Chapter 15
Seraphina
I’m in my kitchen, drowning in one of my oversized hoodies, watching dark coffee trickle into a chipped ceramic mug like it’s some kind of answer. My hands are wrapped around the counter’s edge, the chill of the marble grounding me more than the caffeine will.
I slept like shit.
Couldn’t stop seeing him . The flash of movement. The sound of bones breaking. The way he stepped between me and the man who tried to hurt me without hesitation. Without a single word.
He didn’t say I was safe. He made it true.
It felt like the beginning of something… something I don’t have a name for yet. I just know I want more.
More of that safety. More of him.
I close my eyes, forehead leaning against the cabinet door.
What am I even doing? I don’t have his number. No way to reach him. He just shows up—always when I need him most—and then disappears like he was never there .
The man is a ghost… but he leaves heat in his wake.
I open my eyes with a quiet sigh and pour the coffee, trying not to spill as I walk it over to the window. The sky’s still that hazy purplish-blue, the city not fully awake yet. It’s the kind of silence that feels sacred. Lonely, but honest.
And then— A knock.
Just one.
Not the usual triple-tap people use when they’re visiting. Not the lazy pound of a delivery guy or the fast rat-a-tat of someone impatient.
One knock.
My heart stops. Then it sprints.
I don’t even have to ask who it is. My body already knows.
I rush to the door, cup still warm in my hands, but I pause—just for a second—to check the peephole. Just to be sure.
And there he is.
Callum.
Leaning against the doorframe like sin in a leather jacket. Head slightly tilted, dark eyes burning holes through the wood like he already knows I’m standing on the other side.
I unlock the door fast and pull it open.
My breath catches when our eyes meet. His are deep brown. Swirling. Dark. Dangerous. Like melted chocolate poured over something sharp.
He doesn’t speak.
Neither do I—for a moment.
The silence between us crackles, not awkward but charged, like the air before lightning strikes. There’s a tension rolling off him in waves, like he’s holding something back. His fists are clenched at his sides. Rigid. Controlled.
“Come in,” I say softly, stepping back.
He does.
But he doesn’t move far. Just inside. Like he’s waiting for me to be the one to close the distance.
So I do.
My fingers reach for his, gently prying his fist open. His skin is rough. Callused. Warm. I curl my hand around his, grounding both of us.
When I look up, his gaze is already locked on mine.
God, he’s beautiful.
Not pretty. Not polished.
Beautiful in that way that makes your knees weak. In that sexy demon, dark angel, has-seen-some-shit kind of way.
He’s so tall. If I stepped forward—if my chest brushed his—I’d have to lean my head all the way back just to keep looking at him. But at this distance, I only have to tilt my chin a little to meet his eyes.
I hope— God, I hope —that he can see what I’m trying to show him in my expression.
How thankful I am for what he did.
How much I see him.
And then I speak.
“I want more,” I say quietly. “From you. With you.”
His face shifts.
It’s subtle—but I see it. Something flashes across his features. Surprise? Maybe even something softer than that.
I swallow, steadying myself.
“You were right. About a lot of things. About me being in over my head.” I pause. “There’s clearly more going on than I understand. But what I do know—what I’m sure of now—is that I want to trust you.”
My voice is steady. Strong. Maybe for the first time in all of this.
“You could’ve walked away. You didn’t. You could’ve kept hiding… but you came back.”
I squeeze his hand once before letting go.
“I don’t know everything. I’m not asking for it all. But I want you to know…” I lift my gaze again, locking onto his, “I see you now. And I want you here.”
I don’t ask if he wants to stay.
I already know the answer.
But I give him the space—one final pause—as I tilt my head just slightly.
My eyes search his.
Is there anything you want to say?
Callum
I fuckin’ stood there starin’ at her like a proper eejit.
Not because I didn’t want to speak. Because I couldn’t.
She just looked at me—really looked —and said she wanted more . From me. With me.
Christ.
“I was…” I start, but my voice’s caught in the back of my throat. I clear it, shift on my feet, run a hand through my hair. “I was comin’ here to try to convince ya to let me help more… didn’t think you’d be so willin’. Not at all.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, just watches me with that steady gaze that sees far too much.
I glance down at my hand—the one she just let go of—and flex it, slow-like. Thumb to each fingertip. Again. Again. Groundin’ myself.
She rattled me. Not in a bad way. In a real way.
“What d’you mean,” I ask quietly, “you want more from me and with me?”
Her lips part, but she hesitates before answering.
“I don’t know exactly. Just… that I trust you now more than I did before.
” She exhales a small breath, eyes flickin’ away then back to mine.
“I couldn’t sleep. Tossed and turned all night, thinking about you, hoping you hadn’t just vanished. I wanted you to stay.”
Fuckin’ hell , woman.
“Come sit with me?” she asks. “We can talk more. I’ll make you some coffee.”
I give her a small nod, tryin’ to tamp down the wildfire she’s stoked inside my chest. She turns and walks toward the couch, soft and sure-footed, while I follow.
The place is quiet except for the hum of the heater and the sound of her pouring a second cup.
She hands it to me, fingers brushin’ mine again.
We sit. Close but not touchin’. Not yet.
I let the warmth from the mug soak into my skin while I watch her get settled, pulling her legs up beneath her. Her shirt falls a bit off one shoulder, and I can’t help but notice the little shiver she gives when the fabric shifts.
“So,” she starts, hesitant again, “what happened last night? I mean… I know what I saw. But you knew something about him, didn’t yo u?”
I nod once. “Aye. I saw the tattoo on his wrist.” I set the coffee down on the table, lean forward with my elbows on my knees. “It’s a marker. Means he was part of a crew run outta Belfast—moved operations stateside a few years back. Real bottom-feeders now, but still loyal to the old codes.”
“And you recognized it?”
“Recognized it,” I repeat with a dry chuckle. “I’ve crushed that mark under my boot before.”
She blinks, eyebrows lifting.
“I handled it,” I add, voice gone quiet. “Not just last night. I made sure the rest of ‘em got the message. Loud and clear.”
She’s still for a second before her brows knit. “So… this wasn’t even because Dominic is onto what I’m doing with Blackdawn?” Her voice edges with confusion. “It’s another threat entirely?”
I nod. “Exactly. Which is actually a good thing.”
She looks at me like I’ve gone mad.
“Means your da hasn’t caught wind of what you’re doin’. Not yet. And that gives us the upper hand.”
She takes that in, silent. I watch her chew the inside of her cheek, the way her eyes drift to the window, like she’s searchin’ for the next danger. Or maybe… the next step.
Then—softly—she speaks again.
“How am I supposed to get in touch with you? If I need you, I mean…”
I turn toward her fully, a smirk tuggin’ at the corner of my mouth. “You want to talk to me when I’m not around?”
She lets out a small laugh and smacks my arm lightly. “Knock it off.”
It’s not flirtin’ for the sake of it. It’s real. Warm . Easy in a way it never was before last night.
And that little smack?
Would’ve never come from her before.
She’s not just lettin’ me in. She’s startin’ to live in the space where I already exist.
And I notice it. Every second of it.