Page 284 of Scarlet Wars
The door shuddered.
“Two.”
The hinges groaned, the lock screaming in protest.
“Three—”
SIXTY-TWO
EMMA
“Maurice?”How the hell…
I blinked a few times before reality caught up with me. “Hold on. You’re MauriceandGordonandmy fatherandthe person who created the bubble?”
The words felt like acid in my throat. I spat them anyway.
Maurice—Gordon—inclined his head. “All one and the same.”
Seriously, what is up with these magi and their identity reveals at every turn? Isn’t anyone who they say they are?
A hundred questions surged to the front of my mind, crashing, and tangled, desperate for answers.
How? Did you know who I was when we met? What else are you hiding? Why tell me now? Why any of this?
They pressed against my ribs like they were trying to claw their way out.
But Maurice lifted a hand, already shaking his head. “I know you must have a ton of questions, but there isn’t time for all of that, Emma. I know you want answers—hell, you deserve them—but explanations will have to wait. Things are moving faster than even I anticipated, and?—”
The door exploded inward.
Not opened.
Not kicked.
Obliterated.
Shards of metal and splinters of stone blasted across the room as two familiar silhouettes filled the doorway: bloodied, furious, very much awake.
Caden’s eyes were obsidian wildfire.
James looked ready to murder the entire continent.
And both were holding ridiculously small weapons.
“Maurice?” James breathed, sounding small and stunned.
Maurice simply sighed. “Of course. Wouldn’t be fucking complete without fairy-dust–snorting Bert and Ernie crashing the party.”
The guys shared a quick look—both clearly exhausted, irritated, and in pain—and muttered in perfect unison, “You’re Ernie,” before crossing the room and flanking me on either side like they hadn’t just broken out of an impossible cage.
Caden stopped close enough that I could almost feel him. Our eyes met for a heartbeat, and the tight, aching knot in my chest gave way all at once.
Without a conscious move, gold energy flooded the space between us, erupting without thought or permission, spilling from me like a breath I’d been holding for too long. It wrapped around him, sunk into every wound I hadn’t been allowed to see.
Every fracture, every strain, every hidden place pain had taken root. I felt it mend him as surely as if it were my own body, knitting bone, soothing torn muscle, erasing damage both visible and buried too deep for words.
When the light finally stilled, we were still facing each other.
