Chapter 15
Getting up should have been simple.
It wasn’t.
For a long moment I just lay there, cheek pressed to Constantine’s chest, listening to the slow, steady drum of his heart.
His arm was a heavy band around my waist, his palm splayed over my lower back as if he were afraid I might evaporate if he let go.
The room was quiet—curtains pulled tight against the city, the bedside lamp still on its lowest setting, casting an amber glow over tangled sheets and discarded clothes.
My body felt loose and heavy, languid in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
Every nerve hummed with the echo of his hands, his mouth, the heat of his body moving over mine.
Yet even with that bone-melting warmth still clinging to my skin, reality coiled at the edges of my mind like cold smoke.
Valerian. The clan. Rene.
And the auction.
Con’s fingers traced a slow, idle line along my spine. “We should get up,” he murmured, voice a low rumble under my ear.
I made a small sound of protest and burrowed in closer. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”
His chest shook with a quiet laugh. “As much as I would like to keep you here, the world refuses to accommodate our preferences. I need to know if Julian found a way to nudge the approval process for the auction.”
The word auction landed like a pebble in my stomach, sending little ripples of unease outward. The artifact. The next piece in the nightmare puzzle Valerian was assembling.
I tilted my head back to look at him. In the soft light, his eyes gleamed molten-gold, the red ring around his pupils faint but present.
His hair was mussed beyond his usual controlled chaos, and a mark from my teeth marred his shoulder.
I’d been careful. So damn careful. But I’d left something on him anyway.
He reached over, brushed a knuckle along my jaw.
The tenderness of the touch almost hurt.
“The point is, if anyone can get us into that auction without drawing too much attention, it’s Julian.
But I want to know how far he’s gotten. The sooner we confirm you are approved the better.
Also, I’m curious about the guest list and if Valerian is on it. ”
That name chilled the lingering warmth between us. I exhaled slowly. “You really think he’ll be there? At the auction?”
“Not in person.” Con’s expression hardened, the commander slipping back into place. “He rarely risks his own skin when he can send others. But Cerise? Absolutely.” His gaze flicked to my throat, then back to my eyes. “Which is why we go in prepared. And why I need you stable.”
“I’m stable,” I said automatically.
His brow arched.
“I am.” I pushed myself upright, gathering the sheet around me.
The movement sent an ache through my muscles, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d worshipped every inch of me.
My cheeks heated, and I was suddenly very aware of my nakedness and his un-dressed state.
“I just… also happen to be terrified, exhausted, and magically compromised. But stable.”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “You do realize that when you list it all out like that, you sound completely unfit for duty.”
“Luckily, I thrive on poor life choices.”
“That part I cannot argue with.”
He leaned in, kissed me once, slow and lingering. Not the hungry, devouring heat from before. Something softer. Anchoring. The kind of kiss that felt like a promise, even if we both knew promises in our world had a short life expectancy.
When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on me for a beat longer, then he slid out of bed.
The sheet fell away from his torso, revealing the strong line of his shoulders, the scars webbing his back in pale-silver arcs.
He tugged on his discarded pants, then bent to retrieve his shirt from where it had landed near the dresser.
I watched him dress, the domestic intimacy of it twisting something sharp and fragile in my chest. For a moment, I let myself imagine mornings like this without the specter of war.
Con wandering around in half-buttoned shirts, me stealing his daggers, Raven yelling at us for leaving weapons on the floor, Rene complaining about the noise.
It was such a stupid, human dream.
My hands tightened on the sheet. If Valerian had his way, none of us would live long enough to be bored.
“Hey,” Constantine said quietly.
I blinked, realizing I’d drifted. He stood beside the bed now, shirt hanging open, eyes searching my face.
“You’re doing that thing where you leave,” he said.
“I’m right here.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
I sighed, then reached for him. “Help me up, then, before I float away entirely.”
He offered his hand as if I weighed nothing. When I stood, the room tilted for a heartbeat. The borrowed power inside me flared in response, a hot coil beneath my skin. It wasn’t painful, exactly. Just… wrong.
I pushed the thought away, crossed to the bathroom, and did a quick patchwork job making myself look like a functioning vampire and not someone who’d just been thoroughly wrecked by the clan’s most dangerous warrior.
Cold water on my face, fingers through my hair, fresh clothes from the wardrobe.
By the time I emerged, Con had fully dressed, belt buckled, holster in place, hair tied back at the nape of his neck.
Duty restored. Lover tucked neatly behind the armor.
“All right,” I said, smoothing the hem of my shirt. “Let’s go see what Julian’s done to make bureaucracy move faster.”
We were crossing the room, heading toward the door that led out into the hall, when a knock sounded from the adjoining door on the other side. The one that connected our suite to the next.
Con and I shared a look.
“Raven,” I said.
His gaze flicked to my throat again, then to my hands. Protective instinct rolled off him like heat.
“She wouldn’t be knocking if it was urgent-urgent,” I added. “She’d just barge in and tell us.”
“True,” he conceded.
The knock came again, a little softer this time. I crossed to the connecting door and opened it.
Raven stood on the other side, bare feet on the polished wood, dark hair pulled into a messy knot on top of her head.
She wore an oversized T-shirt that may have belonged to Isra, and a pair of leggings with a small tear at one knee.
Even like this—no makeup, no glam, no careful presentation—she still had that star quality.
A presence that filled a room, even when she tried to make herself smaller.
Tonight, though, she looked… faded.
There were shadows under her eyes that no amount of concealer could hide, and her skin had lost some of its usual luminous glow.
The scent of old magic and steel clung to her, threaded through with the copper tang of blood and something bitter.
Tonic. Or the compound they’d used to poison her in the first place.
“Hey,” I said, immediately uneasy. “Is everything okay?”
She flicked a glance past me at Constantine, taking in the state of the room in one swift sweep. Bed rumpled, sheets barely pulled straight, Con looking too composed for someone who had definitely not slept.
Her mouth twitched, but she let it go. “Relax, Cass. I’m not here to give you the awkward sex talk.”
“I would appreciate that. Is everything okay?” Constantine asked.
“No, Con, everything is not okay. But nothing’s on fire. Yet.”
Relief loosened something in my shoulders. “How’s Rene?”
A beat of silence.
She looked down at her hands, fingers twisting together. “Sleeping.”
“He’s always sleeping,” I muttered, frustration slipping through before I could catch it.
Raven lifted her gaze back to mine and nodded. “Yeah. He drinks and goes back to sleep. He’s conserving his energy.” Her throat worked. “But I’m not here about him.”
A small chill slid down my spine. “You just said nothing’s on fire.”
“I said yet.” She stepped past me into the room and closed the door behind her.
Her movement was slower than usual, careful.
She carried herself like someone whose bones ached.
When she looked at me again, her eyes were clear, but there was a tightness at the edges, like she was bracing for impact. “I’m here about you.”
“Me?” I glanced at Constantine, then back at her. “Raven, I’m fine.”
Her stare sharpened. “Do not pretend with me, Cassara. You know I hate that.”
“Raven,” Constantine said in a warning tone. He shifted closer to my side, not quite touching me, but near enough that I could feel the heat from his body through my shirt.
She ignored him. “You’re not fine. And I need you to stop pretending you are so we can figure out what the hell is happening before it eats you alive.”
My chest tightened. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Raven exhaled slowly, like she’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times and hated it every time. She took a few steps further into the room, then turned to face us squarely.
“When I gave you my magic, it was supposed to be temporary,” she said. “A loan. You know that. I know that.”
“Yes.”
“And I anchored it to you through blood and intent, which is standard for a power share of that magnitude.” She rubbed her thumb along a shimmer on her wrist, the remnant of her own active sigils. “What’s not standard is how it feels now.”
“How what feels?” I asked carefully.
She met my gaze, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted. “Your magic. Cassara, it doesn’t feel like a loan anymore. It feels like it’s becoming permanent.”
The room seemed to narrow, sound dulling at the edges. My heart gave a hard, uneven thump.
“That’s not possible,” Constantine said, voice going cold. “A power loan of that size burns itself out if it’s not drawn back. You would never risk severing your own access to magic.”
“I wouldn’t on purpose,” Raven snapped, then drew a breath, visibly reining herself in. “Believe me, Con, I have spent every waking hour checking on mine and Cassara’s bond. I’m telling you what I feel.”
She took a step toward me.