Chapter Seven
Seraphina
I will Follow You Into the Dark – Jasmine Thompson
The elevator doors slide open onto the twelfth floor, and I recognize the narrow hallway instantly—the muted lighting casting long shadows across the carpet, the hush so complete it feels disconnected from the chaos below.
At the end, the linen closet waits where it always has.
But this time, the question presses against my lips before I can stop it.
“There’s no thirteen,” I murmur, glancing back at the elevator panel.
Jonathan’s hand settles at my lower back. “Because the thirteenth floor doesn’t exist.”
I glance at him as we start down the corridor, unable to stop myself.“But the elevator numbers go higher?”
He snorts, fingers tightening slightly, voice dropping. “Don’t worry about it, kid.”
We stop in front of the closet. The shelves are stacked with folded towels and bottles of cleaner—so mundane they’re meant to be ignored. A perfect disguise.
He reaches past the linen and presses against the wall.
A soft hiss follows.
The hidden panel slides open, revealing darkness that yawns beyond.
“Comes in handy,” he says quietly, eyes cutting to mine, “having a place that doesn’t exist on records.”
I frown as I lift my gaze, meeting his cold green eyes—eyes I once mistook for my husband’s.
But the illusion is gone now. There is no light in them.
No feeling. Nothing that breathes. His sons, though…
They blaze with it. Every emotion laid bare, his soul shining so fiercely it feels like it’s calling to mine from somewhere deep. “Keeps what we want… secure.”
Cold slides through me.
I step inside as the door seals behind us, cutting off the world—and the faint buzz of fluorescent light above. The concealed corridor slopes downward again, thick carpeting swallowing our footsteps. Dim lights line the floor, casting just enough glow to guide the way.
The air is cooler here. Almost sterile.
We move in silence until we reach the room I’ve come to know.
Jonathan scans it first, always careful, before guiding me inside. My dogs move ahead of me like shadows, alert.
The door closes behind us with a decisive thud.
“You should go to bed,” he says, voice controlled but tight. “You need rest. I need to confirm how long our stay is.”
The suite is dim, lit only by the city bleeding through the tall windows—neon and gold washing over polished surfaces.
I take a few steps inside.
Then something in me slows.
A man sits at the table.
His back rests against the armchair, long legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle hooked over the other. He isn’t visibly armed, yet something about him makes the hairs on my arms rise.
A cigarette burns between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air.
With a quiet exhale, he drops it to the floor and crushes it beneath his shoe before straightening slightly.
Jonathan hesitates.
It’s subtle—but I catch it.
And for a split second, something flashes across his face.
Not fear.
Something closer to hate.
Then it’s gone.
Smoothed over.
Gone.
The man watches the shift with quiet amusement.
He’s younger. Composed. Every inch of him controlled in a way that feels dangerous… and familiar.
Not comforting.
But recognizable.
Like a shadow I’ve brushed past before.
His blond hair catches the low light, sharp features carved clean and precise. When his blue eyes lift to mine, they don’t dismiss me.
They assess.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Something in my chest tightens.
I feel seen in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“A little young for you, Jonathan?”
His accent is thick. Russian.
The air shifts instantly.
Jonathan straightens, shoulders snapping back, every inch of him going rigid.
“Niko,” he says flatly. “What an unexpected surprise.”
Niko smiles.
There’s no warmth in it.
It reminds me of the expressions I saw growing up—men who believed they knew something you didn’t. Men who held power and enjoyed it.
“We should talk,” Niko says smoothly. “Don’t you think?”
Niko lets the silence stretch as he stares.
“It’s been… what, four years?”
Jonathan grunts, then snaps, “Go to your room. Close the door. This doesn’t concern you.”
He doesn’t look at me.
My stomach tightens. A cold knot forming fast.
Leaving this room, away from this man, sounds like the only good option available to me.
But before I can move—Artemis steps forward.
Straight toward Niko.
My breath catches.
She doesn’t do this.
She doesn’t approach strangers. She doesn’t allow touch. Not unless it’s me… or Trey.
Niko’s hand lifts slowly, deliberately.
He brushes behind her ear.
And she leans into it.
Like she knows him.
Shock hits me sharp and fast.
“Artemis,” I whisper, fear threading through my voice. “Come.”
She hesitates.
Just for a second.
Then returns to my side, Klause flanking her as always, muscles tight, gaze alert.
I don’t wait.
I move quickly toward the bedroom, legs unsteady, the weight of the room pressing in on me. The tension clings to my skin, sharp and suffocating.
The dogs follow close.
The door clicks shut behind me.
Only then do I breathe.
I press my back to it, chest rising too fast, adrenaline and exhaustion tangling together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
For the first time since being taken, the fear crawling through me isn’t just about where I am.
It’s about what’s coming.
I can feel it.
In the way the shadows stretch along the walls.
In the faint sounds bleeding through from the other room.
In the silence that feels too heavy. Too full.
Something is changing.
Jonathan wasn’t expecting him.
Niko.
Even thinking his name feels wrong.
And Artemis…
My chest tightens.
Was that recognition?
I don’t know.
But deep down, I feel it.
Whatever is coming… it’s going to demand more from me than I have left.
Mind. Body. Soul.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, shoulders slumping, breath uneven.
Two weeks.
Two weeks since I last heard Trey’s voice.
Since his laughter filled a room.
Since his arms wrapped around me every night, pulling me close like nothing in the world could touch us there.
The only place I can see him clearly now is in my dreams.
Where he isn’t bleeding.
Where he isn’t fading.
Where he’s warm. Alive.
Holding me the way he always did.
My face buried in the hollow of his throat, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.
That’s where I want to be.
There’s nothing else I crave.
I peel off my clothes slowly, exhaustion dragging at every movement, and reach for the oversized black t-shirt draped over the chair. It falls to my thighs as I pull it on.
It isn’t him.
But it will have to do.
A temporary shield against the emptiness.
I crawl beneath the covers, curling onto my side, pulling a pillow tightly to my chest.
I close my eyes.
Force him into the darkness behind them.
His scent.
His warmth.
The steady strength of him as he holds me close.
A tear slips free, sliding into my hair.
I don’t wipe it away.
I’m too tired to think.
Too drained to be afraid.
Too full of him to feel anything else.
Sleep pulls me under quickly.
Back to him.
Back to the only place I feel safe.
Even if it’s only for a moment.