CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN #2
Though the wounds the labyrinth left would never be visible and never heal, she nodded. “And you? Where’s Brennen?”
“Still in one piece,” he said, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “And I’m not sure. He was—” Destonne broke off as he caught a glimpse of the scene behind her. His eyes widened, followed by a shaky intake of breath.
Emmery didn’t dare turn around, though she could hear enough to get an image inside her mind. She squeezed her eyes closed and pretended to be anywhere but there witnessing what was happening on that bed.
But when she opened them, she found Destonne, not focussed on the couple, but studying her. His lips parted, a swatch of scarlet in his cheeks, and blood streamed from his temples, though he made no move to wipe it away. The droplets fell rhythmically onto his collar.
Somehow, the way he stared at her was so much worse, like he was pulling her apart, ripping her down the middle, and exposing everything squirming inside her. He searched for a reaction as if he couldn’t decide how he felt until he knew her thoughts.
Desperate to look anywhere else, Emmery turned away from him.
The silver-haired woman lay on her back now, her legs wrapped around the man’s waist, and, though he wore no crown and bore no scars, there was no denying who it was kneeling and thrusting into her at an indulgent pace.
His thumb circled that sensitive flesh between her legs and she mindlessly moaned sounds no man had ever elicited from Emmery before.
And from where Emmery stood, from what she could make out, the man stared down at the woman with, of all things, love in his hooded eyes. A look Destonne wasn’t capable of.
Emmery swallowed hard. Her heart stung like it’d been punctured, but still pounded, leaking blood, and spilling inside her, pooling in the wrong places, and sure to kill her.
“We look … good together,” Destonne said, his voice hesitant, and impossibly rough. “Don’t you think?”
On the bed, the man shifted and came down on top of the woman, her head pinned between his hands. He kissed her with such passion, Emmery’s own lips tingled and an untethered longing swelled in her chest.
“The labyrinth is trying to torment us, and that’s what you have to say?” she whispered. Her heart splintered and she wrapped her arms around herself. “This isn’t real.”
Destonne’s body heat bled into her back, and his familiar scent of icy mint swept over her as his breath grazed her neck. Oh gods, why did she want to lean into him? To let her head fall on his shoulder. To feel the strength of his arms and the hardness of his muscled chest.
It was insane. Ludicrous. Wrong. And so damn dangerous.
“It doesn’t have to be real to acknowledge the truth.” He brushed up against her and his fingertips grazed her hip in a questioning touch, a test if she would pull away. “Come now, you’re surely not afraid of me.”
“Of course not.”
“Then, what are you afraid of? Is this—” He nodded to the scene. “Is this truly what frightens you? Is this what you classify as torment?”
She declined to answer. Declined to acknowledge what they both knew.
So with nowhere else to go, they stood there and watched, Destonne’s breath ragged like hers.
Emmery tried to dissociate, but the longer she kept her attention on the couple, the more she could almost feel herself on that bed.
That Destonne gently bit down on the junction of her neck, and his fingers circled the throbbing spot between her legs.
And although he stood motionless behind her, the lines of reality and dream muddled as she became entranced, ensnared by a siren song, caught in the scene as the couple’s bodies moved together.
Flawlessly. Almost beautifully.
If it was only lust, two people finding release with one another, that would have been easier. But this was something else. Something that hurt her heart. Tore open her chest. The undiluted urgency, passion, and intimacy, like their souls touched each time their bodies met—
That sort of love didn’t exist. At least not for her.
Besides, she was promised to another. Had Shade ever looked at her that way?
She searched the hazy fog of her memory and found herself more lost. She’d even begun to forget the green hue of Shade’s eyes and that, in itself, stirred a hollow pang in her chest. The closer she grew to her memories, the further away Shade seemed to be.
The scene drew Emmery from her thoughts as the woman cried out and raked her nails down the man’s back. In one broad hand, the man snagged her wrists and pinned them above her head just as golden sparks leapt from her fingertips like some fucked up fireworks show.
Feeling completely exposed, Emmery’s cheeks burned and she turned away from the couple to finally face Destonne. As she lifted her gaze to his, fervour glowed in his eyes.
She opened her mouth to say something. Anything. To assure him this was some asinine delusion, but she couldn’t reach her words.
Destonne leaned down, closing that gap between them.
Emmery’s breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.
She couldn’t, or maybe she simply didn’t want to.
He skimmed a finger along the curve of her jaw, and with his touch the longing inside her spread, as if it lived inside him too, and his loneliness and desire reached out and held hers.