“What if I told you”—Emeline lowered her voice to a whisper—“that I’m the outcome? That she—the Vile—is my mother?”
Time slowed around them. The silence blared in her ears.
He’ ll turn away now,she thought.He’ ll leave me here in the dark, disgusted.
But Hawthorne only took another small step towards her.
“I would believe that too,” he said.
Hesitantly, he touched her hip, cupping the curve of it. It steadied her. Rooting her in the stable and the lamplight and his solid presence. His hand glided across her lower back, warm and strong, then curled over her other hip as he drew her slowly against him.
She wanted to give in to the strength of him. To press her cheek against the fine wool of his coat. To let his arms tighten, pulling her snug.
But as his hand stroked her hair soothingly, Emeline remembered that day beneath the glass dome. When her voice smashed down his walls andtooksomething from him. Something he didn’t want her to take.
It had been so easy.
What if I’m no different than my father?
She wanted Hawthorne. Even now, the press of his body woke a hungry fire in her, stoked with every caress of his fingers. Heat flickered and spread as his jaw grazed her cheek.
She wanted so much more than to be held by him.
How far would that want drive her? Her father wanted her mother, and he’d done terrible things to have her.
What if she didn’t stop with Hawthorne?
Emeline shuddered and stepped out of his arms.
If he looked in her eyes now, he might see to the ugly core of her. She kept her face lowered and said, “It would be wise to keep your distance.”
Leave,she told herself.Now. Before you hurt him.
Nothing held her here anymore. Pa was safe. The Wood King had her father’s songs; he could find a new minstrel to sing them. And her mother was a monster that wanted her dead.
More important: Emeline had a life to return to.
It wasn’t too late. Her tour started in two days. A major record label would be watching her first performance, and if she wowed them they’d give her a contract. Produce her next album. Level up her career. Emeline simply needed to do what she’d always done: Pretend to be normal. Pretend none of this was real. Pretend there was nothing dark lurking in her depths.
Emeline turned to go, her mind made up. She would head for Edgewood and, from there, drive to Montreal. She would go on tour. Secure a record deal with Daybreak. Save her dream.
She would go back to faking normalcy.
She would bury her secrets deep.
All she had to do was run.
Now.
She moved to step out of the stable. Hawthorne grabbed her wrist. Before she could pull free, he caught her face in his hands and kissed her. Tenderly. His teeth scraped her lower lip, sucking softly, slowly, as his hands slid into her hair, freeing it from her messy bun.
Heat licked through her.
Her shoulders hit the wall.
She inhaled sharply, pulling back. “What are you doing?”
“Being unwise.” He pinned her there, eyes glinting.
