“Why did you shut down when I said I smelled roses?” I blurted out.
Lancaster’s characteristic scowl twisted his lips. “What?”
“Back in the training camps, you claimed the Bounty scent was appealing. When I said I smelled roses, it was like a gate slammed up between us.” Gods, until tonight, I hadn’t allowed myself to admit what that had done to me. Not until those words.
I suppose I missed your company.
Because I had, too. Lancaster had become a reliable presence. Perhaps not a comfort. He was too steely for that. But the constant bickering was a spark of loathing, and it scorched a path through the brush of every prickled branch between us, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. It made room for a seed of truth to sprout, one illuminating more day by day. A new beginning from the ashes.
It was reliable, and I wanted toburnin it after such turmoil and in the face of more loss.
When he remained silent, I swallowed past the lump in my throat, suddenly very aware of the fact that this was a ridiculous claim. I was drawing conclusions on very little evidence, but that string plucked wildly in my chest as Lancaster’s eyes held mine.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice was rough, like he felt that same thickness in his throat as I did.
His hand tightened on the door frame, emboldening me to step closer. My steps were loud, but my words were a slicing, accusatory whisper. “I might know more than you think.”
“Bounty,” he sighed, his head dropping under the weight of whatever this truth was. His knuckles turned white.
“Tell me,” I pleaded. Gods, I hated how vulnerable my cracking voice was. And in front ofhim. “I have lived my entire life not knowing the truth of my heritage. Do not keep me in the dark anymore, Hunter.”
At the name, Lancaster’s attention snapped up. “Do not call me that. Not you.”
His eyes darkened, tongue flicking out across his lips in a hungry movement. I leaned closer, the humming in my chest begging us both to say it. To confirm what it knew and give in.
“Then do not call me Bounty.”
“I thought you’d accepted your heritage,” he growled.
“As much as you have yours it seems,” I shot back, tilting my face up to his. Though he towered over me, he was closer than ever. “Tell me, Hunter, what else have you been working to accept?”
“I am not?—”
“Your magic won’t allow you to spin the lie,” I said victoriously.
His scowl deepened, but I swore he pressed closer. The hand not braced on the door hovered over my hip, fingers fisting in theair like he was restraining himself. The string hummed wilder than ever.
“What is it you think you know?” Lancaster asked.
“I think there is something in your blood that calls to mine.”
“The Bounty?—”
“Beyond our twisted instincts to kill one another. Beyond the prophecies and the Goddesses. There is something…” I pressed my hand to my chest, stealing courage from the thrumming energy. “Tell me what the roses meant to you.”
Lancaster chewed over that demand. “What do they symbolize to humans?”
“It varies,” I began, brows pulling together. “Beauty, mourning, passion.”
“Keep going,” Lancaster commanded.
“Royalty,” I said, nearly panting as he stepped closer. “They are a fae symbol in that nature, too.” All of the queen’s regalia had been adorned with the flowers. “And love…”
At the word, Lancaster gripped my hip. I gasped at the utter relief that thrummed through my chest, the need to have his hands on me such a tangible thing I thought I’d drown in it.
“Roses symbolize love,” I barely forced out over the heat rushing through me.
Lancaster’s thumb traced the waist of my skirt. “On Vercuella, there is a specific type of rose that never dies. To my people, they symbolize an eternal promise.”
