34. Rylan
34
RYLAN
T he tunnels stretch before us, winding and endless, filled with the smell of damp stone and stale air.
Seraphina’s footsteps are too light, too careful, her breathing barely audible. But I hear it. I hear everything.
She’s tense.
So am I.
I tell myself it’s because of the hunt.
Because of the bodies left behind.
We barely escaped with our lives.
But that’s a lie.
Because even now, with blood drying on her skin, with exhaustion pulling at her limbs—I still feel her.
Like a heat under my skin. Like an ache I can’t name.
And I hate it.
The safe house is nothing more than a crumbling ruin tucked into the cliffs beyond the city’s reach.
A single room. Stone walls cracked with time.
It will do.
I shove the heavy wooden door shut behind us, locking it with a sharp click.
Seraphina stands in the center of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, her tunic torn at the shoulder where a blade nearly found its mark.
Her dark hair is a tangled mess. Her skin is streaked with dirt and blood.
She looks like she should be shaking.
Like she should be breaking.
But she’s not.
She’s watching me.
Waiting.
She knows something is coming.
She just doesn’t know what.
I move past her, heading for the old basin in the corner. The water inside is murky, but clean enough.
I roll up my sleeves, dipping my hands in, watching the red swirl into the dark.
Behind me, she exhales. “Are you going to keep blaming me?”
I move my head, meeting her gaze through the reflection in the glass of the broken window.
Sapphire eyes. Fierce. Tired. Full of things I don’t want to delve into.
I turn slowly.
“Should I not?”
Her jaw tightens.
She’s too stubborn to back down.
Good.
I need her to fight me.
If she fights me, she won’t see what’s truly slipping beneath my skin.
“Nhilian’s men came for you,” I say, voice low, steady.
“Yes.” She takes a deep breath.
“And you knew they would.”
A pause.
A breath.
“Yes.”
Something in me snaps.
I close the distance between us in two strides, my hands bracing against the wall behind her, trapping her between my arms. Her breath hitches. That tiny, unintentional sound… It does something to me.
“I should let them take you,” I murmur, my voice a thread of quiet fury.
Her chin lifts, defiant. “But you won’t.”
I exhale sharply.
No.
I won’t.
That’s the problem, isn’t it?
Because this is not just about the treasure.
No longer about power or revenge or any of the lies I’ve told myself since the moment she stepped into my world.
It’s also about her.
And I know what needs to be done.
My fingers brush against the bare skin of her throat, trailing down, barely touching, enough to feel the pulse racing beneath.
She shudders. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, forcing myself to stop. To remember what she is, what she’s done, but I can’t.
I open my eyes, and all I see is her. All I feel is this, this thing coiling between us, dark and consuming. A hunger that rivals even the one for revenge.
“I don’t know what the hell you’ve done to me,” I whisper.
Her breath stutters.
But she doesn’t look away.
And gods help me, I need her to look away.
If she doesn’t, I might do something I can’t take back.
Her voice is quiet when she speaks.
Low. Unsteady.
“I haven’t done anything to you, Rylan.”
Lie.
I know a liar when I see one.
She’s done everything.
And the worst thing is that she’s done it without even trying.
The air between us snaps like a wire pulled too tight and I finally step back.
She exhales slowly, masking whatever the hell she’s feeling behind a carefully neutral expression.
I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head.
I hate this.
I hate her.
I hate the way she’s seeping into my blood like a slow, creeping poison.
I turn toward the door, pressing my palm against the wood.
“We leave at dawn,” I say.
She nods. “Where will we go next?”
“Somewhere they won’t find us.”
She watches me, unreadable. “Are you sure you want to keep running?”
I grip the door so hard my knuckles ache.
No.
I want to end this.
I want to burn every last piece of this war until there’s nothing left but us.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I give her the only truth I can afford.
“I’m sure of one thing.”
She tilts her head. “And what’s that?”
I finally look at her.
And I let her see.
The hunger. The war. The thing I don’t understand.
The thing I never wanted.
“That I’m not done with you yet.”