Page 91 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Nico narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because we have to split up, and that boat is smaller. We can take the packs, too, to account for the imbalance.”

“Can’t we each take our own packs?” Nico grumbled, but it differed from Roremar’s questioning that snuck beneath Emmeline’s skin. Nico’s contained an undertone of regret that made her heart twinge.

“Weight distribution” was all Myrella said as she stepped up to the railing and began the descent.

Desmond let out a low, amused whistle. “Don’t worry, little Silventa,” he whispered to Nico, “the ones who make you work for it are always the best reward.”

Nico’s sharp stare tracked every move Desmond made as he helped Myrella lower into the rocking boat, the hem of her skirt dampening against the splattered wood. “Be careful,” he cautioned as she hopped across the seat toward the first row, his hawkish gaze tracking every move.

Fates, these Silventa men were protective.

“I’m fi—” Myrella’s words sliced off as she nearly slipped.

Desmond caught her, hands gripping her elbows and strong legs steadying their rocking before they capsized. Nico’s answering grumble rolled through the air and down Emmeline’s spine. “Des,” he warned.

“Fucking Fates,” Roremar swore from behind her. “Hurry up.”

Nico bit his tongue as Myrella and Desmond took off through the water, the boat gliding eagerly away with each sure stroke. Then, he stomped down the ladder and into their own waiting vessel.

“Are you ready?” Roremar’s voice was at her back, and when Emmeline glanced over her shoulder to respond, his face was mere inches from hers.

She inhaled sharply, his brows rising when she didn’t answer. Fates, he was so close, his warmth pressed into her ribs, mingling with the chilled sea air in a tantalizing way, and everything they’d talked about on the balcony last night flooded back to memory. Every secret shared and wanton look twisting through her now.

“Emmeline?” he asked.

Finding her croaking voice, she answered, “Yes.”

But as she descended into the rocking boat—Nico waiting below to help her, though her footing was steadier than most—she realized that while there were three benches, the middle one was damp and missing such a large chunk in the center, she wasn’t sure it could still be called a seat.

“A bit cramped in here,” she muttered.

Roremar’s added weight rocked the boat, waves splashing over the side. As if on instinct, his hand braced her back, and Emmeline arched at the touch against bare skin, chills spreading down her spine.

“It’s a short trip.” Even his voice was gruff.

Brooding, Nico dropped onto the front bench, taking up the oars and leaving…

Emmeline bit the inside of her cheek, her skin already flaming before Roremar even said, “Come here, Huntress.”

At least as she dropped onto the bench directly before him, pressed right between his thighs, he couldn’t see the way her face flushed.

Nico was little help in distracting her as they rowed to shore. Her body swayed with Roremar’s, leaning forward as he stroked, falling back against his chest with each movement like some intimate dance they shared.

It might have been a soothing rhythm if she wasn’t overly aware of every brush of his body against hers, every time his powerful thighs tightened. How his hands gripped the wooden posts and forearms flexed with every motion. Or the way something hard was beginning to press into her ass.

“You okay?” Roremar asked, voice strained.

“Never better,” she hummed.

His answering chuckle radiated down her spine, warmth spreading to every inch of her body.

Roremar’s breath brushed against her neck, a gasp trapping in her lungs as he asked, “Have you ever been to Alvan before?”

Emmeline swallowed. “I haven’t. I went to Byron and Epi when I first came to the isles but quickly returned to Lyra.” She’d intended to visit them all, but she’d been offered the job at the Academy, and she wasn’t able to turn that away.

The boat rolled over a wave, and unprepared, Emmeline slid back. Roremar grunted as she pressed against him, and she felt⁠—