“Tell me. Tell me you feel this.” A frustrated groan rumbled in the back of his throat. “Say you want me too.Admit it. Say it out loud.”
“I—you don’t … what are you doing?” she whispered. Her grip tightened on his shirt as Emmery stared up into his endlessly black eyes. Wandered. Lost her way. But now she realized she didn’t fear the dark. In fact, she revelled in it. Thrived even.
“Something foolish,” he murmured, pain in his words. “Something completely, and utterly foolish.”
Destonne consumed that sliver of space, his lips met hers, and Emmery surrendered to his darkness.
His kiss embodied the embrace of shadow and light, a mix of wrong and right battling inside her chest, because his lips were warm and pillowy soft, and he kissed her with impossible gentleness as if she might reduce to dust in his arms and fade away. As if he couldn’t believe she was real.
He sighed against her, the sound aching of relief, like sinking into a warm bath on a frigid day, a twisted reprieve from a need he couldn’t pinpoint. A hunger his empty heart hadn’t warned him would only grow and swell until he consumed what he craved.
Only when he panted as if she’d stolen all his air did Destonne break away. But he groaned and kissed her again, this time with the intensity of what they had watched. His tongue parted her lips and, gods, he devoured her as a tidal wave stole land.
Reached inside her soul and claimed it for himself.
Maybe because the last few days had been torture, or she’d truly lost her mind, she kissed him back. Greedily. Insatiably. Her soul yawned open after years of loneliness and despair and solitude, and she couldn’t get enough as the monster inside her roared to seize what she wanted.
All she could see or feel or taste was him.
And it was too damn good.
So she opened to him. Her kiss transformed into something raging and fiery and simultaneously a balm for that empty chasm inside her, filling it with sunlight and chasing the shadows away.
His short stubble grazed her face and his hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as if he too couldn’t get enough. His mouth claimed all of her—her cheek, her neck, and back to her lips, skilled and perfect and soft. Emmery’s hands found his face, and they slickened with blood as she traced the curve of his cheekbones and jaw, imprinting the feel of him into her memory.
Destonne’s grip tightened on her waist as if in pain, as if this kiss was killing him as it was slowly killing her too. Desperately, Emmery sank into him and pressed her breasts against his chest. Craved for him to touch her. Her fingers wove into his hair and she yanked him closer.
She wanted more, wanted his hands on her, wanted everything.
Wantedhim.
But even in this reality, whatever insane pocket of destitute torture she had stumbled into, the thorns tore through his chest, and Destonne pushed her away as he always did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
EMMERY
Thrown back into consciousness, Emmery found herself face down on the frigid stone floor, and once again, alone. She rubbed her throbbing, bruised cheek. No trace of the table of food and drink remained as if it’d never existed at all, though her full belly and the cold press of the steak knife against her skin told her differently.
The food must have been laced with some sort of drug and caused that dream. But if it was a dream, why did her lips still tingle?
Emmery righted herself, fixed her unravelled braid, and returned to the labyrinth halls. As she stepped through the exit,her fingers sparked and her vestige pulsed to life as if to say,remember me?A relieved sigh punched from her chest when she reached for her magic and it met her like an eager companion.
At her fingertips herkhaosflame flared, bright, playful, and ready to destroy, inspired purely by her confusion and anger. Confusion about the kiss. Anger at herself for allowing it to happen, even if it was only a hallucination, because she couldn’t shake the feel of Destonne’s lips from her mind as she navigated the hallways alone. And worse, she didn’twantto.
With only her flame to guide her, she wandered for some time, carelessly turning left and right, but she came to a dead stop when a pair of orange eyes emerged in the shadows.
Emmery’s knees weakened and a small, elated sound slipped between her lips. She doused the fire contained in her palm, and she wasn’t sure who moved first, but she ran to him. When they collided, she wrapped her arms around Brennen’s neck, not saying a damn word. He rested his head on her shoulder, sinking into her embrace.
After they separated, Brennen glanced up at her with worried eyes.
Emmery’s stomach twisted. She glanced behind the wolf, but he was alone. The room swam around her, her blood icy, as she asked, “Where is he?”
Brennen looked down at his feet, and paused before he said ominously, “Follow me.”
Too afraid to ask questions, her numb legs carried her through the dank corridors. In her palm, her flame flickered with each erratic pound of her heart as she imagined the worst. But she never could have predicted what she found.
Destonne had a fever.