13. Seraphina
13
SERAPHINA
L artina smells like honey and death.
She steps into my path with all the grace of a woman who has never had to ask for anything, only take. The corridors of Midnight Den is dimly lit, the flickering torches painting her sharp features in molten gold and shadow.
I don’t stop. I don’t slow.
But she does.
Her fingers, cold and unyielding, slide around my wrist before I can brush past her.
"Going somewhere, little thief?"
I go still.
Rylan calls me that too. But when he says it, it’s mocking, amused, intrigued.
When she says it? It’s disgusting.
I exhale and turn to face her fully, shaking off her grip. "If you have something to say, Lartina, say it."
She smirks, tilting her head slightly. Her eyes are deep pools of crimson, predatory and knowing.
"Bold," she murmurs. "He does have a type, doesn’t he?"
I cross my arms. "Is this the part where you tell me to run while I still can?"
She laughs, soft and venom-laced. "No, darling. You lost that chance the moment you let him touch you."
My pulse stumbles.
I mask it, keeping my expression calm, unreadable. "I don’t know what you think is happening between us, but?—"
Her fingers skim my jaw.
I react before I think, knocking her hand away with a sharp flick of my wrist.
She chuckles, pleased.
"Defensive already?" she muses, eyes gleaming. "Good. You’ll need that fire when he eventually destroys you."
I should walk away.
I should ignore her.
But something about the way she watches me, about the cruel patience in her gaze, makes the air feel thick, suffocating.
She isn’t just trying to scare me. She believes every word she’s saying.
I lift my chin. "You think you know him, don’t you?"
She smiles, slow and serpentine. "I don’t think, Seraphina. I know."
My jaw tightens. "Then maybe you don’t know him as well as you think."
The amusement in her eyes turns sharper. Colder.
"You mistake interest for affection," she purrs. "Rylan doesn’t care about people. He collects them. Uses them. He’s done it before—he’ll do it again."
I keep my expression unreadable. "You sound jealous."
Her lips part, her head tilting. "Jealous?"
She laughs.
Not soft. Not bitter. Dark. Delighted.
"Jealous of what?" she whispers, stepping closer. Too close. "You think you mean something to him?" Her voice dips, turning almost... gentle. "I loved him once, too."
Something inside me twists.
Not at the words. At the way she says them.
Not bitter. Not longing. Just... stating a fact.
I clench my fists. "Then why did he let you go?"
Her smile curves, slow and taunting. "Who said he let me go?"
The hallway feels smaller. The air, heavier.
I don’t like this. Don’t like her.
But I listen.
Because Lartina isn’t lying.
"Rylan is a man who plays games," she continues, voice softer now, like she’s letting me in on a secret. "He plays them well. You’re just his latest piece."
I hold my ground. "Then why warn me?"
Lartina exhales, her amusement dimming.
A pause.
She leans in, lowering her voice to something only for me.
"I don’t waste my time with the ones who don’t matter."
She steps back, straightening the delicate sleeves of her gown. The candlelight flickers against the jewels at her throat, her elegance unshaken, untouchable.
And I know—without a doubt—that Lartina is not just dangerous.
She is deadly.
I exhale slowly. "I appreciate the warning," I murmur, voice smooth, controlled. "But I don’t take orders from you."
Lartina smiles. Pleased. Expectant.
"Good," she murmurs. "I do love a fight."
She steps past me, the smell of amber and something sharp—something lethal— trailing in her wake.
But just before she disappears down the hall, she pauses.
"One last thing," she calls over her shoulder.
I don’t turn. I don’t trust myself to.
She hums, thoughtful. "You should ask Rylan about the last woman he ‘protected.’"