Page 156 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

The hollowness of his voice—the ragged, broken sound he’d rarely shown the past few weeks—was enough to crumble her resolve.

Wiping her expression as blank as she could, Emmeline turned.

When her gaze collided with Roremar’s, the Fates within her screamed louder. His hands on her body, his breath on her neck—every memory was sharp and piercing, slicing at the ropes she’d tied around her desires. Yearning pulled every nerve tight, heat gathering low within her.

It was the kind of look only he could give her, a thousand unsaid words in his grey eyes.

“Yes?” she asked on a breath.

A breath that said more than she meant it to. Silver flashed in Roremar’s stare as if ignited by the very heat threatening to burn her alive, the very want that built her entire being around this reckless warrior.

Roremar stepped closer.

Emmeline stepped back.

They were always dancing around each other in some way. First with snarling jibes, then with fiery need.

And now, reluctant, heart-shattering restraint.

Before she could blink, he was in front of her, and she was swiveling, desperate to breathe air free of his addictive sandalwood-and-sea scent. Her back to the well, she continued her regretful steps away.

But Roremar always saw too much. No matter how hard she tried.

He followed, closing in on her until she bumped into the cool wood of the well’s hutch. Her spine stiffened, but she couldn’t go anywhere. Roremar’s knees were on either side of hers, the thump of his heartbeat drowning her.

Come closer, a part of her longed to beg. Ruin me as you promised you would.

She dropped her gaze, trying to collect herself, but all she saw were their legs tangled together. How right they fit and how much closer she wanted him.

“Please, Emmeline,” he said again, his words whisper soft.

She lifted her gaze, prepared to find his burning into her, but⁠—

Her eyes stung.

She hadn’t been prepared for torment. For his utter transparency to reveal someone so wrecked. It was every part he’d been hiding, the most complete image of this side of him she’d seen since…Nico.

And it was that acknowledgment of how completely he was letting her in, pouring his heart out without even a word, that had her mask slipping.

“Reckless,” she whimpered.

At the broken sound, Roremar pressed his forehead to hers. “Huntress.”

Emmeline wove her fingers through the waves at the nape of his neck. “What do you need?”

“You,” Roremar admitted, barely breathing the word, his restraint shattering in tune with the glass cage she’d kept around herself.

His lips pressed to her temple once, seeking so delicately she shivered. Her body was on fire, every inch of her begging for all of him. A whimpered moan slipped up her throat, skin prickling with need.

As if he heard that wish, Roremar gripped beneath her thighs and propped her on the edge of the well. Emmeline rocked backward, but his arm was steady around her waist, never letting her go.

She couldn’t stop her nails from dragging gently through his hair, down his neck, each touch soothing and claiming and saying everything she couldn’t.

Roremar’s head fell against her shoulder, and he pressed his next words into her skin. “Fates, Emmeline, I hate this.”

He’s reaching a breaking point, Lola had said. And Emmeline felt it from him in her arms now.

Her eyes squeezed tight, lips between her teeth to hold in all those words.