Page 40 of The Dead Queen

The implication hangs in the air between us, unspoken. We could be the next to die if we keep this up.

I try to relax my shoulders, to put on an air of someone who isn’t worried. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to find out what happened to her. I can’t stop now.” I give him a long look. “You, of all people, should know this.”

He nods, sighing. “I do.”

Guilt pools in my chest. I’ve sacrificed the last twelve years of my life, devoted to this cause. Every time I think I’m getting closer to finding the answers I need, I encounter more curiosities. More questions without answers. It’s infuriating and all-consuming. This doesn’t have to be Hunter’s life, too.

My mind flickers back to the Wolf in the cell. More and more, it seems, he is the only one who can help me. As much as I hate it. As much as I loathe the idea of trusting one of the Dead Queen’s Wolves. They’re the same people who’ve been killing mine for centuries—but I’m running out of options.

“Hunter, you don’t have to help me.” I swallow. “You’ve been a true friend. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” My hand reaches for the moth resting against my chest. “You’ve given me the breakthrough I’ve needed. I could never thank you enough.”

Hunter reaches forward and takes the book of moths from me. He studies an open page for a long time before closing the cover and setting it on a shelf. His eyes meet mine.

“I will help you. To the very end. Until we find out what happened to your grandmother and fix what’s broken between us.” Hunter reaches over to a shelf and plucks another book from it. Its cover is rusty brown and engraved with faded black lettering that’s too damaged to read. He opens it to the first page. “I suppose we both have a lot of reading ahead of us then.” He smiles at me and I smile back.

He turns another brittle, dried page in the book, then abruptly drops it. “Damn.” He opens his palm to reveal a paper cut, already beading with blood.

I grab his hand, then reach for the power sleeping inside me. It flows easily. I’ve always been comfortable around Hunter. Until recently, anyway.

Power spreads from my core like liquid sunshine, up through my chest. It travels through the veins in my arms until it pools in my open palm. I touch my fingertips gently to Hunter’s bleeding cut. We both watch as his skin knits together, becoming so smooth it’s as if there was never an injury to begin with.

How I wish heartaches could heal as easily.

I wipe the blood from his palm with my thumb. When my eyes travel up to his face, Hunter is studying me with a familiar look. It’s adoration mixed with a dash of wonder, as if I’m some miraculous, precious thing. A secret that he’s privileged to know.

Heat, very different from my dissipating power, flushes my cheeks. I hold his gaze. It feels like a dare. Something forbidden, yet tempting.

“I have to know,” he says, swallowing hard. “Is this all part of the act?”

I blink, trying to process his question. “There’s no one here to see ...” My voice comes out as a whisper.

He lifts his healed hand slowly, as if he’s afraid I’ll run away if he moves too fast. “Has it ever been an act?”

I hesitate, wiling myself to say, Yes. I’ve been playing along this whole time. But there’s a lump in my throat that won’t let me lie.

“Has it been for you?” I ask.

His face grows fierce with longing. His eyebrows knit together and his lips part in a way that I find utterly intoxicating. “Never.” He brushes his thumb along my jawline. “Nothing about this has ever been a lie.”

When he kisses me, my knees grow weak. I forget to resist, forget everything except for him. Hunter. The only man who has ever loved me. The only person who will follow me through all of my harebrained schemes and adopt my dream as his own. I know this is wrong. It’s cruel to hold him like this when I don’t want ‘forever’ with him. Even if I wish I did.

He wraps his other hand in my loose hair and I grow lightheaded with lust. He presses his body into mine, pinning me against the bookshelf. I want to rip the copper-plated armor from his chest. To feel the warmth radiating from his skin. My mouth aches to drink him in, to taste every inch of him. I want to trail the tip of my tongue over his broad chest, down the muscles of his stomach, to the low line of his breeches.

Instinctively, my fingers search for a gap in his armor, along his waistline. There has to be a buckle or maybe some laces to release. My fingertips brush the skin of his hip, beneath the edge of his armor. Hunter moans, his mouth pressed to mine. Heat coils tight between my thighs, hot and insistent. I want to reach down into his breeches and grasp his⁠—

Hunter’s lips break from mine as he takes a step back.

The change is so sudden, I’m left feeling dizzy. I have to brace myself against the shelf. I give him a baffled look, but his focus isn’t on me anymore. Instead, he’s staring down the library aisle. Someone clears their throat and I understand.

The elderly librarian stands there, a sheepish grin on his face. “Many pardons, Your Highness.” He nods to Hunter. “Sir Hunter, the Commander sent word that you’re to meet him in the training yard. Immediately.”

Hunter stifles an infuriated sigh before nodding at the librarian. “I understand. Thank you for delivering the message.”

The librarian bows to me before turning back down the aisle. He pauses at the end, then looks back over his shoulder at us. “Perhaps, next time, I will say I’ve not seen you.” He gives me a kind look. “Either of you.”

Hunter clears his throat. “I would appreciate that.”

When the librarian is out of sight, Hunter turns back to me. He has the smirk of a mischievous boy who’s been caught doing something naughty, but who intends to do it all again.