Page 119 of Spar of Hearts

She said it so plainly, there was no room to doubt her sincerity. It gave him the courage to finally tell her about the Cockatrice Club.

“Before the Rhodias, I sought relief at a place called the Cockatrice Club. That was where I honed my hand to hand. The pain brought me closer to my people, and would silence the voices and dull the thorns, if only for a few minutes. Then after, the revelry—the anonymous, alcohol-fueled, sexual delirium—reduced me to just a man driven by baser instincts. It was the only place I could be less than a knight and more than a Centarian in sheep’s clothing.”

Anya’s eyes searched his, shifting from confusion, to shock, to something like…understanding? Pity? His stomach twisted under her appraisal, so tried to answer for her.

“So you see, this body isn’t fit for a princess. I am every bit the disgusting rake you took me for.”

“Roderick.” Anya forced him down, pinning him to the forest floor with a thump. He looked away, certain he couldn’t bear the sight of her disgust for him.

But then she pinched his chin with two claws, forcing his gaze back to her eyes. “Why do you think I went to that stars-forsaken masquerade?”

Chapter 39

Anya Delemond

Anya’s heart thrummed in her chest as the words hung between them.

“Y-you were there?”

“I wasn’t just there…” She brushed her cheek on his. “I was with you.”

He shook his head, blinking fast. “That’s—that’s not possible, I even—”

“You love pear custard, and herbal tea with lemon. And you said…” Her eyes welled with tears, bubbling up straight from her heart. “You said I have a heart bursting with wanderlust.”

His eyes stayed transfixed on her, unblinking. Anya’s pulse thrummed in her ears. This was it. He knew. He finally knew. Her palms began to sweat as she took in his inscrutable expression. Shock? Disbelief?

She swallowed hard.

Disappointment?

“You tap your claws when you’re nervous.”

She nodded.

“Your favorite constellation is Vulpecula.”

She nodded faster, the mist in her eyes finally spilling down her cheeks. He remembered everything about that night—about her.

“You’re afraid of horses, you hate shoes, you love—”

“Stop talking.”

Anya gripped his shirt collar and pulled him to her lips. His breath hitched with surprise, but he quickly returned her kiss peppered with smiles she felt tugging at the heights of his cheekbones between every shift and gasp. He traced a hand up her back, loosing the strings of her bodice until his fingers rested on a sliver of bare skin. She tugged him closer, desperate for more contact, to make up for all the kisses she’d left unfulfilled—for all the running and hiding and fear-fueled hatred—for the little voice deep in her chest, whispering,

My mate…

When they finally broke away, Roderick’s eyes were misty with tears. He lifted a trembling hand to her cheek.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The break in his voice made her heart throb. “Why did you run?”

“I didn’t know you then. And…I was scared. Deep down, I was scared that if you found out it was me, you’d be disappointed. The me you asked to court on the Lupus Star was just a shell of myself. That’s how it’s always been. Every morning, I put on a mask to please my parents. That was who you saw. So that was who I thought you wanted.”

“That’s why I went to the masquerade,” she continued. “It was the one place I was finally able to be myself, indulge the wolf in me—run wild in the only way I could in those gilded halls.”

He cupped her cheek with a calloused hand. “I’ll run wild with you.” He pulled them both to their feet. “Right now.”

Even in the face of her deceit, her hiding, months of wearing a mask of haught and hate, he loved her. His genuine words were abundant with it, so much that they stole her own.