Page 216 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

He pulled her a step closer. “Better now.”

“Reckless,” Emmeline admonished.

“You know, Huntress, I’m starting to think you like it when I’m reckless.” Roremar couldn’t help himself. He tightened his grip on the next pass across the floor. “Besides, the room is lined with guards. If I tried to do anything untoward, I’d have a knife through my back before I moved.”

A stinging lash burned from her end of the bond. It speared right through his chest matching the splintering behind Emmeline’s eyes.

“A joke, Huntress.”

“Well, don’t joke about it.”

“I can’t help it. I have this wild instinct that refuses to not touch you—that’s had to watch you dance with other men all night and not be near you. I crave you. Because you and I”—he lifted a hand but stopped himself before he traced her cheek, settling his palm back in hers and tilting his head toward the window—“well, even the Fates think it’s ridiculous if we stay apart.”

“That’s why we’re faking it. A game.”

Their masked faces were so close, the proximity combined with the shrouds elicited a forbidden thrill. A hundred deadly stares were on them, but all he cared about was hers.

“A game,” he repeated.

One he’d gladly accepted he’d lost when she walked in here, gown a vision of starlight, mask highlighting her silver-flecked eyes, and his Fatesdamned ring hanging proudly around her neck.

It woke a possessiveness inside him unlike anything he’d ever known. And while he was desperate to claim her in front of everyone, it was also deeply satisfying to watch them all honor her while they scorned him. If only they knew what hid behind these masks.

“I’ve loved watching you tonight as much as I’ve hated it,” Roremar admitted.

Emmeline preened. “I’ve loved having you watch me.”

“I remember. And I can’t wait to watch again.”

Her breath hitched, but before she could scold him, a commotion ricocheted outside the doors, guards yelling and a very familiar voice telling them they could go fuck themselves.

Desmond tore inside. His frantic gaze searched the crowd—all staring at him questioningly—before landing on Roremar.

As Desmond raced up to him, Roremar’s world tipped. He wasn’t sure why, but his instincts were bracing for impact, tightening every muscle and looking for exit routes, seeking out his siblings. Every bit of heat he’d been teasing with Emmeline slid from his body.

Desmond’s hands were streaked with red.

Lola.

Lola was supposed to be with Desmond.

Where was Lola?

Why were his hands red?

“What’s happened?” Emmeline asked, pulling them to the side of the room and waving at everyone around them to carry on with their evening.

“He got her,” Desmond panted, holding out a piece of crumbled parchment. Roremar could barely see straight enough to read the message, but he heard Des’s next words clearly. “Dryvius has Lola.”

Chapter Seventy

Roremar

Roremar forced his eyes to focus on the page, ink smudged as if it had been clenched in Desmond’s sweaty palm.

You tempted Fate, and realms do wrest⁠—

At the slice of midnight, the bridges crest.