let her palm press lightly to his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat beneath her touch.
“That was…” she started, her voice softer now. “A pleasant diversion." She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze. “I am most grateful, Deyric.”
His lips curved. “And you’d like another spanking?”
Her mouth parted, ready to argue, but then she thought better of it. Instead, she let a slow, mischievous grin spread across her lips. “I might just.”
Deyric stilled, his teasing expression faltering for just a breath before his hand snapped to her waist, yanking her against him. His mouth crashed into hers, stealing whatever triumphant retort she might have had left, his kiss hot and consuming.
And just as her fingers dug into his shoulders, just as she leaned into him, the wall creaked and shifted. The hidden door swung open, revealing Jenni, arms folded, and one brow arched sky-high as she took in the scene.
“Well,” the cook drawled. “I suppose I’ll have extra linens to wash before the ball.” Jenni squinted into the dimly lit corridor, her small form silhouetted against the torchlight filtering in from the main hall. “Is that you, Emmaline?”
Emmaline stiffened, her face heating instantly. “Um… yes.” Her voice came out a little too high.
Jenni’s tiny nose wrinkled, her eyes narrowing. “And why does my storeroom smell like… I don’t know… definitely not like grain or rice?”
Deyric gave a low scoff, utterly unbothered, while Emmaline choked, pulling away from him as she mumbled something about dusty linens and poor ventilation.
“Right.” Jenni gave her a flat look before waving a dismissive hand. “Anyway, Lord Greymane’s been looking for you. Something about finalizing a contract for Lady Isolde.”
Emmaline’s stomach lurched, the reminder of reality hitting like a slap to the face. “I should go, then.” She looked down the hall toward Lord Greymane’s study, already plotting the fastest route there—one that didn’t involve any more awkward encounters.
Jenni, however, paused, her gaze flicking between Emmaline and Deyric. Then her eyes widened. “Oh. Ohhh, I see!”
Emmaline’s face burned hotter, but before she could shut it down, Jenni turned to Deyric, arms crossing over her chest.
“Really? She’s a little skinny, don’t you think?”
Deyric let out another unrepentant snort while Emmaline spluttered, “Hey!”
“I like her just fine, Jenni, though I appreciate your concern.” He pulled Emmaline back against him, one arm curling easily around her waist.
The contact was grounding, claiming, and far too… public. Her body tensed, but the way his fingers splayed against her hip still sent a shiver down her spine.
His voice dipped lower, meant only for her. “When and where can we continue this conversation?”
Jenni clapped her hands together, letting out a delighted squeal. “Oh my! Love is in the air!”
“Shhhh, woman,” Deyric groaned, raising a hand in exasperation.
But when his gaze turned back to Emmaline, there was no teasing left. His expression cooled into something more serious beneath the playfulness.
Love? Emmaline’s breath caught, her hands wringing together, suddenly feeling exposed now that they were out of the dark.
Surely not love. This had just been a distraction. A stolen moment when she thought the Patrol was closing in. She tried to back away, but Deyric didn’t let her go.
“Ignore her.” His hands found hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles before he lifted one, then the other, pressing a slow kiss to each knuckle.
It was unfairly sweet, entirely disarming.
“When and where?” he asked, then, a flicker of hesitation, something uncertain, passed over his face. “Or do you not…”
His fingers loosened just enough for her to pull away if she wanted to.
“No!” The word burst from her lips before she could stop it. She couldn’t bear the flicker of doubt in his face, the way his grip had loosened. So, she did the only thing that made sense. She squeezed his hands—hard, holding him in place. “I… I do.”
At least… I think I do? She swallowed, her heart racing too fast, the hallway spinning as Deyric searched her face. Then, the world narrowed to the deep emerald of his eyes.
“Tomorrow night.” The words left her before she could second-guess them. “The Blood Moon Club, down in the Gloam.”
The Gloam was a district that never truly slept, where the streets pulsed with magic and the air hummed with temptation.
The heart of the Vale’s underbelly, it was where deals were struck in shadows, where black magic thrived behind velvet curtains, and where Ursula ruled, a spider at the center of a gilded web.
“I’ll be out dancing with friends. Join us… if you dare.”
A low thrum vibrated in his chest, something dark and promising flashing across his expression.
“Oh my!!!” Jenni clapped her hands, pressing a fist against her mouth like she was physically restraining herself from squealing again. “This is better than Love in the Vale!
Emmaline groaned, half turning toward her. “You can’t possibly watch that drivel.”
But before she could fully look away, Deyric’s hand caught her chin, guiding her face back to him.
“I dare,” he murmured.
She half-expected him to kiss her, to claim her in that same reckless, consuming way he had done before. But instead, he leaned in, and with devastating gentleness, he grazed his lips across her forehead. A breath, barely a whisper against her skin—
“I’ll see you then, little killer.”
Emmaline barely registered the familiar hallways as she strode toward her office, still flushed and distracted, her thoughts a tangled mess of Deyric’s hands on her skin, his mouth at her ear, and the promise of tomorrow night at the Blood Moon Club.
She was a disaster, completely useless for anything resembling rational thought.
Gather your things. Go home. Get your head on straight.
But just as she rounded the final corner, she collided hard with something solid wrapped in silken material. A hand gripped her arm to steady her, and she jerked back on instinct, heart lurching into her throat as she looked up straight into Lord Caelith’s face.