Page 51 of Heat of the Everflame

“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted. “When my temper flares, I feel ready to slay the world. But when the sword is in my hand and the moment of truth comes... I worry I’m not strong enough to do what must be done.” My head drooped low. “A Queen should have more courage than this.”

Luther’s broad hands settled firmly beneath my jaw. “Diem Bellator.”

His use of my name—myrealname, and not Diem Corbois or Her Majesty, as I was known to the Descended world—won back my gaze.

His jaw was set, his eyes narrow, his dark brows crowded in tight. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was furious with me.

But what I saw in his eyes wasn’t anger—it was a sense of wonder, enrobed in a boundless, eternal fidelity.

“Don’t you dare mistake compassion for lack of courage,” he growled. “Anyone can slaughter their enemies. Hate is easy—it’s mercy that requires the greater strength. I’ll be damned if I let you believe that beautiful heart of yours is a weakness. Trust your instincts, my Queen—above all else, trustyourself.”

His mouth met mine with a fiery passion that burned of his faith. Every press of his lips was a confession, every stroke of his tongue a fervent prayer. It lit me up from within, coursing through my blood and filling my chest with an emotion so strong I dared not name it.

He had always believed in me. Not in a blind, oblivious way—he, perhaps more than anyone, knew I could falter. He’d been the one to pick up the pieces after so many of my mistakes.

He believed in who I was and what I could do. He saw my vision for what Emarion could be, and the strength that his conviction gave me was incalculable.

With Luther at my side, I felt invincible. And we would need that in the days to come.

I placed my palm above his heart on the curious patch of smooth, unmarred skin that interrupted the line of his scar. “I was so scared I’d lost you,” I whispered. “After the attack, I thought...”

“Never.” He placed his palm over my heart in a mirror image of my gesture. “I’m with you until the very end.”

“Promise?” I asked, knowing the solemn weight that word carried with him.

He smiled back at me, earnest and without reserve. “I promise.”

“That’s it,” Taran’s voice shouted. “I’m going in!”

The cloak over the opening flapped loudly as Taran flung it away and stomped inside, a bundle of cloth tucked beneath his arm. Sunny rays of light streamed in and illuminated ourunusual embrace, Luther wearing only his undergarments while I drowned in layer upon layer of his oversized clothes.

Taran halted in place, perching his hands on his hips as he slowly looked us over. A suggestive grin spread across his face.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his eyebrows dancing.

“No,” I said innocently.

“Yes,” Luther muttered.

“You know, Queenie, it’s a lot easier to—” Taran made an obscene gesture with his hands. “—if you both take your clothesoff, instead of putting each other’s clotheson.”

“Get out, Taran,” Luther ordered.

“But I have a present for Her Majesty.” He tossed me the bundle, which I recognized as my clothes, now dried—and somehow cleaned of the dead mortal’s blood.

I shot him a questioning look, and he shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Alixe found a stream nearby. The shirt was already wet, so we thought a quick rinse couldn’t hurt.”

A lump formed in my throat at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. I walked over and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Taran.”

He swung an arm around my waist and hauled me into his side, then grinned at Luther. “You know cousin, if you ever need a third—”

“Out,” Luther barked.

“Fine, but if you two don’t get out here soon, I’m making Lu wear Alixe’s clothes next.” Taran backed out of the hollow, winking at me before he pulled the cloak back into place.

I set the bundle down and began to remove Luther’s clothes, first slipping off his overcoat, then tugging his socks free of my feet.

Luther stood nearby to collect each discarded item, politely averting his eyes. “I can leave, if you’d like some privacy.”

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