Chapter 17
Seventeen
The chair is harder than it looks.
I sink into it gratefully anyway, my legs finally giving out now that the immediate crisis has passed. Seven angels. Seven bonds. And somehow I'm still breathing.
Three of them remain. Seraph stands by the window, silver light catching the sharp angles of his face.
Caspian hasn't moved from his corner chair, pale eyes half-lidded, that terrible emptiness radiating through me like a black hole.
And Croesus hovers at my side, his hand warm on my shoulder, his presence in the binding a steady pulse of warmth and worry.
"We'll start with the basics," Seraph says, turning from the window. "Raven, move to the center of the room."
I push myself up from the chair, grateful when my legs hold.
The bonds have quieted somewhat now that most of the angels have left, but I can still feel Seraph's silver thread pulsing with controlled intensity, Croesus's golden one burning with protective heat, and that terrible void where Caspian exists.
Three presences instead of seven. Still too loud. Still too much.
"Sit." Seraph points to the floor. "Cross-legged. Close your eyes."
I sink down, the cold marble seeping through the thin silk of my dress. It's one of Seraph's, of course. I'd forgotten I was still wearing it until now as it pulls cold around my legs.
From the corner of my eye, I see Croesus's attention drop to the dress. His jaw goes tight, and I catch a flash of something hot and complicated. Jealousy. Want. The knowledge that Seraph chose this dress. He can’t see me, but he knows me well enough that I wouldn’t have brought this dress. Seraph had to.
I look away.
Seraph crouches in front of me. Close. Too close. I can smell him, lilies and ozone. It’s almost comforting now.
"The binding is a thread," he says, his voice dropping into a low hypnotic register. "You've been treating it like a wound. Something that happened to you. Something you endure. But it's not. It's a connection. And connections can be controlled."
"How?"
"Imagine a wall." His silver eyes hold mine. "Not around yourself. Around the thread. You're not blocking us out entirely. That's impossible with a binding this strong. You're simply muting the signal. Turning down the volume."
I try. Picture bricks stacking around that golden thread that connects me to Croesus. But the moment I focus on it, I feel him more intensely. His worry. His jealousy. His desperate need to protect me from the angel kneeling inches from my face.
"You're reaching toward it," Seraph corrects. "Stop. Don't engage with the emotion. Just build around it. Let it exist behind the wall."
I try again. And again. Each time, Croesus's feelings crash through like waves against sandcastles.
"She's too connected to him." Seraph rises, circling behind me. I feel his presence at my back, cool where Croesus runs hot. "The greed bond is overwhelming the others."
"That's not a flaw." Croesus's voice is tight. "That's loyalty. Well, and magic. We were originally bound from a witch’s power. It’s different than the other bonds. Stronger."
"It's a weakness." Seraph's hand lands on my shoulder, his fingers brushing bare skin where the dress has slipped.
I flinch, and I feel Croesus's instant flare of reaction.
"This. This is what I mean. Every touch, every glance, and he's right there flooding through you.
You're not living your own emotional life, Raven. You're living his."
"That's not—"
"Focus." His grip tightens, thumb pressing into the muscle at the base of my neck. "Build the wall. Not for him. For yourself. Don't you want five minutes of silence in your own head?"
God. Yes. I want that so badly I could weep.
I close my eyes and try again. This time, I don't think about Croesus. I think about quiet. About the peace I haven't felt since the binding first took hold. About what it might be like to feel only my own emotions, my own desires, without ancient presences crowding every corner of my mind.
There’s a shift.
The wall isn't brick. It's glass. Frosted, opaque, delicate. I can still see the golden thread through it, still sense Croesus on the other side. But the volume drops.
His worry becomes a whisper instead of a shout. His jealousy fades to a distant murmur.
"There." Seraph's breath is warm against my ear. "Hold it."
I hold it. The silence is dizzying. I hadn't realized how loud Croesus had been until he wasn't anymore. Even with his own shielding in place.
"Raven?" His voice comes from across the room, but it sounds farther away now. Uncertain in a way I've never heard from him. "Are you... I can't feel—"
"She's shielding." Seraph sounds satisfied. Almost proud. "Successfully."
"I don't like it." Croesus grumbles. “It feels like she's gone. Like there's a wall where she used to be."
"She's right here. You just can't read her every thought anymore." Seraph's hand is still on my shoulder. His thumb traces a slow circle against my collarbone, and I shiver. "How does it feel, Raven?"
"Quiet," I whisper. "So quiet."
"Good." His voice is silk and steel. "Now let's test it."
I don't have time to ask what he means.
Seraph's hand slides from my shoulder to my throat. Not squeezing. Just resting there, his palm pressed against my pulse where it flutters like a trapped bird. The touch is deliberate. Possessive. It says: mine.
My eyes fly open.
He's not looking at me.
He's looking at Croesus.
"Can you feel that?" Seraph asks. His voice is casual, almost clinical, but his eyes are anything but. They're locked on Croesus with an intensity that makes the air between them thicken. "Through the bond. Can you feel what I'm doing to her?"
Croesus's hands curl into fists at his sides. The gold in his eyes seems to brighten, molten and dangerous. "I can see what you're doing based on that ten-thousand dollar watch you’re wearing."
"That's not what I asked."
"No." The word comes out through gritted teeth. "I can't feel it. The bond is muted."
"Interesting." Seraph's thumb strokes up the side of my neck, slow and deliberate, and I can't stop the small catch in my breath.
But it's strange. I feel the touch, feel the heat it sparks low in my belly, but I don't feel Croesus's reaction flooding through me.
For the first time since the binding, my desire is mine alone.
"Let's see how well your shield holds, little sin eater. "
He kisses me.
Not gentle. Not a question. He kisses me like he's proving a point, his hand still wrapped around my throat, his mouth hot and demanding against mine. I gasp and he swallows the sound, his tongue sliding against mine with centuries of practice behind it.
And the whole time, his eyes stay open. Watching Croesus.
I feel it then, through the frosted glass of my shield. A distant pulse from the golden thread. Croesus's reaction, muted but present. It should be agony. It should be rage.
But what bleeds through isn't quite either of those things.
Seraph pulls back just enough to look at me. His silver eyes are darker now, aged and ancient mirrors. "Still holding?"
"Yes." The word comes out breathless. I should stop this, make sure they know I’m not their plaything, but honestly I want to see what happens.
"Good girl."
His hand slides down from my throat. Traces the line of my collarbone. His fingers find the thin strap of the silver dress, and he pushes it off my shoulder with a slowness that feels like torture.
"This dress," he murmurs. "I had it made for you, you know. I imagined exactly how you'd look in it." His gaze lifts past me to where Croesus stands frozen. "Did you notice it? When you walked in? How little it covers?"
Croesus doesn't answer. But he takes another step forward.
"I noticed you noticing." Seraph's smile is razor sharp. "Your bond might be muted, but I can still read your face."
"Stop." Croesus's voice is rough. "You've made your point. Her shield holds."
"Have I made my point?" Seraph's hand flattens against my bare shoulder, warm palm against cool skin. He still hasn't looked away from Croesus. "I'm not sure I have. Why don't you come closer and tell me what you see?"
It's a challenge. A dare. And something else beneath it that I'm only beginning to understand.
Croesus shouldn't take the bait. He should turn around and walk out. Should refuse to play whatever game Seraph is constructing.
Instead, he moves closer.
His steps are slow, measured, like he's fighting himself with every inch of ground he covers.
He stops just behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
The bond pulses faintly through my shield, but I can't tell what he's feeling anymore.
Can only see the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rises and falls too fast.
Seraph looks up at him, and tension arcs between them.
"There you are." Seraph's voice drops deeper, low and intimate. "Took you long enough."
"What are you doing?" Croesus's question comes out hoarse.
"Testing her shield." Seraph's fingers trace down my arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. But his eyes never leave Croesus's face. "What are you doing?"
The silence stretches taut.
I can feel them both now, but differently than before. Not through the bond. Through the electricity crackling in the air between them. The hatred that suddenly looks different from this angle.
Croesus's hand lands on my other shoulder. Warm where Seraph's is cool. Grounding where Seraph's sends me floating.
"She's mine." The words are directed at Seraph, but his hand tightens on me. "Whatever game you're playing—"
"Yours?" Seraph laughs, soft and dangerous. "Look at her, Croesus. Look at how she responds to my touch. Listen to the sounds she makes when I kiss her. And tell me again that she's yours."
"She is."
"Then prove it."
Another dare. Another challenge. But Croesus doesn't kiss me.
He looks at Seraph.
The moment stretches. The air between them shimmers with a possibility having nothing to do with me. I'm caught between them, their hands on my shoulders, but somehow I've become secondary to whatever is happening above my head.
Seraph's lips part slightly. His breath comes faster than it should.
Croesus leans forward, just an inch. Just enough to be noticeable.
"You always do this." Croesus's voice is barely above a whisper. "Push and push until someone breaks. Until you get what you want."
"And what is it you think I want?"
The question hangs there, loaded with centuries of history I don't understand.
Croesus's golden gazes shifts to Seraph's mouth. Just for a second. Just long enough for all of us to notice. He can’t see it, but maybe he can feel it some other way.
"How fascinating."
Caspian's voice cuts through the tension like a blade through silk. We all freeze. I'd forgotten he was there. Forgotten anything existed beyond the three of us and this impossible, electric moment.
The Angel of Sloth hasn't moved from his chair. His pale eyes are fixed on us with a hollow sort of interest. The ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his pale lips.
"I wondered how long you two would keep pretending." His voice is rough from disuse, each word costing him visible effort. "Three thousand years of circling each other like wolves. And it only took one mortal to force the issue."
Croesus jerks back like he's been burned. His hand leaves my shoulder so fast it almost hurts.
Seraph's reaction is more controlled, but I feel his fingers tighten on my arm before he releases me. When he stands, his expression has smoothed out cool and unreadable.
"You see things that aren't there, Caspian." His voice is steady. Dismissive. "Sloth breeds delusion."
"Sloth breeds clarity." Caspian's empty gaze drifts between them. "I have nothing left to want. Nothing left to hide behind. It makes it very easy to see what others are desperate to ignore."
"You don't know what you're talking about." Croesus's voice is rough. He's moved several feet away from us, putting distance between himself and Seraph that wasn't there a moment ago. "Seraph and I can barely stand each other."
"Yes." Caspian's almost-smile widens by a fraction. "I can see that. The way you can barely stand each other is written all over your faces."
The silence that follows is suffocating.
I stay on the floor, caught between them, my shield still holding even as my mind races. I don't know what I just witnessed. Don't know what was about to happen before Caspian spoke. But I felt it. The pull between them. The want that had nothing to do with me.
Or maybe had everything to do with me. Maybe I'm the excuse they've been waiting for.
Seraph is the first to recover. He straightens his cuffs with precise, controlled movements, and when he looks toward me, his expression betrays nothing.
"Your shield held," he says. "That's what matters. We'll continue tomorrow."
"Seraph—"
"Tomorrow." The word is final. He turns and walks toward the door, passing Croesus without looking at him. "Don't be late."
He's gone before I can respond.
Croesus stands frozen for a long moment. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he won't meet my eyes. Through the shield, I catch fragments of his emotional state. Confusion. Shame. And beneath it all, something that feels like longing.
"Croesus," I start.
"Don't." His voice cracks on the word. "I don't... I can't..."
He shakes his head and follows Seraph out. Not chasing him. But not not chasing him either.
That leaves me alone with Caspian.
The Angel of Sloth watches me, that hollow almost-smile still playing at his lips.
"You broke something open today," he says quietly. "Something they've both been keeping locked away for a very long time."
"I didn't do anything."
"You existed." He shrugs, the movement slow and tired. "Sometimes that's enough."
I don't know what to say to that. So I say nothing.
After a long moment, Caspian closes his eyes and seems to drift away, retreating into whatever empty void he calls home. I'm left sitting on the cold marble floor, my shield still holding strong, feeling more alone than I have since this whole nightmare began.
But beneath the loneliness, something else flickers.
Curiosity.
What is between them? What history binds Seraph and Croesus beyond the obvious rivalry?
And what happens when they finally stop pretending it doesn't exist?