Chapter 34
Seraphina
The road wound longer than I thought it would, but eventually, the towering gates of Elias Rook’s estate came into view, cast in a shadowed hue that matched the bile rising in my throat.
I gripped the wheel tighter, resisting the urge to floor the gas and rip through the iron like a battering ram.
Instead, I entered calmly, exactly as the coordinates Callum sent me dictated.
Kieran shifted beside me in the passenger seat, quiet but alert.
He knew better than to ask questions right now.
His knuckles were white on his knees, and I could practically feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
We both knew Callum well enough to understand that if he’d gone dark in a place like this, blood had already been spilled.
"You’re coming in with me," I said, not asking.
He nodded once. "Alright"
We moved in silence up the front steps. The door was unlocked—kicked in, more like it—and the air inside stank of metal and rot. As we stepped in, I caught a glimpse of Callum’s carnage before I forced myself not to look too closely.
"You're gonna stay with the girl," I told Kieran as we entered deeper into the hallways. "Even when my contacts come to collect her, you stay. You're younger, less threatening. Might make her feel safer."
He gave me a skeptical glance but didn’t argue. "Are you sure?"
"She needs someone to remind her she's still human. Someone not covered in blood."
He didn’t reply, just followed my lead as we passed two crumpled bodies in the hall—guards or staff, I wasn’t sure, and didn’t care.
I found Callum standing like a stone pillar just outside a reinforced steel door. He didn't look up as I approached, only flicked his gaze toward me once before settling it back on the hall.
I gave him a once-over, slow and deliberate. His shirt was drenched—Rook's blood clung to him in thick streaks across his jaw, under his nails, splattered like macabre paint on his chest. His shoulders were drawn back, rigid. His entire body screamed predator still on edge.
"Any of it yours?" I asked, my voice quiet.
He looked through me like I was a ghost. "Just me knuckles."
"Good," I said.
I stepped closer and reached for his hand. He let me touch him, but didn’t move when I tried to guide him away.
"Let’s go, Callum. It’s done."
He didn’t budge.
"I will not leave my post until that girl is taken by someone that cares that she is a human," he said, voice curt, hollow.
I didn’t argue. "I brought Kieran. He’s going to stay with her. Even after my contacts take her to safety. "
Right on cue, Kieran appeared from the corridor, his face tight with revulsion as he surveyed the mansion. His eyes landed on Callum, and he gave him a small, solemn nod before continuing past us into the room.
We stood there in the thick silence, listening.
Kieran's voice came, soft and careful: "Hi, my name is Kieran. Would it be okay if I get you out of here and away from that bad man?"
There was no answer. Not verbal, anyway. But something must’ve happened—a nod, a glance, something—because moments later, Kieran reappeared, eyes darting to Callum.
"Did you get a key? From one of the guards? Or Rook?"
Callum reached into his pocket and wordlessly handed over the keyring. Blood still wet on the metal.
Kieran took it and ducked back inside without another word.
I glanced up at Callum again. He still hadn’t moved. He looked like a man carved from grief and rage.
I didn’t speak. I just stayed beside him, solid and still, as the last remnants of his darkness burned through the air around us.
The soft metallic clink of the cage opening echoed from the other room. That was enough for Callum. His shoulders dropped just a fraction, enough to let me guide him out of that hellhouse and toward my car.
He didn’t say a word as we drove. Just stared out the window, fists resting on his thighs like he was still wound tight, like if he moved wrong, the tension would snap and take me with it .
At the safehouse, I took him straight to the bathroom.
He didn’t protest, didn’t resist as I started peeling the bloodstained shirt from his body.
He just watched me, gaze hollow but burning underneath.
I undid his belt, slid his pants down his legs, and he stepped out of them like a man moving through water.
He stepped into the shower, and I followed, turning on the spray. The water hit him first, dark red ribbons spiraling down the drain.
I soaked a washcloth and poured body wash into the center, working it between my hands before I began to wash him. Face. Neck. Shoulders. Arms. Chest. His abs clenched beneath my fingers, but he didn’t flinch. Just watched me with eyes full of fury.
Silent fury. Controlled rage.
I rinsed the cloth, grabbed another, and started again. This time slower. More careful. He was a man made of stone, and I was polishing every inch of him with reverence.
The second pass brought me lower. I crouched, moving the washcloth over his thighs, his calves. Blood still clung to the backs of his knees.
I dropped the cloth and looked up.
He was already looking down at me.
Without breaking eye contact, I leaned in and ran my tongue up the underside of his cock. A low groan vibrated through his chest. His eyes fluttered closed, slow, like a storm finally easing.
I took the head of him into my mouth, working him deeper, slowly at first. Deliberate. Worshipful.
This wasn’t just lust.
This was my offering.
Atonement, maybe. Or maybe just desperate reverence for the bloodied angel who destroyed a monster and guarded a child with the same hands.
His hands curled into fists, the tension still in him, but the edges softening now.
"That’s a good fuckin’ girl, little siren," he rasped, his brogue thick and guttural. "Just like that."
I moaned around him, sending the sound through every inch of his body.
He pulled back, slipping free of my mouth, and lifted me easily to stand. I gasped at the sudden movement, both hands braced against his chest.
"What is this for?" he asked, voice low but sharp. Not cruel—curious. Conflicted.
I bit my lip, smiled.
"Because I’ve never seen anything so goddamn sexy in my life. The way you handled Rook. The way you cared more about that little girl than anything else in the world, even after you ripped her monster apart. That rage, Callum… that fire in you—it’s terrifying. And it’s beautiful."
He was silent for a beat, those deep brown eyes searching mine.
I cupped his face gently, brushing my thumbs over his cheekbones. "You're a monster, Callum. But you’re my monster. "
His breath hitched. Then he crashed his mouth to mine, raw and hungry. And just like that, the storm came back—with me right at the center of it.
Callum
I reached up, twistin’ the knob ‘til the water stilled and silence settled ‘round us like a second skin. The steam curled lazy ‘round her body, highlightin’ every feckin’ inch I didn’t deserve but wanted all the same.
Wordless, I stepped out first, grabbin’ a towel and holdin’ it open for her. She let me wrap it around her like a cloak of reverence, then took the second for meself. We dried off, side by side, her presence groundin’ me more than any mission ever had.
My fingers laced with hers, and I walked us to the bedroom. Soft light poured through the slats of the blinds, layin’ shadows ‘cross the walls, and in that quiet space, somethin’ inside me eased.
She turned to face me, still wrapped in her towel, cheeks flushed from the heat. I reached out, slow, givin’ her a moment to stop me if she needed to—but she didn’t. She never did.
I tugged gently, and her towel hit the floor with a soft thud, leavin’ her bare and unashamed before me. My own towel followed, fallin’ away as if it never mattered.
I leaned in, my voice low, breath ghostin’ over her skin. “No one’s ever pulled me out o’ that place so quick, little siren.” My words weren’t just gratitude—they were confession .
A smirk touched her lips, small but full of fire. She didn’t need to say a damn thing.
I kissed her then—not rushed, not rough—just deep and sure, like I was learnin’ the shape of her mouth all over again. My hands ran the length of her back, anchorin’ me to the moment, to her.
When we hit the bed, I didn’t take her like a man crazed. I worshipped her like a man saved.
I kissed the hollow of her throat, slow and reverent. Her breath hitched.
Down her collarbone, across her chest, down her stomach—I tasted her skin like it was the only thing that could burn the blood off me.
Every soft sound from her lips was a balm, every arch of her back a tether.
Her fingers threaded through my hair, grip tight, not demandin’—just holdin’.
I wanted her to know I remembered every damn thing—how she’d looked at me when I wouldn’t leave that girl behind… how she didn’t flinch when I was covered in blood and ghosts.
I needed her to feel it, through every brush of skin, every press of lips, every murmur of her name against her body.
And when I was finally inside her, our eyes locked like a vow.
She held me. Not just my body—but all the broken, brutal pieces of me.
And I gave her every inch in return—slow, deep, possessive .
Not to claim her. Not to mark her.
To thank her.
We moved in sync, like we’d always known how. No rush. No finish line. Just us, tangled in sheets and steam and the kind of silence that speaks louder than war.
When her breath caught and her body trembled beneath me, I followed—pressin’ my forehead to hers as the world narrowed to just the two of us.
And after, when our chests slowed and our limbs stayed tangled, I didn’t move.
Not even when sleep crept in, warm and heavy.
I stayed where I belonged.
Wrapped in her skin. Grounded in her heartbeat.
And for the first time in years, the ghosts stayed quiet.