Page 123 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Her fingers stroked the panther’s velvet fur as she made her peace with the inevitable. But despite that shield, if the Fates wanted her to do this—to revisit that past—she couldn’t do it alone.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Roremar

Opening the apartment door and finding Emmeline at the top of the stairs sent such an overwhelming rush of solace through Roremar’s tense bones, his knees almost gave out.

“Huntress,” he greeted stiffly, pretending he wasn’t breathing freely for the first time in days at seeing those hazel eyes.

“Reckless,” she said much softer, the mystlight lantern above bathing her features in dim yellow light.

He didn’t allow himself to smile. The word—that she still called him that, saw him as that—grated on him now more than it had before, but the familiarity pushed against a knot in his chest, forcing it to loosen, as it had been every day they’d spent together.

He hated that a part of him was relieved to see her. Relieved to know that her heart still beat. Though, despite their argument, he was convinced he would know if it didn’t.

“What are you doing here?” Roremar asked, bracing a hand on the doorframe. His rings clacked against the wood. He was shirtless, tattoos on full display, and he didn’t miss how her eyes tracked his movement, studied the ink decorating his skin. Didn’t hate it either.

“I came to apologize.”

“That belongs to Desmond.”

Her eyes met his, the tug in his chest straining. “I know,” she said. “And I’ll give him his due apology, too. But yours is different, and I wanted to start here.”

“Why?” He squinted at her.

“Because I need your help.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “At least you’re being honest with your motives this time.”

She sucked in a breath, sadness splintering her stare. “I deserve that.”

“You do.” But he stepped aside, allowing her to enter. He didn’t quite know why after how she’d lied to him. Maybe he thought she deserved a chance, too.

Emmeline crossed the room silently. There was something different about her, but he couldn’t name what. Perhaps it was just nerves. Her back was spear straight, her shoulders held in the perfect impression of that woman she tried to present to the world. The one he had somehow coaxed to unravel over the weeks.

Her guard was up again.

But why? It had to be more than just this argument between them if she was asking for help.

She perched stiffly on the wooden bed frame and held her chin high. For all the discomfort rolling off her, she didn’t even fidget with her ring.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I suspected Desmond,” Emmeline began, words rigid. “I’m not sorry he was on my list. Even he admitted I had the right pieces. But you and I were supposed to be partners, Roremar.” Fuck, when she said his name, when her guard dropped and a hint of sorrow laced through it, it drove a sword through his heart. Opened a way for him to forgive her. “I shouldn’t have hidden my theory from you. Not only because it could have hindered the investigation or ended up with more people getting hurt, but it wasn’t fair to you.” She sighed, the sound enveloping him, and all her pain pressed against his lungs. “I’m sorry.”

Keeping his distance, Roremar leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. He had obliterated way too many boundaries with her recently, and all it wound up with was him being hurt.

“That was a good speech.”

“Good enough to forgive me?” That Fatesdamned lip bite. Not every piece of her was tucked behind that mask after all.

He held back a groan. They were going to have to be professional here. Nothing more. “To begin. Only because you actually sounded like you mean it.”

“I do,” she swore. “It was wrong of me to hide such an influential secret about this investigation.”

“You can’t keep something that big from me anymore, Emmeline,” Roremar said. “It could have wound up with you or someone else getting killed if you let your guard down chasing the wrong lead.”

“Trust me, Roremar,” she whispered, “one thing I’m never doing is letting my guard down.”

Stars, did he know it.