3. Seraphina
3
SERAPHINA
R ylan leans against the desk, studying me like I’m something sharp and dangerous—like he’s trying to decide whether to keep me or cut me loose. I roll my eyes at his comment about my name.
“Little thief,” he muses, rolling the words over his tongue like smoke curling from a dying ember. “It suits you.”
I hate the way my body reacts to his voice—low, edged with amusement but sharp enough to cut. I clench my fists against my thighs, forcing my spine straight despite the exhaustion clawing at my limbs.
I can’t afford to appear weak.
Not here. Not in his presence.
The Midnight Den is more than just a hideout—it’s a lair, a nest woven with secrets and whispered threats. I can feel the weight of them pressing against my skin, coiling around my throat like an invisible noose. Every flickering torch in the chamber casts shadows in shades of black and silver, and the smell of parchment, ink, and something darker—him—fills the air.
Rylan moves with the unhurried grace of a predator, circling me with all the patience of a man who already knows he’s won.
“You’re bleeding,” he says, tilting his head. His voice is smooth, velvet lined with steel. “Did you plan to die on my floor, little thief?”
I force my breath steady. “Not tonight.”
His smirk is a slow, dangerous thing. “Good.”
I don’t flinch when he reaches for me, but my muscles coil tight as he brushes his fingers over the bloodstained fabric at my side. A mere whisper of a touch, but enough for me to notice the heat radiating from him. His hand lingers for a moment too long, like he’s testing something, before he pulls away.
A game.
Everything with him is going to be a game.
I force myself to hold his gaze. “Are you going to take the deal or not?”
His fingers drum lazily against the edge of the desk. “Desperate and impatient. A bad combination.”
I grit my teeth. “I can’t afford to play word games with you, Rylan.”
The smirk fades. Just like that, the air shifts.
He steps closer, and his overwhelming presence suffocating. He doesn’t touch me this time, but gods, it feels like he does.
“You don’t tell me how this works, little thief.” His voice drops, dark as the space between stars. “You don’t make the rules here. You brought me a stolen secret and asked for protection—now, that means you play by my rules.”
My pulse hammers, but I don’t look away. “And what are your rules?”
He watches me, those emerald eyes gleaming with something I don’t understand. Amusement? Interest? Hunger?
Whatever it is, it’s lethal.
He leans down, voice a whisper against my ear. “You don’t lie to me.”
A shiver ghosts down my spine. I swallow, throat tight. “I haven’t lied.”
“No?” His breath is warm against my skin. “You came here bleeding and desperate, clutching a secret you barely understand, and you want me to believe you just stumbled onto it?”
I go still. He’s testing me.
The truth is dangerous—but so is a lie.
I exhale slowly, keeping my voice even. “I already told you that I stole it. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
His lips quirk like he knows I’m feeding him half-truths, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he straightens, rolling his shoulders back in a show of quiet dominance.
“What’s in it for you?” he asks.
I hesitate. The real answer is survival. But men like Rylan don’t deal in desperation—they deal in currency, in power. If I tell him I stole the document to escape, he’ll see weakness. And weakness doesn’t buy protection.
“I want out,” I say instead. “Not just from the city. From them. From all of it.”
Rylan hums, thoughtful. “You’re asking for something bigger than protection, little thief.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
His eyes glint with something wicked. “There’s always a choice. You made one when you stole that parchment.”
A beat of silence.
He’s waiting—for a reaction, for me to slip, for me to flinch. I don’t.
Instead, I raise my chin. “Are you taking the deal or not?”
Another pause. Rylan moves.
Before I can react, his hand is beneath my chin, tilting my head up toward his. The touch is deceptively gentle, but I feel the warning in it.
"You don’t bargain with me like an equal, Seraphina." My name rolls off his tongue like silk, like a slow, decadent threat. "You came to my den, into my hands, and you’re in no position to demand anything."
His grip tightens, just enough to make my breath catch. Not in fear. In something far worse.
Awareness.
Heat coils low in my stomach, sharp and unwelcome. I hate it. Hate him.
But he’s right. I walked into the wolf’s den, and now, I’m at his mercy.
Still, I force a smirk. “Yet here you are, still listening.”
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. He releases me, and I step back before I can do something foolish.
Like lean into the warmth of his touch.
Rylan turns his attention back to the satchel, pulling the parchment free. His expression darkens as his eyes scan the contents. He looks genuinely surprised.
I watch him carefully. “So? Is it worth your protection?”
For a long moment, he doesn’t answer.
He looks at me, something unreadable flashing behind his gaze.
“You stole something that should not exist.” His voice is softer now, but no less dangerous.
My stomach tightens. “Then I suppose you should keep me alive long enough to tell you why.”
Silence.
A slow, sharp smile.
“Very well, little thief.” His voice drips with amusement, but there’s something dark curling at the edges, something that makes my pulse stutter. “I suppose I’ll keep you. For now.”