52. Seraphina
52
SERAPHINA
I wake with a gasp.
The world slams into me all at once.
Cold air burns my lungs. My chest heaves, struggling to contain a breath that feels too large, too deep, too unnatural.
My pulse thrums slow, sluggish—wrong.
My body feels light, too light, and yet… heavy.
I am here.
I am alive.
But something inside me whispers—not quite.
The cave around me is glowing.
The treasure pulses like a living thing, casting fractured light across the jagged walls. Shadows dance wildly, twisting in eerie patterns.
Rylan is slumped beside me, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths.
His skin is paler than I’ve ever seen it, his face drawn, exhausted, haunted.
The book lies beside him, its pages ashen, smoldering.
I remember.
The whispers.
The void.
The pain.
I lift a trembling hand and press it to my chest. My heart beats, but it is… slower.
Too slow.
My skin feels colder.
The air moves differently around me.
I swallow hard, trying to push the sensation away, trying to tell myself that I am still me.
But I don’t know if that’s entirely true.
A low groan rumbles beside me.
Rylan stirs, his body shaking.
His head lifts. His eyes meet mine.
"Seraphina."
My name shatters from his lips, hoarse and wrecked, as if he’s choking on it.
Before I can move, before I can make sense of anything—he’s on me.
His hands are fisted in my hair, in my clothes, pulling me against him so hard that I can barely breathe.
His body is shaking from something raw and primal and desperate. His forehead collides with mine, his breath hot and uneven against my lips.
"You're here," he murmurs, voice rough, unbelieving.
His fingers trail over my jaw, skimming down my throat—a touch meant to confirm that I am real, that I am solid beneath his hands.
That he didn’t lose me.
That I didn’t slip away.
Then, he kisses me.
Hard. Brutal. Possessive.
His lips crash into mine, teeth clashing, breath stolen, fire and ruin and relief all bleeding into one.
It is not careful.
It is not soft.
It is wild, uncontrollable, unhinged.
It is a claim.
A vow.
A desperate, wordless scream that I am his, that I belong here, that I will never leave him again.
I don’t hesitate.
I kiss him back with just as much fury, just as much hunger.
My hands grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.
His tongue sweeps against mine, demanding, consuming, taking everything I offer and demanding more.
It should be too much.
It should be overwhelming, too sudden, too intense.
But all I can think is I am alive.
And I want him to feel it.
I want him to know that I came back for him.
He pulls away just enough to breathe, but his lips still hover over mine, his forehead still pressed to mine.
His eyes burn like emerald fire, wide and wild, filled with something raw and open and real.
Something I have never seen in him before.
A tremor lingers in his fingers as he cups my face.
"You stopped breathing," he whispers, voice ragged. "You—" He swallows, his throat working. "I felt you go cold."
I reach up, pressing my palm over his chest, feeling the erratic thump of his heart.
"I came back," I murmur.
I don’t tell him about the whispers.
I don’t tell him about the price.
Not yet.
In this moment, none of that matters.
Only this.
Only him.
His hands slide down to my waist, his grip tightening, grounding.
"You scared the hell out of me, little thief," he mutters, pressing a rough kiss against my temple.
I smile, just slightly.
"Good."
But even as I say it, something in me stirs.
A slow, creeping sensation in my veins, like cold fire curling beneath my skin.
Not pain.
Not quite.
Just… different.
Like something inside me has been rewritten.
I have no idea what I am.
But when Rylan kisses me again, his lips still trembling against mine, I realize I don’t care.
Not as long as he’s here.
Not as long as I’m still his.