They shattered into fragments as they crashed to the ground.
Emmery stared in disbelief as he decimated the pack. Each of the monsters fell as Brennen herded and lined them up for Dez to tear the blood from them, ripping their limbs from their strange, misshapen bodies. And yet, the limbless creatures rose again, limping or dragging their stumps.
They all seemed focussed on one thing.
Emmery. As if she had a big red beacon guiding them to her, screaming,I’m right here, assholes.
But her friends weren't about to let them have her, and, frankly, neither was she. She’d been offered up enough times, and this wouldn’t be one of them.
She released her fire, let it consume the cavern, and claim any lives it pleased.
Finally, when the last one fell, Dez took a shaky breath and turned to her, his vestige still thrumming with immeasurable power.
Emmery held his gaze and recognized the hesitation in it. That fear of rejection, the same she’d felt. But she met his gaze, unwavering.
Because she wasn’t and never would be afraid of him, even though it could have very well been Deimos himself standing before her.
The God of Blood and Ice.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
EMMERY
The ride back to Blackdawn Castle was agony. Not only were they snared in a torrential downpour and soaked to the bone, but once they discussed their encounter with those strange monsters, a heavy silence fell.
While Fionn mumbled quietly to Brennen, Emmery fought not to look at Destonne. In fact, it took all her damned strengthnotto.
She feared if she did, she would fall to pieces, and the conversation they needed to have was for his ears alone. Instead, she focussed on Juno’s misty breath and the clip-clop of their horses' tread, even as his magic’s acute, intoxicating potencyhummed in her blood, sang in that empty pit inside her, and chased the rain away.
Once they were barricaded from the outside world by his bedroom door, she finally looked at him, from his rain-soaked curls to his sopping wet boots. A need to cross that seemingly endless distance overcame her, though he only stood across the room from where she leaned against his chest of drawers.
Her fingers itched to skim through that gorgeous crimson vestige. To bathe in it. To tear off his shirt and trousers and take him to the floor to show him how his presence alone filled her hollowness. Because not even the clouds of doubt could keep his sunlight away. And she’d missed him so damn much it palpably hurt not to touch him when his warmth beckoned.
Maybe she’d become an addict and Dez was her bone ash. Maybe she would destroy herself going back to him. And do it gladly.
If he would have her. Because his carefully crafted expression of stone and steel remained impenetrable.
Unsure how to start, Emmery wrapped her arms around herself. After all this time to think, now that he stood before her, all her words vanished, and the air between them sagged, heavy as her sodden tunic.
“Though you know I’ll always make time for you, I have an appointment in Ellynne I absolutely can’t miss,” he said. He tugged at his saturated sleeve. “I leave at dawn. Which is”—Dez glanced at the clock he’d ruined for her—“soon. I think. I didn’t plan to return tonight, but as fate will have it, here you are.”
Emmery arched her brow. “What’s in Ellynne?”
“Always sonosey,” he teased. His brows drew together as he noticed her crossed arms. “Are you cold? Do you—” He glanced at the chest of drawers she leaned against. “Take one of my shirts.”
She shook her head and stared at the floor.
“Oh, come now, Emmery. Don’t be so prideful. I can see you shivering from here.”
As he strode across the room, her vestige pulled toward him. Bent. Arced as if he were her gravity. Their bond begged her to stop being so damn stubborn and put it out of its misery.
“How’s Soren?” she asked. She feared the answer but needed to breach this distance somehow. He let her lead the conversation, like watching her squirm in all capacities fascinated him.
He reached the chest of drawers and tugged it open to retrieve a black shirt. “Theveraminttreated the fever, but we don’t know for how long.” His words came out cold. Empty. Impossibly sad.
A pang of sympathy sang through her chest. “That’s—I’m so sorry, Dez.”
“I am too,” he said softly. He offered the shirt. As she blindly reached for the tunic, their fingers brushed and—