I sighed, pressing my palm against his forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath it. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s a dagger. You’ll instantly be a suspect if a Timehunter sees this marking.”
A ripple of unease slithered through me, my spine tensing.
Roman’s easy expression darkened, his brows drawing together as he frowned. “I see your point.” He tapped his full, tempting lips with his fingertip, thinking.
“I’ll keep it covered when we’re out,” he said, considering. “And if a Timehunter accosts us, we’ll say we are Timehunters, too.”
I arched a brow. “That’s your plan? Pretend we’re Timehunters?”
“Why not?” He smirked, but his eyes were thoughtful. “We can say we’re searching for the man who owns this dagger, that he’s dangerous. A threat to society.”
I let out a breath, my fingers still tracing the intricate ink on his forearm, the symbol that could mean our downfall if the wrong eyes saw it.
“Don’t you think the Timehunters know who’s in their network?”
Roman’s gaze settled on me, his expression unreadable. “The technology you have in your time hasn’t been created yet, amore.”
He shifted onto his side, pressing a warm, reassuring palm against my hip. “Yes, they have detailed drawings of poisonous plants, but do you think they have detailed sketches of every member?”
I hesitated, my fingers idly stroking the fine hairs on his leg, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath my touch. “I don’t know.”
Roman’s thumb swept circles against my waist, his touch soothing, grounding.
“I’d rather we didn’t find out,” I murmured. “Keep it covered.”
He gave a small, knowing smile but nodded. “As you command, my warrior queen.”
We lapsed into companionable silence, continuing to nibble at the food, our bodies still tangled, still pressed together in a cocoon of intimacy.
The mead swam pleasantly in my head, its golden burn spreading through my limbs, making my body feel languid, heavy, warm. I snuggled closer to Roman, resting my cheek against his solid chest, inhaling his deep, familiar scent.
“Oh!” I said suddenly, my voice breaking the hush between us. “Did you know Marcellious and Emily got married? And Emily is pregnant.”
Roman’s fingers, tracing lazy circles along my back, stilled.
“What?” His voice was thick with surprise.
I grinned against his skin, enjoying his reaction. “It was hard for her when she thought Marcellious had gone to the dark side and joined forces with Balthazar. He was convincing, parading Dahlia around as if she were his lover.”
Roman’s entire body tensed beneath me. His head snapped up, eyes wide, suddenly very, very awake.
“Dahlia?”
I propped myself up on one elbow, meeting his gaze, my lips curving into a satisfied smirk.
“Yes. Dahlia. I killed her.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You killed her?”
I nodded, feeling a surge of dark satisfaction.
Roman’s expression shifted instantly. Before I could react, he lunged forward, wrapping me in a fierce, crushing embrace.
“I’m so proud of you, my warrior woman,” he murmured against my hair, his voice thick with admiration and something deeper—something reverent.
At his words, a pulse of pure, unfiltered pride crashed through me. For so long, I had felt broken and powerless but hearing him say it—feeling the raw conviction in his voice—made me realize the truth.
I had conquered my darkness.
