Chapter 26 #2
Dorian sits to my left, radiating warmth and good cheer.
Kael takes a position near the door, arms crossed, watching like he expects an attack at any moment.
Lysander drapes himself over a chair across from me, all languid grace, and Idris settles beside him, silent and observant.
Croesus remains where he is, his gold eyes never leaving my direction.
And Seraph stays at my right, close enough that I can feel the tension radiating from him. He's not happy about this invasion. But he's not throwing them out either.
"So," Dorian says, pouring me more wine without asking. "How are you finding the House of Ruin? Seraph driving you mad yet?"
"Daily. Sometimes hourly."
Kael makes a sound that might be a laugh. "She's got a mouth on her."
"You have no idea," Croesus murmurs.
"The house is fine," I continue. "The library is incredible. The training is brutal. And your brother is the most infuriating creature I've ever met."
"High praise," Seraph says dryly.
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I know. I'm choosing to take it as one anyway."
Lysander grins, showing teeth. "This is delightful. I haven't seen Seraph this off-balance in centuries."
"I am not off-balance."
"You let her call you infuriating without correcting her posture or critiquing her word choice. That's practically a declaration of love coming from you."
Seraph's jaw tightens, but he doesn't deny it. Which is interesting.
"What's it like?" Dorian asks, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. "Being bound to all of us? Feeling what we feel?"
I consider the question. Consider how much to share with this group of ancient, complicated beings who have every reason to use my words against me.
"Overwhelming," I admit finally. "Like having seven extra heartbeats in my chest. Seven sets of emotions that aren't mine but feel like they could be.
It's getting easier to separate myself from all of you, but sometimes—" I pause, take a drink of wine.
"Sometimes I forget where I end and you begin. "
The table goes quiet.
"That's more honest than I expected," Kael says roughly.
"You asked. I answered."
"Most humans would lie. Tell us what we want to hear."
"I've never been good at that." I meet his ember gaze. "And lying to beings who can feel my emotions through a magical bond seems pointless."
She's extraordinary, Idris's voice whispers, and I realize with a start that they’re projecting to all of them, not just me. I understand the obsession now.
"We're not obsessed," Croesus and Seraph say in unison, then glare at each other.
I snort. "You're both obsessed. It's fine. I'm getting used to it."
Dorian laughs, a big booming sound that fills the room. "I like her. I like her very much."
"How are you finding the research?" Lysander asks, and there's something sharper beneath his casual tone. "The mystery your grandmother left behind?"
The mood shifts. Heavier. More serious.
"Slowly," I say carefully. "We've found pieces. But there are still missing pages. Still questions we can't answer."
"Questions you can’t answer," Kael says flatly. It's not a question.
"Among other things,"I say, refusing to take the bait.
The angels exchange glances. Something passes between them, some silent communication I'm not privy to.
"We felt your fear," Lysander says quietly. "When you found the evidence about your grandmother's death. When you realized it wasn't natural."
"We felt your rage," Kael adds. "Your grief. Your determination."
"And we feel you lock us out," Croesus finishes. "Shut us down so tight we could barely sense you at all."
I lift my chin. "I need privacy."
"You needed protection," Seraph corrects. "From emotions that would have overwhelmed you if you'd let them."
"Same thing."
Not the same thing at all, Idris murmurs in my mind. But we'll let you pretend.
"The point is," Dorian says gently, "we're all connected to this now. To you. To this mystery. Whatever happened to your grandmother, whatever's coming."
"I've always faced things alone."
"You don't have to anymore."
The words hang in the air. Simple. Sincere. Terrifying.
I don't know what to say to that. Don't know how to accept help from beings I'm still learning to trust. Beings who have their own agendas, their own centuries of history, their own complicated reasons for wanting me close.
"We should change the subject," Seraph says, reading my discomfort. "This was supposed to be a night off. No apocalyptic conspiracies, remember?"
"Right." Dorian brightens. "Tell us something fun, then. Something that has nothing to do with missing souls or ancient mysteries."
"I don't really do fun."
"Everyone does fun. You just need the right kind." Lysander's violet eyes sparkle. "What makes you laugh? What makes you happy?"
"Watching Seraph get flustered," I say without thinking.
The table erupts.
Dorian howls with laughter. Lysander claps his hands in delight. Even Kael cracks a smile, the scars on his face shifting with the unfamiliar expression. Idris's silent laughter echoes in my mind like wind chimes.
Seraph looks like he's been slapped. Then, slowly, his mouth curves into something almost resembling a smile.
"I do not get flustered."
"You absolutely do. Your left eye twitches when you're trying not to react to something. And you smooth your jacket when you're uncomfortable. And—"
"That's quite enough."
"See? Flustered."
Croesus is studying me, in his way, with something warm in his gold eyes. "You've been paying attention to him."
"Hard not to when we live in the same space."
"It's more than that." His voice is soft. "You see him. The real him, underneath all the perfection."
I don't know what to say to that either.
The food arrives in waves, and the conversation shifts to lighter things.
Dorian tells stories about feasts he's hosted over the centuries, elaborate affairs that would put modern events to shame.
Lysander shares gossip about various supernatural courts, and I have to keep reminding myself that other creatures and beings exist that I thought were only in fairy tales, scandals and romances, and political disasters that span millennia.
Kael stays quiet mostly, but when he does speak, it's with dry wit that catches me off guard.
You're enjoying this, Idris observes silently. Despite yourself.
Maybe.
Good. You deserve enjoyment. Even if you don't believe it.
I keep my shields tight. Keep my emotions locked away. But I find myself relaxing despite everything. Laughing at Dorian's jokes. Rolling my eyes at Lysander's flirtation. Meeting Kael's rare smiles with ones of my own.
They're not just angels. They're people. Broken, ancient, powerful people, but people nonetheless. With quirks and humor and centuries of history that have shaped them into who they are.
I'm starting to understand why grandmother's contract bound her to all seven. Why she might have wanted to know them, not just serve them.
Seraph's hand finds mine under the table. Squeezes once.
I squeeze back.
"Well," he says, rising to his feet. "This has been educational. But I believe it's time for Raven and I to take our leave."
A chorus of protests rises immediately.
"But we haven't had dessert!" Dorian sounds genuinely wounded.
"The night is young," Lysander adds, those violet eyes glittering.
"She just got here," Kael rumbles. "Relatively speaking."
Seraph looks down at me, and the heat in his eyes makes my breath catch.
"I have plans for dessert," he says, and his voice is silk and smoke. "Of my own."
The table goes quiet.
Croesus leans back in his chair, and something shifts in his expression. Something calculating. Hungry.
"Oh?" he says. "Won't you share?"
The question hangs in the air. Heavy. Charged.
Seraph's jaw tightens. He looks at me, and I see the question in his eyes. The request for permission.
I should say no. I should laugh it off, make a joke, defuse the tension.
But I don't.
Because some part of me, some dark and wanting part, is curious. Is thrilled. Is tired of always being the one who's acted upon, who's overwhelmed, who's caught off guard.
I don't say yes either. I just hold Seraph's gaze and wait.
His hand tightens on mine.
"No one touches her," he says, and his voice is steel. "She's mine until her contract is up. But—" He pauses, something flickering in his eyes. "—if she's willing, I'll give you entertainment. A taste of what you're missing."
"Seraph—" I start.
"Only if you want this." He pulls me to my feet, turns me to face him. His hands cup my face, gentle despite the tension radiating from his body. "Do you want this, Raven? Do you want them to see what you do to me? What I do to you?"
My heart is pounding. My skin is flushed. And lower, between my thighs, I can feel myself growing wet at the very idea.
Them watching. Not touching. Just watching. Seeing me come undone.
My choice. My power. My decision.
"Yes," I whisper.
Seraph's eyes flare silver-bright.
In one smooth motion, he lifts me and sets me on the table. I hear the clatter of glasses being moved, plates being pushed aside, the angels making room without a word. The tablecloth is soft against my bare thighs as my dress rides up.
Seraph stands between my parted knees, blocking me from view for a moment. His hands rest on my thighs, warm through the thin fabric of my dress.
"Lie back," he murmurs.
I obey. The table is solid beneath me, the tablecloth soft against my shoulders, and I'm staring up at the ceiling, at the flickering candlelight, my heart racing so fast I can feel it in my throat.
Seraph's hands slide up my thighs, taking the silver fabric with them. Slowly. Deliberately. Giving the others plenty of time to see every inch of skin he reveals.
The dress bunches at my hips.
And Seraph makes a sound. A groan that comes from somewhere deep in his chest, ragged and raw.
"Raven." His voice is wrecked. "You're not wearing anything underneath."