Chapter 4 #3
"Yes." He looks down at me, and his silver eyes are unreadable. Mirrors again, showing me nothing but my own reflection. "A mistake."
But there's something else in his expression. Something he's not saying.
Croesus is still there in the back of my mind. Still hurting. Still present despite everything.
I curl into myself, pulling my knees to my chest, suddenly desperate to hide. To cover myself. To undo the last hour.
"He felt everything," I whisper. "Croesus. He felt every moment of it."
Seraph goes still. Then, quietly: "I know. They all did. The lust didn't care." His voice is carefully neutral. "Neither of us had a choice. The purge demanded this. You know that."
"That doesn't make it right."
"No." He stands, starts gathering his scattered clothing with mechanical precision. Then he crosses to the wardrobe, finds a fresh shirt, and starts buttoning it, almost angrily. "It doesn't."
I watch him transform back into perfection piece by piece, layer by layer, until there's no evidence of what happened. No proof he lost control.
Except for the scratches on his back. Those will take time to heal.
He picks up my jeans from the floor, holds them out to me without meeting my eyes. "You should clean up. There's a bathroom through the door."
I take the clothing with numb fingers and stand on shaking legs. The gold chains clink softly with the movement, and Seraph's jaw clenches at the sound.
Croesus senses my movement. Knows I'm standing. Knows it's over.
"For what it's worth," Seraph says quietly, still not looking at me, "that was... impressive. Your focus. How you spoke the purging words even while—" He stops. Clears his throat. "Most sin eaters lose themselves completely during a purge. You didn't."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"It's an observation."
I laugh, and it sounds broken. "Right. An observation." I clutch the clothes to my chest, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else. "This changes nothing. Tomorrow we go back to hating each other."
"Obviously."
"And this never happened."
"Agreed." Finally, he looks at me. Really looks at me. And for just a second, I see something crack in that perfect facade. Something raw and confused and even scared. "This was a purge. A necessity. Nothing more."
"Nothing more," I echo.
We're both lying.
We both know it.
Croesus knows it too.
I turn toward the bathroom, desperate to escape. To wash this off me. But Seraph's voice stops me.
"Raven."
I look back.
He's staring at the scratches on his skin where I drew blood. At the torn buttons from his jacket. At the small, imperfect pieces of chaos I introduced to his perfectly ordered life.
"You were right," he says softly. "This is my fault. I forced you to hold it. Forced your hand. I..." He trails off, and I've never heard him sound so uncertain. So human. "I'm sorry."
The apology stuns me into silence.
Seraph, the Angel of Pride, just apologized.
To me.
"You're also right," I find myself saying. "I manipulated you. Pushed the sin into you without permission. That was..." I struggle for the word. "Invasive. Wrong. I'm sorry too."
"Go clean up," Seraph says finally, breaking the moment. "I'll have fresh sheets brought. We can pretend this bed was never used."
"And the scratches?"
"Will heal by morning." His wings rustle. "Angels regenerate. It's one of the few advantages of perfection."
"Must be nice."
"It's lonely." The admission seems to slip out before he can stop it. Then he straightens, and the mask slides back into place. "But that's irrelevant. Go. Now. Before I change my mind about letting you have privacy."
I go.
The bathroom is as ridiculously perfect as the rest of his chambers, all white marble and silver fixtures and mirrors that show me exactly how wrecked I look. Hair tangled. Lips swollen. Skin flushed. Marks on my hips from his hands. Gold chains gleaming against my throat like accusations.
I look like I just had sex.
I look like I just betrayed someone I care about.
Both are true.
I turn on the shower and step under the spray, gold chains and all. Let the water soak through me. Let it run over my face, mixing with the tears I can't hold back anymore.
Through the bond: Croesus. Still there. Still present. Still mine, somehow, despite everything.
I'm sorry, I think desperately. I'm so sorry. I love you. Please forgive me. Please—
Through the bond: warmth. Faint, fragile, but there. A whisper of forgiveness I don't deserve. And beneath it: I know. I understand. It wasn't you. It was the lust.
But we both know that's not entirely true.
Because even without the lust, something happened in Seraph’s bed. Something shifted between him and me. Something I can't name and don't want to examine.
Something that changes everything.
I sink to the floor of the shower, and let the water pour over me.
One year. I have to survive one year in this house with this angel who seems determined to challenge me at every turn.
After tonight I'm not sure any of us will make it intact.