45. Seraphina
45
SERAPHINA
P ain pulls me from the depths of unconsciousness.
A slow, aching pull—dragging me back into the world of the living.
My body is leaden, heavy with exhaustion, but the first thing I feel is warmth.
It’s something else.
Something solid. Steady.
Fingers pressing against my wrist, tracing the pulse point there, grounding me.
I blink, slowly forcing my eyes open.
The light in the chamber is dim, the air thick with the smell of damp stone and dried blood.
And beside me is Rylan.
His head is bowed, silver-streaked hair falling into his face.
His hands are covered in my blood, but still, they press against me like they can hold me together.
His jaw is tight, his emerald eyes dark with something raw.
"You're awake," he murmurs. “Finally.”
His voice is hoarse, rough—like he's been fighting demons while I was unconscious.
I try to move, but pain lances through my ribs.
A sharp, unforgiving reminder of the wound splitting me open.
A quiet curse escapes me.
Rylan's fingers tighten.
"Don’t," he says. A command, low and edged with warning.
I exhale sharply, trying to fight past the haze clouding my thoughts.
But then I see the expression on his face.
Like he’s looking at something already half-lost.
He looks at me like I’m slipping through his fingers.
I swallow hard.
Because I know the truth.
And I can’t keep it from him any longer.
"You shouldn’t be doing this," I whisper.
His brow furrows. "Doing what?"
I shift slightly, ignoring the fresh spike of pain.
"Saving me."
His eyes flicker, darkening.
"You're delirious."
"I'm not," I murmur.
I turn my gaze to the ceiling, where cracks stretch across the stone like veins beneath the surface of skin.
I take a slow breath.
"I was meant to die anyway."
Silence.
Heavy. Unyielding.
Then—a whisper of movement.
Rylan’s fingers slide beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his.
His grip is gentle, but unrelenting.
"Say that again," he murmurs.
There’s no anger in his voice.
No rage.
Just something far more dangerous.
Desperation.
I swallow past the tightness in my throat.
I have to tell him.
He deserves to know.
"I was always meant to die for the treasure."
The words leave my lips like a final breath, like something I was never supposed to say aloud.
His fingers drop from my chin, his hands clenching into fists.
"No," he says.
Just one word.
Low. Lethal.
He stands abruptly, his breath coming hard and fast as he turns away.
His hands press into the stone wall, knuckles white with tension.
His entire body coiled with fury.
"Rylan—"
"No."
I flinch from the sheer force of his refusal.
"You don’t understand," I press, shifting despite the pain. "This has always been the plan. From the beginning."
He whirls, his expression thunderous.
"Whose plan?" His voice is sharp, bitter. "Who decided this for you?"
I hesitate.
The truth is complicated.
And cruel.
I touch my shaking hand, pulling my tunic, afraid that he’ll see it.
The tattooed map on my skin glows faintly in the dim light, etched into me by magic older than any of us.
My body is the key.
And keys are only useful when they unlock something.
He stares at it, jaw clenching, his breathing uneven.
"You think I’m going to let you do this?" he murmurs.
I close my eyes.
I knew this would be his reaction.
"I have to."
His fingers tighten at his sides.
"No, Seraphina." He steps closer, his voice dropping to something dark and broken. "You don’t have to do anything."
He grips my wrist, tracing the inked lines with his thumb.
The way he looks at me—it’s not just fury.
It’s fear.
It’s grief, sharp and bleeding.
"I refuse," he says, voice quieter now, but no less certain. "There must be another way."
The door to the chamber creaks open.
Vael steps inside, his expression unreadable.
Rylan turns on him. "If you’re here to tell me to let her die, I will slit your throat where you stand."
Vael exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Believe me, I don’t want her dead either because she’s clearly important to you," Vael mutters. "But I do know we need to move. Now."
I push myself up, ignoring the fire in my ribs.
Rylan’s hand immediately presses against my shoulder, holding me down.
"You're not going anywhere."
I grit my teeth. "Neither are you if you don’t listen."
Vael sighs, shaking his head. "Nhilian’s men will be looking for us. They won’t stop."
"Let them come," Rylan snarls.
Vael laughs, humorless. "You’re angry, not stupid. You know as well as I do that we can’t stay here. We need to move. We need to run."
No.
I can’t run.
Not when everything is at stake.
Rylan stiffens beside me, reading my thoughts before I even say them.
"Don’t," he warns.
I hold his gaze.
"We can’t run, Rylan."
His nostrils flare, his jaw tightening.
"We don’t have another choice," Vael cuts in.
"We do," I say firmly. "We end this."
His fingers tighten on my wrist, thumb brushing over my pulse.
He doesn’t look at Vael when he speaks.
He only looks at me. "Then we fight," he murmurs.
I nod, even as a shiver runs through me.
There is no turning back now.
This will end in blood.
I just hope it won’t be ours.