56. Seraphina
56
SERAPHINA
T hree months have passed.
Three months since we crawled from the ruins of that cursed cave, clutching Rylan’s inheritance in bloodstained hands.
Three months since I died. Since I was reborn.
And now, we stand at the top.
Rylan is no longer a man hiding in the underbelly of the dark elf city. He is the underbelly.
No longer hunted. No longer a whisper in the dark.
Now, he rules. Without Lartina and Nhilian constantly thwarting his every move, nothing can stand in his way.
And I stand beside him.
The estate is vast.
An ancient fortress built into the towering cliffs, overlooking the territory like a god watching over its domain. It once belonged to another noble house—one that no longer exists.
Rylan has reclaimed his legacy, rebuilt his name. Carved his place into the bones of this empire. This clan.
And I?—
I have become something else. I rose from the dead, someone who is not entirely human.
Tales about me have spread, some call me a Vrakken. I can be if needed. But I can be anything I want to be—a creature breed by magic.
I feel the power inside me, coiling beneath my skin like a serpent waiting to strike.
It is alive. I feed on the other side. I’m not entire sure what am I, but all I know is I control myself. I am powerful.
It hums in my blood, in the marrow of my bones, in the way my breath never catches, the way my muscles never tire.
At night, when the city is silent and Rylan sleeps beside me, I stare at my hands, flexing my fingers, feeling the current of something otherworldly thrumming through them.
I have tried to ignore it.
I have tried not to want it.
But power is intoxicating.
And it is mine.
I could break a man with nothing but a thought.
I could level a building if I willed it.
I do not know the full extent of what I have become.
But I know this?—
I will wield it for him.
For Rylan.
For his clan.
For our empire.
For the man who gave me everything when the world only sought to take.
I move through the halls of our fortress, silent as a shadow, the scent of burning torches and aged stone thick in the air.
I pass soldiers—our soldiers.
Men who once feared Rylan’s name now bow to it.
Women who once cursed him now whisper it in awe.
I see the way they look at him, at us.
At me.
It is not the look they give a noble’s woman.
It is the look of something more.
Something other.
Something they cannot define.
That is exactly how I want it.
Rylan waits in the war room.
His broad frame is draped in black and silver, his hair loose over his shoulders, his presence absolute.
He no longer hides in shadows. He is the shadow.
Maps are spread across the polished obsidian table, detailing trade routes, military movements, the shifting balance of power in the city.
He looks up as I enter, his emerald gaze sharp, assessing. Then it softens. Just for me.
“Where have you been?” His voice is low, possessive.
I step closer, trailing my fingers along the table’s edge, my eyes flicking over the markings before settling on him.
“Among the people.”
His brow lifts. “And what did you find?”
I tilt my head. “That they are afraid. That they are loyal. That they will follow you anywhere.”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “And you?”
I pause, feeling the implications of the answer before I speak.
“They will follow me too.”
The smirk fades.
Replaced by something deeper.
Something more dangerous.
Rylan knows what I am.
And power, in this world, is both a gift and a curse.
He pushes away from the table, crossing the room in slow, deliberate steps.
I do not move.
Especially when he reaches me.
When his fingers trail up my arm, ghosting over perfect, unmarked skin that should not exist.
And when he grips my chin, tilting my face, forcing me to meet his eyes head-on.
“You don’t flinch anymore,” he murmurs.
I hold his stare. “Do you want me to?”
His lips curl, but it is not amusement.
It is hunger.
Possession.
“Never.”
He kisses me.
I let him pull me under, let him take, let him consume—in this moment, he is not thinking about the power that hums beneath my skin.
He is not thinking about what I am.
Only who I am.
His.
And gods help me, I am.
When we pull apart, his breathing is uneven.
His thumb drags over my lower lip, smearing the taste of him there.
I feel something dangerous and warm coil inside me.
He exhales, stepping back, reclaiming the space between us.
He straightens, returning to the table, his hands pressing against the map once more.
His mind is already on the next move.
I do the same.
We are not finished.
Not yet.
The clan is ours.
The territory is ours.
But I know one truth above all others?—
Power never rests.
Neither will we.