Chapter 12
Seraphina
The door clicks shut behind him, and I just… stand there.
Still. Blinking. My fingers are cold from where they’d just curled around his.
He almost kissed me.
Not in a maybe-he-did kind of way. No. His lips brushed mine. Teased them. Like he was testing me—tempting me—before vanishing into the shadows like some moody, cryptic bastard.
And what the hell was that line?
“You haven’t the faintest clue what you’re daring… little siren.”
Oh, I could punch him.
Anger floods me in waves—burning hotter with each second that passes. I don’t even know what I’m angry at more: that he didn’t kiss me… or that I wanted him to.
God, what is wrong with me?
I spin on my heel, stride across the living room and yank my door open. I’m not thinking. I’m not strategizing. I’m reacting.
“Callum!” I shout into the hallway. Nothing .
He can’t be gone yet. I slam the door shut behind me and head straight for the stairs. Screw the elevator. My fury needs fuel, and stomping down five flights sounds like the perfect outlet.
I take the steps two at a time, breath short, my bare feet slapping against the cool concrete. He has to still be here. I didn’t even hear his bike start.
When I hit the lower level and push through the service door to the parking garage, the air shifts.
It’s subtle—cooler, quieter. But the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Then I hear it: the scrape of a boot on concrete.
I freeze.
“Callum?” I call, my voice echoing off steel beams and rows of parked cars.
No answer.
And then—I see him.
No.
Not him.
A man steps from behind a pillar, masked. Completely blacked out. His shoulders are wide, stance loose but intentional, like he’s done this before. I take a step back, suddenly aware of how utterly alone I am down here.
“Alright,” I whisper, more to myself than him, “this is a nightmare. Or a really shitty prank.”
He keeps walking toward me.
Another step back. My spine meets cold cement.
“Hey!” I snap, trying to summon that fire that usually protects me. “Get the hell away from me—”
The masked figure lunges.
I don’t have time to scream. His hand wraps around my upper arm, yanking me forward—and then—
He’s there.
A blur of black, a vicious sound— a growl? —and the next thing I know, the attacker is ripped away from me like he’s made of paper.
Callum.
I can barely register what’s happening. His back is to me, body tense, movements fluid—lethal.
The man rushes him, but Callum doesn’t move out of the way.
He steps into it.
Their bodies collide and Callum pivots, drives the masked man into a pillar with a crack that sounds like ribs shattering. A pained scream tears through the garage—but Callum doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate.
His punches are fast. Brutal. Each one lands with a thud that vibrates in my teeth.
He’s a different person.
No—not a person.
Something else.
When the man tries to fight back, Callum laughs . But it’s low. Dark. Icy.
The masked figure swings wildly and Callum lets him connect—just once—before catching the next blow mid-air and twisting the man’s arm until there’s a sickening pop.
I flinch. He doesn't.
And then—I see it.
The man slashes with a blade, catches Callum’s cheek, slicing skin.
Callum’s head turns slowly back to him.
The mask he always wears—calm, collected, maybe a little arrogant—fades.
His eyes go wild. Not just angry. Savage . There’s a flicker in them—gold? No. Not possible. But something shifts, something almost inhuman, and suddenly the air around him crackles .
His next strike sends the man sprawling to the ground.
Callum’s breathing is ragged, chest heaving. His hands are soaked in blood—not all his own. The masked man tries to crawl away.
Callum stalks after him, like a wolf toying with prey.
“Who sent you?” he snarls.
The man groans. Says nothing.
Callum crouches beside him, one blood-slick hand fisting in the fabric of his shirt. “You come near her again, and I’ll rip out your tongue and feed it to your boss wrapped in your spine. Understand?”
A weak nod.
Callum releases him—barely. The guy stumbles and disappears between two cars, limping into the dark.
Silence.
I realize I haven’t moved.
I haven’t breathed.
Callum straightens slowly and turns to face me.
The blood. The gash along his cheek. The way his chest rises and falls, tense like he hasn’t fully come down from whatever that was.
But I’m not afraid.
Not even a little.
I step toward him.
His eyes narrow—wary, guarded, like he thinks I’ll flinch.
Instead, I reach for him. My fingers touch his arm, just lightly.
He’s warm. Solid. Real.
But he steps back, brushing me off like that one, tiny moment burned him more than the blade.
“I told you,” he rasps, voice low and full of something I don’t understand. “You don’t know what you’re daring. ”
Then, before I can ask anything—before I can feel more than I already do—he disappears into the shadows again, swallowed by the night like he was never there.
And I’m left standing in a pool of silence, heart racing, trying to understand why the only thing I feel…
…is the desperate need to follow him.