35. Seraphina
35
SERAPHINA
O nly the wind moves beyond the crumbling walls, whispering through broken stone, slipping through cracks and settling in the silence between us. The fire has burned low in the hearth, its glow barely reaching the edges of the small room, leaving shadows stretching long and deep.
Rylan stands a few feet away, his back half-turned, the muscles in his shoulders coiled tight. He hasn’t spoken since we stepped inside, hasn’t looked at me, but I can feel it—the energy rippling off him, dark and charged and dangerous.
This is different from the battles we fight with knives and steel.
This is something else.
I inhale, steadying myself, but it’s no use. My body still hums from the chase, from the kill, from the heat of adrenaline still burning through my veins. From him.
He shifts, just slightly. His jaw tightens as he rolls his shoulders, as though shaking off an invisible weight.
Then he speaks.
“This is because of you.”
His voice is a blade, cutting clean, sharp.
I flinch.
But I don’t look away. I don’t cower. I never cower.
Instead, I take a step forward.
And so does he.
Slow, deliberate, like two predators circling each other in the dark.
The tension between us is thick, a coil pulled too tight, too frayed at the edges. It should break. I need it to break. If it doesn’t, if we keep standing here in this charged, unbearable silence, one of us is going to do something we can’t take back.
Can I even stop it? I don’t know.
I meet his gaze. His emerald eyes are dark, storm-ridden, caught between fury and something else, something reckless.
I don’t think. I don’t have time. He’s already on me, hands gripping, pinning, shoving me backward until my spine hits the wall with a sharp gasp. His body presses into mine, heat and muscle and something raw, something primal.
His breath is harsh, ragged against my skin.
“You—” His voice is low, nearly a growl, fingers curling against my arms, against my wrists. “You drive me insane.”
I tilt my chin up, refusing to shrink beneath his weight, beneath the intensity of him.
“Good.”
His grip tightens.
I shudder.
I hate him. I want him. I want to tear him apart, and I want him to devour me whole.
Rylan’s lips brush the line of my jaw, not a kiss, not quite, but enough to send a sharp, aching heat down my spine.
“This isn’t a game, Seraphina,” he rasps.
I laugh, breathless. “Isn’t it?”
He snaps.
His mouth crushes against mine. I gasp into him, but he swallows it, doesn’t let me go, doesn’t let me breathe.
Good.
I don’t want to breathe. I don’t want to think.
I want this.
The weight of him. The fury of him.
His hands tear at the fabric of my tunic, rough and impatient, dragging it over my head. Cold air rushes over my skin, only to be replaced by the scorching heat of him, his mouth trailing down my throat, down to the sharp curve of my collarbone.
I arch into him, nails raking down his back, drawing a growl from deep in his chest.
His hands are everywhere. Too much. Not enough.
I grab his shirt, yank it over his head, throwing it aside. My fingers find the ridges of muscle, the scars, the places where his body has been broken and remade.
Rylan groans against my skin, low, dark, pressing harder, rougher, his mouth sliding lower, lower.
I dig my nails into his shoulders, marking him, branding him the way I want to be branded.
“Rylan,” I whisper.
He freezes.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for something to flicker across his face—something fragile, something dangerous.
Then it’s gone.
He yanks me off the wall, turns, pushes me back onto the bed—if it can even be called that. Rough sheets, a mattress too thin to soften anything. But it doesn’t matter.
None of it matters.
Because he’s on top of me now, hovering over me, staring down like he’s still at war with himself, with me, with this.
Like he wants to stop.
Like he can’t.
I lift a hand, trace the line of his jaw, softer this time, gentler.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I murmur.
His eyes flash.
“You should be.”
I smile, slow and wicked, my lips curling with defiance and desire.
My fingers tighten in his hair, and I pull him down, hard, until there’s no space left between us, no room for doubt or hesitation.
We crash together like a storm breaking, rough and desperate, consuming and consumed.
His mouth is on mine, hot and demanding, his teeth catching my lower lip, tugging until I gasp. He swallows the sound, his tongue sliding against mine, claiming, devouring.
Everything fades—the war, the chase, the men hunting us. The world narrows to this room, to this moment, to him.
There is only this.
Only him.
Only the way he moves, his body pressing into mine, his hips grinding against me with a rhythm that drives me insane.
“Rylan, give it to me,” I moan, holding onto his shoulders.
He kisses me again, biting my lips almost drawing blood. I gasp, my body shivering from the overwhelming sensations.
His hands are everywhere, rough and impatient, sliding down my sides, gripping my thighs, pulling me closer, deeper, until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing down my throat, nipping at the sensitive skin, leaving marks that sting and burn. I arch into him, my nails raking down his back, drawing a low, guttural growl from deep in his chest.
“Rylan,” I breathe, his name a plea.
“Damn you, Seraphina. You drive me crazy,” he growls. His lips land on my nipple, and he bites it.
“Oh!” the pain and pleasure mingles, shooting up my spine and flowing into my head where I almost see stars.
“I want to fuck you real hard, destroy you, and claim you,” he whispers in my ears. Despite his rough words, his lips is gentle against my earlobe.
“Rylan…” I call out in surrender, my eyes seeking his.
Our gazes lock, and for a moment, time stands still. He breaks eye contant as he grips my hips, lifting me, shifting me, until I’m exactly where he wants me.
His cock brushes against my wet cunt. We both groan and my toes curl.
“Fuck me,” I beg him.
“Little thief, you steal my sanity,” he moans through clenched teeth, eyes dark and wild with carnal desire as he plunges inside me.
“Fuck!” I scream, my body jolting off the mattress, clinging onto him as if he’s a my lifeline. My fingers claw at his shoulders, my legs wrapping tight around him.
He moves with a rhythm that’s relentless, each thrust driving me closer to the edge, each stroke pulling a moan from my lips. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my cries, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.
“I told you that you belong to me,” he growls, his voice rough, possessive, his hands tightening on my hips, holding me in place as he drives into me, deeper, harder, until I’m trembling, until I’m falling apart beneath him.
“Rylan! Yes!” I gasp, his name breaking from my lips like a prayer and a curse.
He growls, his forehead pressing against mine, his breathing ragged, his arms shaking as he holds himself over me. His mouth brushes my ear, his voice raw, broken.
“You will regret this,” he whispers, but there’s no conviction in his words, only desperation, only need.
I shudder, dragging my nails down his back, marking him, claiming him, just as he’s claimed me.
“I don’t care,” I breathe, my voice trembling with everything I’m feeling, everything I’m not saying.
He kisses me again, and it’s not a war anymore.
And when he finally lets go, when he finally gives in, it’s with a growl that’s almost a roar, his body shuddering against mine, his hands gripping me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
We fall together, tangled and breathless, our bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of what we’ve done, what we’ve become.
And this time, when we fall?—
We fall together.