Emmery choked back the emotion clogged in her throat.
“Anything of interest?” Dez asked.
She shook her head, although those few letters said more than enough. “Were you aware the Council is taking Ellynne?”
“No, but I’m not surprised.” Destonne stood and sauntered toward her.
Oh gods. Emmery swallowed hard, distracted by his broad shoulders, lean abdomen, and his shorts slung low on his hips. To put space between them, she backed against the chest of drawers, but he filled it. Her eyes settled on a deep scar on his chest she’d never noticed.
The aged scar separated his pectorals, and crossed about halfway down his abdomen in an upside-down T. Without thinking, she raised her finger and traced down the divide of his chest.
Dez’s hands bracketed her and he leaned on the chest of drawers like he would crumple to the ground if he didn’t. As his trembling breath fell on her shoulder and coasted the length of her neck, a tingle shot through her veins and hummed in her blood. Inside her cavernous darkness, the presence she’d felt after her brush with death sparked to life and chased away the shadows.
“While I’m flattered by your interest in my chest, my eyes are up here, angel,” he said, his voice weak.
She peeked up at him. “What’s that scar from, Dez?”
“Nosey,” he teased. He pressed his lips under her ear and stole all her breath. “Always so nosey.”
“I told you aboutmyscar. Isn’t it only fair you do the same?”
“We’ll be here all day if we catalogue every one. But I suppose I’ll play along.” He placed his hand over hers and drummed his fingers for a lengthy stretch as if her hand reached inside his chest. “When the thorns spread, the healers—they tried to cut them out. Several times. Unsuccessfully.”
He took her hand and flipped it over. As he skimmed his thumb over their rose pactum, a shiver worked through her.
“That sounds painful,” she managed.
“It was.” He kissed her palm, then the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, before he continued the massage, stretching and expelling her tension with each caress of his thumb. A satisfied sigh left her.
“I love your hands,” she murmured, though the thought just slipped out. Evidently, she’d lost her mind.
He raised a single brow. “My hands?”
She gave him a meek, pink cheeked smile. “They’re nice.”
“Hmmm, nice?” A tiny smirk tugged at his mouth as he brushed his lips along her neck, teasing her so torturously. The air rushed from her lungs and she willed herself not to lean into him. But she was weak. So damn weak it was pathetic. “That’s the least inventive word I’ve ever heard to describe anything. Surely you can do better.”
“Fine, they’re … attractive. Beautiful,” she breathed, her face flaming. She avoided his intense stare at all costs and, instead, studied the scars marring his wrists,deepscars, like the skin had been carved into. Repeatedly. “Did the healers do that too?” she asked.
Dez stopped, his shoulders rigid, and he pulled away. His eyes flicked over her face, and he drew a heavy breath, before he said, “No. I … did that.”
Jaw slack, she stared up at him. Her mind raced, searching for a reason why he’d do that to himself.
“The thorns spread to my hands, and I—” He gritted his teeth like the admission pained him. “I have much more control now than I did when I was young. I couldn’t doanything. Couldn’t touch things, play piano, hold a sword, and my hands … they ached all the time. I know I don’t—” He swallowed. “I don’t talk about any of this, but the thorns embedded in my fingers, and I was in tremendous pain. More than my chest, or arms. That I could manage.Canmanage.
He clenched his jaw then continued, “The healers refused to remove them. Said they wouldn’t risk cutting through the fine tendons and nerves. One night, I got—for lack of a better term—drunk off my face, and I took matters into my own hands. Quite literally.” He stared down at his wrist as if falling back into that night. “The right proved more difficult since I did it second. I had to hold the blade between my teeth and I slipped.”
When he caught the horror on her face, he cleared his throat. “Anyway, I pulled them from my hands, but I did some permanent damage. For a long time, I couldn’t feel anything and could barely bend my fingers. Eventually the feeling returned, though I still have some numb spots.” His thumb skimmed over his palm as if demonstrating. “But the thorns grew back so I had to do it again. I still have to. That’s where I was when you decided to throw yourself into the pond. Usually I have to heal for a couple days and—” He shrugged.
Absolutely speechless, Emmery stared up at him.
She wanted to cry. To scream. To fix it. To make it all go away.
“The healers found a corrosive tonic that pauses the growth. I have to cut my wrists open and pour the liquid in, otherwise theyspread.” He drew his finger along the thick bottom scar of the T. “Here too.”
Words failed her, so Emmery did the only thing she could think. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her ear over his still heart, willing her embrace to help him somehow. For a long moment they held each other, his lips in her hair and her cheek against his chest, rising with each ragged inhale. She wished he would borrow her strength, because he’d offered his so freely, but she wondered if anyone did the same.
When she pulled back, his brows drew together, lips parted, and he stared helplessly at her mouth.