CHAPTER FORTY
EMMERY
None of them spoke of the terrors they’d endured in the labyrinth, and Emmery would rather gargle glass than tell Destonne about the vision or the kiss that still haunted her dreams. Though as she slept in his arms, huddled into him for warmth and comfort, her blood hummed with need.
Because she found herself, not as a spectator, but on that bed with him, his tongue between her legs, hands gripping her hips, mouth on her body, moving inside her, thrusting and filling her so deliciously—
None of it was real. And she needed to get a damn grip on herself.
Emmery would leap from these nightmares panting and flushed, but not in the way Destonne thought, and when he’d offer his crystal, she always declined. Even with its magic, he whimpered in his sleep and clutched her like everything he’d ever loved was ripped away each time he closed his eyes.
At least after consuming the veramint, his fever hadn’t returned, though his breath wheezed as they tread the narrow path, likely from the incessant press of the labyrinth walls.
Emmery hadn’t brought up the fever or his fears, though Destonne’s eyes often slid to her like she’d swept aside a curtain and glimpsed all his ugly bits, weaknesses, and evident regret.
But hadn’t she revealed herself to him, too?
Hadn’t he seen those stained, jagged bits of her soul? Maybe they stood on equal ground now.
Emmery turned her attention to Brennen to find him adrift in the same brooding silence since the night he lost himself.
Nothing could save him from it, not her assurance that what happened didn’t change anything, nor Destonne’s hushed words.
Such self-loathing lived in Brennen’s eyes, she feared it would linger infinitely.
Destonne explained the wolf would take over at random, and the only pattern he’d detected was when his father would deprive Brennen of food the wolf would surface.
Destonne would always pull him back in that infallible way only he could and seeing the bond between them, that thing holding them together and shackling them at the wrists, was so tragically beautiful.
Their bond made her realize how her soul ached to see all her friends, especially Aera.
And although she hated to admit it, she even missed Vesper.
Maybe she would hash it out with him, since this prophecy tied them together anyway, but if he could just be honest with her, they could work amicably and break this fever.
Or maybe she should sock him in the jaw and call it a day.
But her stomach tightened at the thought of retrieving her memories and finding Shade, because that meant her deal with Destonne would be done and she would leave Asaella behind.
But it wouldn’t be the white-walled castle or the dismal city she missed, it would be his teasing, taunting, and the unexplainable way he’d brought her back to life after all these months she’d dug her own grave.
He lit some fire within her, and leaving him would throb like an old wound as their time together faded into the past.
And she didn’t know why even the mere thought of it hurt.
Emmery snuck a look at him but his damn stony mask hid his emotions. Their conversation from the night before sprinted through her mind.
“I swear, you’re the only person I know who can’t do it,” he said. His lips twitched as he crossed his eyes like some lunatic wandering the streets of Malheim. “See? It's not so difficult.”
Despite their absolute desolate situation, Emmery actually laughed. The sound resounded through her so fully she clutched her belly. “It’s not a life skill I'll ever need. I don’t see how it’s such a big deal, Destonne.”
He blinked at her, almost sadly. “You know you’re my only friend who doesn’t call me Dez.” His measured voice tested the waters between them. “I wish you would.”
Emmery swallowed, and finally asked the question, “We’re friends then?”
“It’s a good start,” he murmured, cryptic as always.
“Start?” She breathed a laugh. “Then where’s the end, Dez?”
His eyes glimmered like the night sky and kisses stolen under that dark canopy. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Is it a secret?” she asked, falling into that teasing tone she’d become well acquainted with. “Because as I’ve told you, I have a ravenous appetite for yours.”
He stole all the thoughts in her head and the oxygen in the room as he answered with one of his sunshine smiles.
The name Dez felt like a different person, but so very him. What he was to her now. When right and wrong fail, the truth does not falter. And her truth had shifted, warped—changed entirely.
Emmery swallowed hard and tore herself from the memory to face the labyrinth once more, when after hours lost in the twists and turns through this endless maze, the mouth of the hallway widened to reveal light.
A room.
Another game.
Her battered, swollen heart nearly burst from both fear of what awaited and the anticipated escape from this godsforsaken place, though what horrors lay beyond this stone enclosure remained a mystery.
As Emmery smothered her flame, on instinct she grabbed Dez’s hand and tangled their fingers. She lifted her gaze to meet his and found a foreign crease to his brow and uncertainty in his eyes. A look that pierced a barrier between them, and now that it’d been breached, there was no turning back.
Her breath trembled as she blinked at him, and he blinked back, wordlessly sharing all the fear manifested in this place, all the things they hadn’t known would torment them.
She surveyed the simple room with wall-mounted flaming sconces and plain pewter-coloured walls like the rooms before.
At the center of the chamber sat Senka in a rich-red velvet chair.
A total of five guards flanked her sides, their head-to-toe golden armour lit by the flickering flames.
Senka’s exposed skin and breasts were on full display.
Emmery gagged. At least her damn legs were crossed.
Rage burned inside her as Senka’s atrophied wings twitched with delight.
“I see the labyrinth hasn’t broken you yet,” Senka said, a smugness in her tone. Her eyes flicked to Brennen. “How very disappointing.”
Dez piped up, “Let’s get this over with. This taunting is a bore.”
Senka’s attention snapped to him, and with a grin that threatened to split her face, she sneered, “You did not look bored face down in a pool of your own blood, boy. Watch your tone, or I will peel the skin from your bones.”
Destonne’s returning scowl said he planned the same for the demon.
“As lovely as that sounds, we will pass,” Emmery said. She shot him a warning glance. If they didn’t behave, gods only knew what would happen.
“This last game will be one of choice,” the demon sang. Senka’s sharp teeth glinted like blades, and as her eyes slid back to Brennen, his hackles rose. “You first, dog.” Senka’s nickname held none of the playfulness Emmery’s did.
Brennen snarled and stepped toward the demon. The guards surrounding her surged forward.
Before Dez could reach Emmery, a guard, at least a head taller than him, seized his injured arm and hauled him back.
Destonne sucked air through his gritted teeth.
Another soldier snatched her up under his arm like an unruly piece of luggage.
As they both feebly struggled, sparks popped off her fingers, wanting to blow the damn roof off this place.
Senka’s wicked laugh echoed off the walls as she spotted Emmery’s fire. “Smother that flame,” she ordered. She nodded to the guard restraining Dez. From a sheath at his belt, the soldier drew a dagger and placed it under Destonne’s chin. “One more spark and his blood will paint these walls.”
Emmery clenched her jaw and tried to slow her breathing, but it was like hammering a peg into a too-small hole, sure to crack the entire structure.
The demon's strange, milky eyes fixed on Brennen. As if mocking his horns, she stroked a finger along her antlers. “I do find your strange affliction so fascinating. To be trapped within that beast’s skin, yet cursed to think like a man, desire like one, and be treated as a pet.” She tsked softly and rose from the chair to saunter toward the wolf.
In her hand, she held a vial full of fizzing white liquid.
“I hold the cure for your circumstances.”
Emmery’s heartbeat dragged, as her eyes darted between Brennen and Dez. They both wore the same weary expression with a glimmer of hope shining beneath. Destonne’s eyes grew glossy and the blade at his throat scraped against his neck as he swallowed.
It couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t be that simple.
This had to be some foul trick.
Brennen’s heavy growl reverberated off the walls, but he just stared at the vial the same way he’d stared at Emmery the night he’d lost himself to the wolf.
Hungrily.
“Stay your King’s obedient little lapdog and follow him into the Hollow, or”—she giggled an unpleasant wicked sound—“Eternal. Freedom.”
A stifling silence stretched. Expanded. Devoured the room.
Emmery held her breath as Brennen’s nails clicked along the stone and his gait shifted to a predatory stalk.
His focus narrowed on that vial pinched between Senka’s fingers.
He stopped a half step from the demon and blinked up at her, like he wrestled to keep the beast at bay when he longed for the cure.
“The choice is yours,” Senka said. She placed her hand between his horns, the way Emmery had seen Destonne do countless times. And the demon inhaled. Her eyes flared like she consumed his fear. Tasted it. Feasted on it.
Emmery willed Brennen to meet her stare, to turn around, or give some indication he knew they’d support him in whatever choice he made.
He’d said before he would never attempt to remove the spike because if it ended his life, he couldn’t do that to Dez.
But would he do it now that the cure was placed at his feet? Would he abandon him? Her too?
“Do it.” Destonne’s voice rang clear as a bell at noon, cutting through the silence and doubt.