But as she approached, Emmery frowned at the table. Some of the dishes looked like they’d been touched, and goblets sat with only a mouthful of water remaining. Her pace quickened,her heart in her throat as she looked over a smear of mashed potatoes, a message written only for her:
Beside it was a massive paw print she would know anywhere.
Emmery nearly sobbed as she traced her own finger through the word. But if they had been here, why weren’t they now? What had happened? Or had they gone looking for her? If that was the case, she surely would have passed them. She should have waited for them to come back, but as her attention warred between the food and the message, her hollow stomach won.
She tried to start slowly, a sip of water, a sliver of roast beef, a fig split in two, but her self-restraint slipped. Fled her body entirely.
And shefeasted.
She didn’t bother with the spoons or plates and sank her hands into the food, not caring the demons surely relished in her desperation. Reduced her to this. But teetering on the edge of death brought clarity that fancy appearances and niceties mattered little. Hunger would always win.
She lost track of what she ate, what she drank, and the flavours merged, melded into pure need and unfettered euphoria. And when she’d sufficiently stuffed her face, she sat back in the chair, and willed her stomach to hold down all she’d gorged on. Then she collected rolls, pastries, dried meats, and assorted fruits in fabric napkins and, sure she would find use for it later, Emmery slipped a steak knife into her sleeve. As she tucked it away, she couldn’t help but think Destonne would be proud of her. It wasn’t much, but since her flame had been absent, she’d rather have it than nothing.
When she assembled as much as she could carry, she straightened to stand, but grew tired, and slumped back into the chair. Maybe her fatigue had finally caught up with her, however she didn’t remember her limbs ever being this distant or limp. The bundled food tumbled to the ground. She fought, oh gods did she fight her heavy eyelids, but sleep smothered her like an inescapable pillow over her face as she fell into darkness.
Emmery opened her eyes to a familiar place, endless and black like the Divide, but she couldn’t manipulate it. Couldn’t mould it to her will. The ground rippled under her boots like water, and each footfall echoed inside her head. Ricocheted off the nonexistent barriers of this place.
A strange tingle in her chest led her forward, toward a sliver of beckoning light. Maybe a door. An exit from this place. A way home.
But as she neared the strange, jagged tear in the realm, it gaped to allow her a glimpse inside. As it came into focus, Emmery’s stomach dropped. What she’d stumbled upon left her face burning. Heat ravaged through her and propelled her blood through her veins too quickly. And as she stared, unable to tear her eyes away, a dark reality sank into her bones.
Whatexactlyshe was looking at.
The shadowy room, illuminated by a red candlelit hue, housed a grand four poster bed in chestnut wood. And on that bed were two people: a man and a woman.
The man lay on his back, the lower half of his body tucked beneath a thick quilt, his evident arousal impressively tented beneath. From this angle, she couldn’t see who it was, but deep down she knew. And the woman whose thighs hugged eitherside of his face, sent a violent thrill through her, pooling heat in places she didn’t know how to process.
Each curve and dip of the woman’s back, accentuated by the candlelight, rolled as her head lolled in ecstasy, and she ground her hips. And though she had no golden vestige, Emmery recognized the woman’s heart-shaped face and silver hair glowing in the low light.
The woman’s desperate whimpers built and her lips parted as her hips lost their rhythm, wild and writhing against his mouth, but the man took control. His unrelenting fingers dug into the soft flesh of her backside, and his tongue ravished her, helped her chase her release, let her take her pleasure from him. Her moans escalated to an unbridled cry, and her back bowed as her climax tore through her, punctuated by the sparks popping off at her fingertips. She pressed her hands against the wall and blackened the paint.
Nipples peaked and cheeks tinged a euphoric pink, the woman panted. When the man rolled her onto her back he pressed their foreheads together and murmured in her ear before their breathless laughs twined like their bodies.
Emmery clapped a hand over her mouth and shrank back, not sure how to escape what she’d witnessed. Because the images burned into her mind, scorched, branded each morsel of detail permanently.
“What are you looking at?” a familiar voice asked behind her.
Like she’d been caught snooping, Emmery nearly leapt from her skin. Her lungs and heart seized in one giant squeeze as she spun, and his name thrust in a rush of breath. “Destonne?”
Before he could respond and more importantly peer around her, she threw herself at him. Destonne caught her as her feet left the ground and she wrapped her arms around his neck. For a moment, it seemed shock overtook him, but his embrace firmed to match hers.
It struck her how she missed his teasing, annoyances, and most of all, his unmatched assurance. And also how she just missedhim. Tears welled in her throat, but she swallowed them down even though the safety and strength of his arms felt like finding her way back to her cottage after wandering the woods. She wanted to steal all of this moment. Soak up every bit.
“It’s alright, angel,” Destonne said, his voice thick with emotion. He set her feet back on the ground and looked her over. “You’re unharmed?”
Though the wounds the labyrinth left would never be visible and never heal, she nodded. “And you? Where’s Brennen?”
“Still in one piece,” he said, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “And I’m not sure. He was—” Destonne broke off as he caught a glimpse of the scene behind her. His eyes widened, followed by a shaky intake of breath.
Emmery didn’t dare turn around, though she could hear enough to get an image inside her mind. She squeezed her eyes closed and pretended to be anywhere but there witnessing what was happening on that bed.
But when she opened them, she found Destonne, not focussed on the couple, but studyingher. His lips parted, a swatch of scarlet in his cheeks, and blood streamed from his temples, though he made no move to wipe it away. The droplets fell rhythmically onto his collar.
Somehow, the way he stared at her was so much worse, like he was pulling her apart, ripping her down the middle, and exposing everything squirming inside her. He searched for a reaction as if he couldn’t decide how he felt until he knew her thoughts.
Desperate to look anywhere else, Emmery turned away from him.
The silver-haired woman lay on her back now, her legs wrapped around the man’s waist, and, though he wore no crownand bore no scars, there was no denying who it was kneeling and thrusting into her at an indulgent pace. His thumb circled that sensitive flesh between her legs and she mindlessly moaned sounds no man had ever elicited from Emmery before.