Chapter 131: Aftermath

Seraphine's POV

I hated that it made sense. Hated that he was being reasonable when I wanted him to fight back, to give me a reason to push him away. Hated that some traitorous part of me actually wanted him here.

He held out his hand, water running down his arm. "Come on."

I took it, letting him guide me into the shower. Hot water hit my skin, stinging the cuts, soothing the deep aches in my muscles. He positioned me under the spray, his movements careful and gentle, like I was made of glass.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the built-in marble bench.

I sat, the cold stone a shock against my overheated skin. He knelt in front of me, water streaming down his face as he grabbed the shampoo bottle. The scent of sandalwood filled the small space.

"I can wash my own hair."

"I know." He poured soap into his palm, the clear liquid catching the light. "But you're going to let me do it anyway."

His fingers threaded through my hair, massaging my scalp, working the lather through the tangled strands. It felt good. Too good. Fuck. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest, the way my shoulders relaxed under his touch. This was temporary. Just until I healed. Nothing more.

His hands moved to my neck, washing away the dried blood with careful strokes. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, like I was something precious instead of broken. Like I mattered beyond the bond, beyond the spring heat, beyond everything that had brought us to this moment.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. Really looked at him. Water ran down his face, plastering his ash-white hair to his forehead. Those black eyes with their four pupils watched me intently, reading every micro-expression on my face. The bite mark I'd left stood out on his throat, angry and red and perfect.

Satisfaction curled in my gut. Mine. My fingers lifted of their own accord, tracing the marks, the indentations of my fangs still visible in his pale skin.

He went still, every muscle tensing. His eyes locked on mine, gold bleeding into the black.

"You marked me too," I said quietly, my voice barely audible over the running water.

"I did." His voice was rough, strained.

"Both sides."

"Yes."

"Everyone will know." The implications hung between us, heavy and undeniable.

"Good." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Let them know you're mine."

"And you're mine." The words came out possessive, fierce.

"Yes." The single word settled between us, heavy and real and binding in ways that had nothing to do with werewolf bonds.

I looked away first, clearing my throat. The steam made it hard to breathe, or maybe that was just the tension crackling in the air between us.

"The spring heat made me lose my mind," I said, trying for casual and failing. "Otherwise there's no way I'd forgive you this fast. You petty asshole."

He went still for a moment, then smiled. Small and genuine, transforming his usually severe features into something almost boyish.

"Still holding onto that?" He asked, eyes on my shoulder.

"Forever." I met his eyes, letting him see the steel in mine. "I wasn't like this before. Didn't hold grudges. But you changed that. Made me someone who remembers every slight, every betrayal."

"Fair enough." He didn't argue, didn't make excuses. Just accepted it.

His hands moved to my neck, washing away soap and blood and the evidence of what we'd done. The water ran pink for a moment before clearing. His fingers found the fresh bite, the one he'd left during sex, and I hissed at the sharp pain.

"Sorry." He gentled his touch immediately, his brow furrowing.

But I caught his wrist, held it. "Don't be too gentle." My voice came out rough, edged with something I didn't want to examine too closely. "I'm not going to break."

"I know." His eyes searched mine, looking for something. "But you're hurt."

"I'll heal." I held his gaze, refusing to back down.

"Seraphine—"

"How long are you going to keep calling me petty asshole?" He changed the subject abruptly, his fingers still tracing the bite with feather-light touches.

I shrugged, feeling the pull of sore muscles. "Depends. How long are you planning to be one?"

"I'm trying not to be." There was something almost vulnerable in his admission.

"Try harder."

He huffed, the sound almost like a laugh, and something in my chest loosened at the sound.

We finished washing in silence, his hands careful and thorough, washing away every trace of blood and sweat. When the water finally ran clear, he helped me stand, steadying me when my leg threatened to give out again. He wrapped me in a towel, the fabric soft and warm against my skin.

"Better?" he asked, his hands still on my shoulders.

"Yeah." I admitted grudgingly, hating how much I meant it. "Better."

He carried me back to the bedroom without asking permission, his arms solid and sure. He set me on the bed gently, and I realized I was wearing his shirt. Oversized and comfortable, smelling like him. My hair dripped water onto the fabric, leaving dark spots on the white cotton.

"Stay here," he said, already moving toward the door. "I'll get something."

He left, the door closing behind him with a soft click. I sat there alone in the sudden quiet, listening to the sound of my own breathing. That's when I saw it. The green leather notebook on the desk by the window, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight.

The one he'd given me. The one he'd offered as an invitation to create something together.

My chest tightened. He kept it here. On his desk. In his private space where he clearly didn't expect anyone to look. Not displayed like some romantic gesture. Not hidden away in a drawer either. Just... there. Like he'd been working on it. Or thinking about it.

Had he written in it? Drew something? Started filling those blank pages without me?

Part of me wanted to know. Needed to see if he'd given up on that invitation or if he was still waiting for an answer I'd never given. I tried to stand, but my leg protested immediately, sending shooting pains up my thigh.

Fuck it. I balanced on my left leg and hopped, my arms outstretched for balance. Three awkward jumps got me to the desk, and I grabbed the edge to steady myself, breathing hard from the effort.