Page 130 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
A wave of heat chooses that moment to punish me. Scorching desire builds under my skin, my nipples pebbling beneath my shirt. The friction is torture. I release a strangled groan, trying to suppress it, and have to lean against the very door Emrys inspects. Suddenly, there’s nowhere to look but into his striking eyes. They roam over my face, his expression a battlefield of conflicting emotions. His nostrils flare as he catches my scent. Iglimpse an echo of my yearning on his face before the hard glint of suspicion swallows it.
He slams his palm against the frame beside my head.
“What is this?” His snarl is a husky, volatile mixture of hunger and contempt. “You think to seduce me with your little queen bee pheromones? How delightfully naive. Tell me, does it sting to be so unprepared for the game you’re playing?”
I try to steady my breathing and remain passive while fighting against my feverish urges. My hormones demand I rip his clothes off, to explore the hard slabs of muscle, to see if those curious tattoos cover every inch of his flesh.
“This isn’t a game, Emrys,” I groan.
His laugh is sharp and mirthless. “Oh, but it is, little moth. And you’re fluttering right into the flames.” His demeanor grows quiet and reflective as he trails the back of his gloved fingers down my throat. “Do you know what happens to moths dancing too close to the fire?”
“For someone so cruel, you’re remarkably poetic.”
He blinks, taken aback. That I’ve surprised him gives me the strength to push on.
“Styx tried to scare me away, too, but I’ll tell you what I said to him. I’m not afraid of you.”
“No?” His genuine smile transforms his face into poetic beauty, matching his silver tongue.
“No.”
“Perhaps you should be scared,” he murmurs.
“He said that too.”
“There are fates far worse than death, and I’ve tasted them all.” He leans in closer, hot breath against my ear. “Tell me, sweet Willow, have you ever wondered what it feels like to have your soul flayed open? To have every secret, every desire laid bare and found wanting?”
I suppress a shudder, both repulsed and intrigued by his words. But I wonder . . . “Is that what happened to you?”
“You have no idea of the depths I’ve plumbed, the horrors we’ve endured. And yet, here you stand, offering salvation like some misguided saint.”
“I’m not offering salvation,” I retort. “I’m offering understanding.”
Maybe. He’s working my last nerve right now.
“Understanding? How quaint.” He inhales my scent deep into his lungs but is careful not to touch me. “What do you understand about the monster before you?”
“I understand pain,” I say softly. “I understand what it’s like to be used and seen as nothing more than a tool.” My throat closes up. “To stand by helpless and watch as someone you love dies.”
The realization that I know about his Seventh hits him like a physical blow. He pulls back to look into my eyes. Legion didn’t tell me the details, but the experience had to be harrowing. They must have all witnessed it, been helpless to stop it.
Emrys’s thoughts play out on his face. Who told me? How much do I know? What does this mean? How will I use this information against him?
“You understand nothing,” he hisses, stumbling backward, spearing a hand through his white hair.
“Then help me,” I plead, stepping toward him.
The Nightmares shriek in their cages. Their malevolence seeps through the air, making me shudder. It reminds me of why I followed Emrys here in the first place.
“You’re conspiring with Puck. Why?” My heart wants to say he’s doing it for us, for his hive. But my gut warns me it’s the opposite. “Why foil Legion’s plan to instate martial law?”
A flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—passes over his face before it settles back into seething hatred.
“Clever little queen,” he murmurs, “but you’re only seeing the pond’s surface, not the depths beneath.”
“Not a queen,” I mutter. “Why don’t you want martial law? It would give you control of Avorlorna.”
“You think that’s the answer? More false promises, more fake smiles, more playing pretend?”
