Chapter 9 #2
The other bindings pulse. Curiosity. Disgust. Amusement. Wariness. All of them aware of what I'm doing. All of them watching.
Seven. Eight.
From Seraph: satisfaction. I'm doing it. I'm actually doing it. And underneath that satisfaction is something warmer. Something that might be pride of a different kind. His sin, but directed at me.
Nine.
My posture starts to slip. The pride is too heavy, too insistent, and I'm not strong enough to—
"Ten." Seraph's hand is suddenly on my back, between my shoulder blades, steadying me. "Release it."
I let go.
The pride drains away, and I'm just me again. Exhausted. Shaking. But standing.
"Impressive," Seraph says, and the single word shouldn't make warmth bloom in my chest but it does. "You held longer than I expected for a first attempt."
"It was only ten seconds."
"It was ten seconds longer than most sin eaters can manage without a ritual circle." He moves to stand in front of me, and his expression is... different. Less harsh. Almost approving.
The praise makes something complicated twist in my chest. Pride of my own, maybe. Or guilt that I'm surpassing her. Or fear of what it means that I can do things she couldn't.
"What does it mean?" I ask. "That I can do this?"
"It means you're dangerous." He tilts his head, studying me. "Or it means you have the potential to be. We'll see which."
Croesus is trying to rebuild his walls, trying to shield himself from feeling this. From feeling me train with another angel. From feeling the small spark of satisfaction I got from Seraph's praise.
I should feel guilty.
I do feel guilty.
But I also feel good. Accomplished. Like I'm learning something important. Like I'm becoming something more than I was.
"Again," Seraph says. "And this time, we'll work on your breathing. You were holding your breath for seven of those ten seconds. That's not sustainable."
"Is there anything I did right?"
"You didn't die. That's a start." But there's a ghost of a smile on his perfect face. "Now. Again."
We drill for two hours.
Pull the sin. Hold it separate. Maintain posture. Breathe. Release. Over and over until my head is pounding and my body is shaking and I'm not sure where I end and the pride begins.
But each time, I hold it a little longer. A little cleaner. A little more controlled.
And each time, Seraph corrects me. His hands on my shoulders, my waist, my back. Adjusting. Guiding. Never more than necessary, always professional. But the touches accumulate. Build. Until I'm hyperaware of every correction, every point of contact, every moment when his cool skin meets mine.
Through the bindings, I feel everything:
Croesus retreating further. Building walls. Trying not to feel what I'm feeling.
Idris pressing closer, fascinated by the dynamic, by my responses to Seraph's teaching.
The others fading in and out—some interested, some repulsed, all of them aware that something is shifting. That I'm changing.
And from Seraph—focus. Intensity. The satisfaction of watching a student improve. And underneath, buried deep enough that he probably thinks I can't feel it: attraction. Want. The ghost of feelings he once had for someone who looked like me.
For Meredith. The first Vesper he failed to protect.
I'm not her.
But I look like her. Sound like her, probably. Maybe even fight like her.
And he's training me as he might have wished he could have trained her. Making me strong enough to survive what killed her.
The weight of that realization makes my next absorption falter. The pride slips, floods me entirely, and I gasp as arrogance overwhelms every thought—
"Raven." Seraph's hands are on my face, cupping my jaw, forcing me to focus on him instead of the sin. "Come back. Release it. Now."
His silver eyes are inches from mine. I can see myself reflected in them: flushed, overwhelmed, barely holding on.
But I can also see him. The real him, not the reflection. The concern breaking through his perfect mask. The fear that I'm about to lose myself to his sin.
The care.
I release the pride.
It drains away like water, leaving me trembling in his grip.
"That's enough for today," he says quietly. His hands are still on my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "You pushed too hard. Held too long."
"I can keep going—"
"No. You can't." He releases me, steps back, and the loss of his touch is immediate and jarring. "You need to rest. Eat. Recover. We'll continue tomorrow."
"I want to try one more time," I say, even though I'm exhausted. Even though my head is pounding. "I almost had it—"
"You almost lost yourself to it." His voice is sharp now. Commanding. "That's not progress. That's recklessness. And recklessness gets sin eaters killed."
"I'm not going to die from a little pride—"
"Your grandmother thought the same thing." The words are quiet. Heavy.
The silence that follows is suffocating.
"Is that what happened?" I ask finally. "She pushed too hard?"
"I don't know. She wouldn't let me help." His jaw tightens. "But I know she was exhausted.”
“I can strengthen you,” he says. “Before you do something stupid that gets you killed."
He moves toward the door, pauses. "Tomorrow. Same time. And Raven?"
"What?"
"The bindings. All seven of them. You're broadcasting constantly. Everything you feel, everything you think, we all feel it. That's dangerous. And ill-advised for most of us. Not many of us can resist that weakness... that... offer."
Through the connections, I feel the others stir. Confirming. Acknowledging. Yes, they've been feeling everything. My guilt. My attraction. My confusion. All of it on display for seven fallen angels.
"I don't know how to stop it."
"I know. That's why I'm going to teach you." He opens the door. "After you're not on the verge of collapse."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the training hall with my reflection in a dozen mirrors.
I look different.
Not much. Not yet. But there's something in my eyes that wasn't there this morning. Something harder. More certain.
I'm learning.
Despite the guilt. Despite Croesus's pain. Despite the fear.
I'm actually learning.
And Seraph is right: that makes me dangerous.
Through the binding with Croesus, I feel his presence. Still there. Still connected. Still loving me despite everything.
I'm sorry, I think through the connection.
His response is immediate: warmth. Forgiveness. And underneath: acceptance. Resigned, painful acceptance that this is what I need. What I have to do.
Even if it's killing him.
I leave the training hall and make my way back to Seraph's chambers. The house shifts around me, as usual, corridors appearing where there weren't any before, staircases leading to new destinations. But I'm getting better at navigating it. Better at feeling where I need to go.
I'm adapting.
That should scare me more than it does.
When I reach the chambers, I collapse on the massive bed and stare at the ceiling. The silk sheets are cool against my overheated skin. The room smells like lilies and ozone and something underneath that's pure Seraph.
Inside, I feel them all:
Croesus, hurting but trying to give me space.
Idris, curious and hungry for more.
The others, watching and waiting and wondering what I'll become.
And faintly, distantly: Seraph. In another part of the house. Feeling... satisfied. Accomplished.
Hopeful.
He thinks he can save me.
He thinks he can make me strong enough to survive what killed the woman he loved.
What he doesn't know is that I'm not trying to survive.
I'm trying to finish what my grandmother started. I’m trying to keep my sister safe. In the grand scheme of things my personal safety comes last. But he might realize that too late.