5. Seraphina
5
SERAPHINA
R ylan watches me like he’s waiting for me to break.
I won’t.
I refuse.
But gods, he makes it hard.
I sit in the dim glow of his study, hands clenched at my sides, my skin still warm from where his fingers lingered on my jaw. My body betrays me in ways I can’t control—shivers racing along my spine, breath catching in my throat. It’s not fear. I know fear.
This is something else.
Something far more dangerous.
He leans against his desk, exuding quiet dominance, his emerald eyes glinting with amusement as he takes me in. The way I hold myself too stiffly. The way my fingers twitch, aching to curl around a weapon that isn’t there.
He’s testing me.
I meet his gaze, my voice steady despite the war raging beneath my skin. “What now?”
Rylan smirks. “Now, little thief, we see if you can follow orders.”
Orders. The word sits heavy inside me, a reminder of the chains I can’t see but can already feel tightening around my throat.
I’ve been a slave before. I know what it means to belong to someone else.
I fought to escape that life.
And now, I’ve thrown myself into the hands of a dark elf who is too powerful, too perceptive, too damn tempting.
He moves, slow and deliberate, circling me. I force myself to stand still, refusing to let him see how much his presence unsettles me.
“Take off your tunic.”
My breath catches. My stomach turns to ice. “What?”
His voice is infuriatingly casual. “You’re still bleeding, Seraphina. I can smell it.”
I don’t move. I can’t.
I know if I strip down in front of him, it won’t just be skin he sees—it will be the scars. The map. The past I’ve spent years trying to bury.
Rylan watches my hesitation with something dark curling behind his gaze. “Defiance is admirable, little thief,” he murmurs, voice like silk dragged over a blade. “But it’s wasted here.”
I don’t respond.
Because he’s right.
I don’t have a choice.
I lift my hands to the ties of my tunic, my fingers brushing the frayed fabric. I feel his gaze press against my skin as I pull it over my head, leaving me in the thin underlayer beneath.
The silence is suffocating.
Rylan steps closer, and everything tightens.
His fingers ghost over my side, just above the wound I barely feel anymore. Too light to be casual. Too firm to be meaningless.
I swallow hard, every muscle locking into place as he traces a path just beside the raised ridges of my scars. Scars I never let anyone see.
His voice is a whisper of heat against my skin. “You’ve been cut before.”
My breath shudders. “What does it matter?”
Rylan hums, his fingers still lingering. “It doesn’t. But it tells me something about you.”
I finally force myself to move, gripping his wrist before I can process my actions.
His gaze flicks to my hand, then back to my face. Amusement dances along his features, but beneath it—something else.
Something like… curiosity.
"You think you can stop me?" he asks, voice a quiet taunt.
I should let go. I should put distance between us. But something reckless rises inside me, something that wants to see how far I can push him.
So I tighten my grip instead. “Try me.”
For a moment, neither of us moves.
The space between us is thin as a blade, charged with something I don’t want to delve deeper into. His pulse thrums beneath my fingers, steady. Controlled.
I expect him to rip his arm free.
I expect him to remind me who has the power here.
But instead, Rylan just smiles, slow and wicked. “You don’t know what game you’re playing, little thief.”
He moves.
One moment, I have him. The next, he’s twisted free, catching my wrist and dragging me forward. My body collides with his, his heat swallowing me whole.
I hate how my breath catches. How my pulse betrays me, hammering wildly in my heart.
"You want to fight me?" His voice is quiet, edged with amusement. "Be careful what you ask for."
I glare up at him, refusing to let him see the way he affects me.
"You think I'm afraid of you?" I whisper.
Rylan leans in, his breath warm against my cheek. "No," he murmurs. "That’s what makes you dangerous."
A slow, deliberate beat of silence.
He lets me go.
I stumble back, furious at myself for how unsteady my legs feel.
The smirk never leaves his face as he turns away, pouring himself a glass of dark wine like our entire interaction meant nothing. Like he didn’t just pin me to him and unravel something inside me that has no business unraveling.
"Tomorrow," he says casually, "you’ll start working for me."
I narrow my eyes. "Doing what?"
He takes a slow sip, his gaze burning over the rim of his glass. "Whatever I tell you to do."
I clench my jaw, fingers curling at my sides. “I didn’t agree to be your servant.”
"No," he agrees. "You agreed to be obedient. To be mine."
I hate the way my stomach clenches at those words.
I hate him.
Rylan sets the glass down, stepping toward me again, but this time he doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t need to. His presence alone is enough to make my skin burn.
“You wanted protection. You have it.” His voice is low, smooth as sin. “But that means something, little thief. It means I own you now."
I swallow hard, refusing to let him see how those words unnerve me. "And if I decide I don’t like being owned?"
Rylan’s smirk deepens.
"Then run," he whispers, leaning close enough that I feel heat of his breath. "But I promise you this—you won’t get far."
His words coil around my throat, wrapping tight.
I know he’s right.
Despite everything, despite the fire in my heart and the hatred I want to cling to, I know the truth.
I can’t run. There’s nowhere for me to go.