Chapter 18 #2
Fates, she wanted to let go. To fuck the rules and be a little more reckless with herself. But giving into him would only be damning him.
Roremar’s hand dragged up her side, his rings cold as his thumb skated the underside of her breast. “Is this okay? No kissing, but this…” He brushed over her nipple, her spine arching and head tipping back. “Is this okay?”
She understood the desperation. He was a storm of emotions—grief, guilt, anger, and want—and this was how he was letting them out. Through her—them. He was pouring everything he couldn’t understand into the one thing he was certain of.
Emmeline needed that safe haven, too.
They may be fated for ruin, but for now, she let her eyes slip shut and indulged in what little time they had.
“Yes,” she exhaled.
Her breathing was ragged, the crackling fire dancing with it as Roremar eased one strap off her shoulder. The sound was a haunted melody, a shattering song that only fit their twisted story.
The lace fell forward, and just like the first time he’d seen her body, Roremar looked like he’d devour her.
“You’re too good for me,” he whispered.
He rolled another drop of liquor down her chest, between her breasts. It traced the path where his ring had hung just hours ago, now stored safely in her dressing chamber back in the manor.
Roremar dropped to his knees. Her core ached, needy for him, but he only gripped her hips and caught that daring drop of liquid right below her ribs.
The hot sweep of his tongue across her stomach had her thighs pressing together, desperate for any kind of friction. Roremar paused, looking up at her as he placed a kiss below her navel.
“What have you done to me, Huntress?” he whispered, fingers digging into her skin. “Here I am, a dying man, yet I’m entirely consumed by you. My every thought is about what it would be like to feel you, misery knowing that I’ll never get to have you the way I dream of.”
One hand stretched up, thumb swiping over her bottom lip with pure longing burning through his stare. His other hand worked beneath the waist of her leathers as his teeth skated the band.
Each touch brought her closer to leaping off that ledge.
To being reckless with him—
Three quick knocks on the door had them both freezing. The illusion shattered.
“Fuck.” Roremar sighed, forehead pressing to her stomach.
Emmeline’s heart pinched at the defeat in his voice. He was a crumbling statue and a little piece of him was breaking off in her palm.
The reality of them not being alone, not being allowed to be together at all, came crashing back, and fear for Roremar’s life gripped Emmeline’s lungs.
What will your existence drive them to do?
You may forfeit Roremar the Reckless’s life.
This had been a horribly senseless idea. She’d allowed them to get too carried away, but she wouldn’t again.
Reluctance slowing each move, Roremar got to his feet and pulled her leathers back on. Once she was dressed, he paused, brushing her hair from her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Next time, Huntress.”
She shook her head, chest aching. “There isn’t a next time.”
“Because we only ruin each other, right?” Roremar whispered as a second set of knocks sounded.
Emmeline swallowed. “Right.”
He searched her expression, and Emmeline buried all her regret and longing.
She didn’t know what he found in her eyes, but it clearly wasn’t enough to deter his headstrong tendencies. Roremar pulled her bottom lip from between her teeth and said, “I may have been prepared to die in that arena, Huntress, but this—tonight—gave me a reason to win.”
Win.
The tournament.
He wasn’t giving up, and that thought both thrilled and terrified her.
Before she could argue, a third series of knocks sounded and Alana opened the door. “We need to get going. We’re arranging a longer meeting, but this is all we have time for tonight.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Roremar said to Emmeline, and the vow in his voice both ripped her apart and stitched her up. “Oh, and promise me something?”
“Yes?” She couldn’t be with him, but she’d promise him anything that was in her power.
“Don’t stop looking for her. Whatever you do, don’t give up.”
Her sister. Even now, Roremar was prioritizing Emmeline and the person she’d fought so long to find. Tears gathered on her lashes as she whispered, “That’s why I’m here.”
He walked backward to the door, his eyes on hers and her heart bleeding.
On the threshold, he looked Alana over and whispered, “Thank you, Lola. Be careful. Please.”
Lola?
“Always am.” She squeezed his arm, giving him an affectionate smile. “And I never want to know what you did in here with my help. Now hurry. We’re barely getting you back as it is.”
He smirked, but it was a different one than he gave anyone else. Emmeline’s gaze flicked between them, her stomach tightening at the familiarity.
Roremar hugged Alana, then he was gone. He didn’t turn back to look at Emmeline, and she knew it was his way of not saying goodbye, of it not being final, like when he was escorted from the Trade House.
When he was gone, Alana began blowing out the candles.
“Lola?” Emmeline asked in the strangling silence.
Alana straightened, not facing her as she said, “He couldn’t say Alana when I was born. Came out like Alola, and it stuck.”
Goosebumps rose along Emmeline’s arms as she studied Alana’s long, night-dark hair, the shade so similar beneath the blue sheen shimmering in the low light. The clever but disobedient scheme that got them here tonight.
Already knowing the answer but needing to hear it, Emmeline asked, “And he knew you when you were born because?”
Alana flicked her hair over her shoulder. The crooked smirk…It was so familiar.
And those blue eyes that had been so friendly since they first met, welcoming and understanding…
Nico’s eyes.
“Roremar is my brother.”