Chapter 44 Seraphine
Sera woke to a sharp pain in her chest. Parting her robe and pulling up her camisole, she traced the new thorn beside her heart.
A sharp inhale made her turn. Ransom was sitting in a chair by her bedside, his eyes pinned to that new black mark.
‘You’re awake.’ His voice was a prayer in dawn’s half-light. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Like I’ve been run over by a wagon. Twice.’ She turned, wincing at the stretch. He leaned closer, and she noted the dark rings under his eyes. ‘You should sleep, Ransom.’
‘When I’m dead.’
Anxiety hummed between them, his jaw so tight it looked painful. She brushed her fingers along the stubble there. ‘If you won’t sleep, then bathe with me,’ she said. ‘I ache.’
His lips flickered, the storm of his anguish breaking. ‘Where do you ache, spitfire?’
‘Everywhere,’ she whispered.
He shot up from his chair as she threw off the covers. Using the crook of his arm to steady herself, she wavered before finding her feet.
Inside the bathroom, Ransom drew a bath while she perched on the windowsill. They undressed as the steam grew thick and heady, his gaze lingering on the thorn by her heart. He traced it with his thumb. ‘This is the last time, Seraphine. Swear it.’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Try,’ he pleaded. ‘Just try and stop.’
She lifted her chin. ‘Stop what? Destiny?’
‘Call it what you like. I don’t want to see another thorn mar your body.’
‘It’s not up to you, Ransom.’
In truth, it wasn’t up to her either. Oriel had only ever given her the illusion of choice. Sera’s power – that insistent ancient voice – was growing ever stronger, steering her towards its own desired ending. She could sense it, like a wave gathering beyond the horizon.
This new thorn was deeper than the others. An omen and a reminder. Her body was not stronger than her magic. Or the will of destiny. Every heartbeat pricked at her.
Ransom’s brows lowered. ‘You scream in your sleep. Did you know that?’
She bristled. ‘How do you know? You’re never here any more. Can you hear me from your roof?’
‘I’ve seen the blood on your pillow, Sera. I’ve heard the hacking wheezes, the retching.’
Unease rocked her. How much had he seen?
The fear in his eyes told her: everything.
She stepped back from him, his hand sliding from her chest. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘It’s hurting you.’
‘All magic has a cost.’ It was the same argument she’d had with him at Our Sacred Saints’ Cathedral after he’d seen the thorns for the first time. ‘You’re covered in shadow-marks. Are they so different?’
‘You tell me. I had to scrape you off the kitchen floor tonight.’
She flinched.
He sighed, rubbing his jaw. ‘I worry about you, Seraphine.’
‘I worry about you too.’ The tension thickened, sweat beading on their skin. She didn’t want to do this now. She didn’t want to do this at all.
‘I’ll make you a promise,’ she said. ‘I won’t kill myself making saints if you promise not to lose yourself to the darkness. Make all the dragons you like, but don’t let them control you.’
‘Perhaps that’s my cost,’ he said, ruefully.
‘It’s changing you, Ransom.’ Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘And it frightens me.’
‘All right, spitfire.’ His voice was raw, his anger melting in the thickening haze.
Cupping her face, he brushed his nose against hers, and whispered against her lips, ‘I don’t just love you with my heart, Seraphine.
I love you with every ragged piece of my soul.
That’s why I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe for worrying.
When my heart stops beating, and I forget my own name, I’ll still love you.
Far beyond this life, and whatever destiny demands of us. ’
‘Then show me,’ she said onto his mouth.
He kissed her softly, trailing his fingers down the column of her neck, and lower, to the swell of her breasts.
Taking his hand, she led him into the tub.
The water was heavenly, frothy with bubbles and laced with the scent of lavender.
She sighed, sinking deeper. He watched her in that way of his – like the whole world had fallen away and she was the last thing in it.
And somehow, that was more than enough.
As the steam cleared, she feasted on his body, raking her eyes over the planes of his chest, the skin there covered in whorls that whispered of the darkness within.
She traced a mark beneath his naval, then the scar she had given him less than six months ago.
He stiffened at her touch, a groan catching in his throat.
Here was her dark god, made all the more beautiful by the flickering lamplight, and looking at her like he wanted to devour her whole. He gathered her into his lap.
‘I love you,’ he said against her ear. ‘It terrifies me how much I love you.’
She straddled his hips, sinking into the perfect heat between them.
It wasn’t enough – this closeness. Even in her exhaustion, she wanted more.
She always wanted more. He kissed her again, and she opened for him.
She grew bolder, needier, hands tangling in his damp black hair, her hips moving feverishly, seeking friction.
He gave it to her, and more, the bubbles kissing their skin as they lost themselves in each other.
Afterwards, he washed her hair, those large callused hands scrubbing with such gentleness it made her heart swell.
He was careful, meticulous, and as she lay back against the tub, letting him work his way down her tired body, she wished she could stretch this moment around them like a bubble and live in it for ever.
He massaged her hands, kneading her fingers, then kissing them, one by one, like he was reminding himself how precious she was.
Lifting her onto the edge of the tub, he moved to her legs, tracing his lips across every scouring thorn, and laving away the pain.
He worked his way higher, pressing kisses to the insides of her thighs, and then the soft core of her pleasure.
She threaded a hand through his hair, her lids lazy as she watched him.
Bliss poured from her in a languid groan, and he smiled against her, drinking it down.
How worshipped she felt. Treasured beyond reason, and lucky. So lucky it hurt. She knew once morning came, they would have to return to the world and face the stark truth about Andreas… and what was yet to come.
But for now, couldn’t it just be this heady lavender bliss and the man she loved using his scarred hands to worship her?
She crawled to him once more, settling in the cradle of his arms. He hugged her to his chest, resting his chin on the crown of her head as they watched the sky pale through the window.
‘The sun will be up soon,’ she said.
‘My sun’s already risen,’ he murmured into her hair.
Smiling as she closed her eyes, she ignored the deepening pain in her chest, and the tick-ticking of her pulse, as though a clock somewhere was running out.