19. Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
She stopped in her tracks, unwilling to move closer. Had he been here the whole time, waiting for her?
A fresh wave of dizziness rolled through her, her knees threatening to give out. The morning light cut too harshly, blurring the edges of the world.
What have you done? Her breath faltered, and before she could brace herself, Deyric was there.
He moved faster than her eyes could track, a blur of dark fabric and quiet strength. In an instant, his arms were around her, holding her to him, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of her borrowed shirt.
“Hey! You okay?” His emerald-green eyes scanned her face, brow furrowed. “Must have been some night.”
She forced a tight, hollow laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”
Her voice felt wrong in her throat, thin and weightless. She pushed out of his hold, slipping past him, her only focus on getting inside.
“I’m sorry I missed it.” His voice followed close behind. “Our favorite Lordling sent me across the city to personally test each of the horses in Lady Dormir’s dowry. It took all night.”
Dowry? Her fingers fumbled at the lock, her heart a discordant beat pounding in her skull.
“Is that what happened?” The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, too quiet, too flat. She kept her eyes on the door, refusing to turn, refusing to let him see whatever storm was unraveling inside her.
The lock finally gave, and she pushed through, stepping into the familiar safety of her flat.
“Yes. Why? What—?”
Something in his tone shifted. Then, his hand closed around her wrist. It wasn’t tight, or forceful. Just enough to stop her. Just enough to pull her back.
“Hey.” His voice was lower now, quieter. “Look at me, Emmaline.”
“What?” She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, unwilling to face him.
Either he was the monster Caelith had made him out to be, or… or he wasn’t. And if he wasn’t, then Caelith had lied, and she had just blown things with Deyric. And that would be so much worse.
“Emmaline.” Deyric closed the distance, his fingers tilting her chin up, guiding her face toward his.
She flinched. The reaction was instinctive, barely more than a flicker, but he saw it. His eyes widened, shock flashing across his features before smoothing into something unreadable.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak for a long, stretching beat.
Then, his voice was low, controlled—too controlled. “Did someone… hurt you?”
“No!” She stumbled back, ripping her face from his touch, her pulse a frantic, uneven thing. “You weren’t there! Where were you?!”
She couldn’t stand the concern in his eyes. Couldn’t breathe beneath the way he was looking at her, like she was something fragile, something in danger of shattering. Not after what she’d done with Caelith.
“I’m sorry.” He stepped forward but stopped himself, hands lifting in a slow, placating gesture.
“As I said, finishing my work for the day took longer than planned.” He exhaled, frustration tinging the edges of his words.
“I didn’t have your speak-easy sign, but I got there as soon as I could. Ursula said you’d left for the night.”
His gaze swept over her, taking in her bare feet and her disheveled state. Then, more carefully, he added, “Emmaline, I know I screwed up, but this—” He reached for her shoulder, his touch light, questioning. “Did something happen?”
His fingers trailed down her arm, and that’s when he noticed it.
The shirt.
His whole body went rigid.
“Where did you get this?” His fingers touched the fabric as if confirming what he already knew. His teeth ground together. “I recognize it. It’s from Lord Caelith’s collection.”
Emmaline shoved his hand away, retreating toward the balcony. Air. She needed air.
Behind her, she heard him step forward. “Emmaline!”
“You weren’t there!” The words tore from her throat as she whirled on him. “He was.” Her hands balled into fists, shaking at her sides. She swung, slamming them into his chest, striking against the solid wall of him with more force than she thought she had left.
“The things he said you’d told him—” She struck again, voice cracking, unraveling. “It was enough to make me sick.”
“What I said?” His hands shot out, catching her wrists and pinning them in his palms. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t bruising, but it didn’t yield. “I wouldn’t tell that stain of a man anything—let alone anything about you.”
“You’re lying.”
He had to be. She couldn’t breathe. Because if he wasn’t lying, then Caelith had simply used her.
And if that was true, then he wasn’t her mate. And if that was true, then what she had felt, the way her body had responded, the pleasure she had drowned in—it couldn’t have been natural.
A violent heave rolled through her stomach. She tore out of his grip, shoving past him, barely making it to the sink before she collapsed against it, choking as her body rejected everything inside her.
The world went gray, and she heaved again, nausea wracking her, bile scorching her throat.
Then—a hand at the base of her head, pulling her hair back from her face. And another on her back, rubbing slow, steady circles.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead to the cold metal basin.
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was hoarse, raw. She wiped the corners of her mouth, refusing to face him.
Deyric let go immediately, stepping back, leaving only emptiness in his wake.
“I’m going to kill him.”
The words weren’t spoken. They were promised with a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the air like a predator scenting blood.
When Emmaline finally turned, she saw how his muscles were tight, his breath coming in sharp, controlled pulls, and his hands flexing like he was already imagining them around Caelith’s throat. The emerald in his eyes had darkened as something deep and dangerous coiled behind them.
This wasn’t just anger. This was something far worse.
“I don’t care that he’s a Lord or that he funds my sister’s education.” Deyric’s voice simmered with rage. “I should have killed him years ago.”
“Deyric.” She tried to calm her beating heart. She couldn’t let him do this. He was a servant and not even a full-blooded Ellyllon. If he laid a hand on Caelith, he’d be executed.
He barely heard her, shaking his head, muttering to himself.
“But she begged me not to.” The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Said she hadn’t tried hard enough to stop him. That it was worth getting into the school of her dreams, and it wasn’t my place to punish him.”
He lifted his gaze, and Goddess above, his eyes were wild, burning.
“But if I had—” His breath hitched. “If I had killed him back then, he wouldn’t have hurt you.” He choked. “I could have protected you.”
“No,” she whispered. What do I do? How do I save him from this?
“I won’t make that same mistake twice.”
He turned toward the door, but she threw herself in front of him before he could take another step.
“You can’t do anything!” She couldn’t let him get himself killed over her. The Greymanes were too powerful, too deeply embedded in the Vale’s elite… and she wasn’t worth it. “Deyric, listen to me—”
“You are my mate, Emmaline.”
The words stopped her cold, and his hands landed on her shoulders, firm but gentle as he shifted her aside.
“It is my responsibility to protect you. To keep you safe.” His voice was unshaken, resolute. “I failed.”
His fist lashed out, slamming into the kitchen countertop with brutal force, causing the wood to fracture and splinter beneath his knuckles.
Emmaline recoiled, but he didn’t even seem to register the pain.
“I will see justice done at the very least,” he vowed. “Neither his family nor his money will protect him this time.”
Mate. The word reverberated through her body, settling deep in her bones like an undeniable truth. How had she missed it?
Deyric was already at the door.
“Stop! You’ve got it wrong!” Emmaline scrambled after him, her limbs still sluggish and unsteady. She had to stop him. “You aren’t my mate. You don’t need to do this.”
The moment the words left her lips, something snapped inside her, and a lance of white-hot agony drove through her chest. At the same time, Deyric doubled over in the doorway, his body folding in on itself as if he’d just taken a blade between the ribs.
“Emmaline.” His knuckles went white against the wall, gripping it like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff.
She had to stop him. She had to protect him.
“You aren’t my mate.” She forced the words out again, and her legs buckled as a frigid weight crushed her chest, spreading outward, sinking deep as ice threaded through her veins.
Deyric’s head snapped up, his face pale, his breathing uneven.
“I went with him willingly.” She nearly gagged on the words. “It’s not what you think.”
Maybe—maybe—she could even convince herself of that.
Deyric’s body wavered. “Don’t say another word,” he panted. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
She shook her head. She had to make him believe it. Had to keep him safe.
“We had fun, Deyric.” Her voice was thinner now, breathless from the unnatural cold clawing through her ribs. “But I’ve wanted Caelith for years. I’ve known he was my mate since the first moment I laid eyes on him.”
The pain—Goddess above, the pain—
It was unbearable, an unseen force sinking hooks into her ribs, twisting, pulling, trying to rip something out of her she hadn’t even known was there. She clenched her teeth against the nausea threatening to drop her, bracing herself against the broken kitchen counter.
“You…” Why couldn’t she say it. Why couldn’t she force the words past her lips. It was just words. Just a lie. So why did it feel like her essence was splintering apart?
Deyric inhaled, his chest rising like he was trying to keep himself standing through sheer force of will. “Stop.”
His eyes—Goddess, his eyes. She could have sworn she saw tears gathering there, but she refused to look too closely. Refused to let herself see what she was doing to him.
“Aren’t.” Her throat closed around the word and Deyric staggered.
“Don’t say it, not a third time.” His voice barely held together.
“My mate.”
The world broke.
A sound, high and keening, like a bell tolling through the very fabric of existence, rang through the air.
Thrice said. It is done. The words, coming from nowhere and everywhere, threatened to split her skull in two.
Every nerve in her body ignited with a raw, blinding agony, not fire, not ice—worse, something deeper, something wrong.
Her vision blurred. The world tilted, and a connection she had never even felt before ripped apart.
Deyric let out a strangled sound—somewhere between a gasp and a cry—before he collapsed, his entire body crumpling to the floor.
He didn’t move.
Darkness swallowed her.
Then light.
Then darkness again.
Pain came in waves—crushing, suffocating, unlike anything she had ever known. It owned her, dragged her under, and fractured her thoughts until all that remained was the all-consuming wrongness threading through every nerve in her body.
What is happening? This was worse than the aftereffects of a night out, even if Caelith had… had done something to her. And why was it affecting Deyric, too?
She choked on the air, her vision swimming as she blinked up at the ceiling, her limbs useless, leaden.
Somewhere, close, Deyric still lay motionless. A broken sound caught in her throat as she tried to move, to reach for him. Her fingers twitched. Her body screamed.
What is wrong with him?
She forced her head to turn, the movement agony, but she needed to see him, needed to know that he was all right.
What did I do? The world faded in and out, time slipping between her fingers like sand.
She didn’t know how long she lay there, her face pressed against the cold floor, barely conscious. Then, through her haze, she saw Deyric stir. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.
She wanted to reach for him, to call his name, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words. Something wet dripped from her lips. Drool. Vomit. She felt it pool beneath her chin, but she couldn’t even summon the strength to wipe it away.
He lifted his head to her. His face… she didn’t recognize it, morphed as it was in anger.
“How could you?” His fingers dug into the floor.
Then—a shift. The fury in his gaze fractured, the sharp edges dulling into something worse.
Sadness. Regret.
“How could you destroy the greatest gift the Goddess can give?”
Destroy? The greatest gift? What is he talking about? she wanted to ask, needed to ask. But she still couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.
Deyric let out a slow, shuddering breath as he planted his fists beneath him, gathering his strength. Groaning, he pushed himself upright, staggering slightly before catching his balance.
Then, he looked down at her. His face was unreadable, though his voice was not.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you, little killer.”
The nickname—soft and teasing whenever he’d used it before—felt like a death sentence now.
He turned toward the door, each step unsteady, and, without looking back, he paused.
“You two deserve each other.”
And then—
He was gone.
The moment the door clicked shut, Emmaline knew she had made the biggest mistake of her life.