Chapter 53: Close Call

Seraphine's POV

Cordelia's voice cut through the air like a knife.

Kaelen froze.

His teeth were still in my neck. His arm was still locked around my waist. But every muscle in his body went rigid, like someone had flipped a switch and shut him down.

The gold in his eyes blinked out. Just like that. One second it was blazing, consuming everything. The next, it was gone.

Black pupils stared back at me. Cold. Empty.

Fuck.

His hand released my hip. His arm dropped from my waist.

I didn't have time to brace myself. My legs were still shaking, still weak from whatever the hell just happened. Without his support, I went down.

My back hit the bed. The mattress bounced under me, soft and yielding. Not the floor. Not cold hardwood slamming into my spine.

The bed.

I lay there for a second, breath coming in ragged gasps. My neck was on fire. The mark pulsed with every heartbeat, sending waves of heat through my body. The bond was still buzzing between us, alive and insistent, even though he'd let go.

Why the bed?

First two times, it was all the cold floor, and this time was the soft bed, he's protecting me? That gentle Kaelen didn't completely die?

Shit, what're you thinking? You hate him, Sera!

I pushed myself up on my elbows. My whole body felt like it was vibrating, nerves still firing from the mark. From him.

Kaelen stood by the desk, his back to me. His shoulders were tense, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn't look at me. Didn't say anything.

Outside the door, I heard Cordelia's footsteps retreating down the hallway. She hadn't waited for a response. Hadn't pushed the door open.

Smart woman.

I touched my neck. My fingers came away wet. Blood. Not a lot, but enough to make my stomach turn. The mark throbbed under my touch, a dull ache that somehow felt good and terrible at the same time.

This was supposed to be simple. A transaction. He marks me, I regain his trust. Nothing more.

But the bond was still screaming in my chest. Still pulling at me like a goddamn tether, trying to drag me toward him.

And I couldn't stop thinking about the sketchbook.

The one hidden under my shirt on the desk. The sketchbook that showed me a completely different person. A Kaelen who was gentle. Who cared. Who loved Isolde enough to draw her and write about her every single day.

Isolde.

The name twisted something in my chest. Something dark and possessive that I didn't want to examine too closely.

She'd had him first. Had his love, his devotion, his gentle touches. Had everything I was supposed to pretend I didn't want.

But she was gone now.

And he'd just marked me. Not her. Me.

The thought sent a sick thrill through my body, mixing with the shame and confusion already churning in my gut. I hated myself for it. Hated that some twisted part of me felt victorious, like I'd won something.

Like he was mine now.

He wasn't. This wasn't real. It was just a bond doing what bonds do, messing with our heads, making us feel things that had nothing to do with actual choice or connection.

But the mark on my neck pulsed warm and insistent. And deep down, in a place I refused to acknowledge, that dark, possessive thing whispered: You marked him too. You belong to each other. Not like her.

I shook my head hard. Wake the fuck up, Sera. You don't love him. You barely know him. You're not here for him.

You're here for Lyralei.

Don't forget that.

Kaelen finally moved. He turned toward the door, his movements stiff and controlled. His hand closed around the doorknob.

He was just going to leave. Just like that. Walk out like nothing happened.

Something suddenly occurred to me.

"Wait!"

He stopped. Didn't turn around, but his hand tightened on the knob. I could see his knuckles go white.

I swallowed hard. My voice came out rougher than I intended. "You can't keep me locked in here forever."

Silence.

The bond pulsed between us. I felt something flicker through it. Hesitation, maybe. Or regret.

But he didn't turn around. Didn't say a word.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The sound echoed through the room. Final. Absolute.

The whole room shuddered. The lamp on the desk flickered. And then I heard it—a soft, sliding sound. Fabric whispering against wood.

My heart stopped.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. My whole body sagged, adrenaline draining out of me in a rush. My hands were shaking. My neck was still bleeding.

The bond was still there. Still humming. Still pulling.

Fuck him. Fuck this whole situation.

I pressed my palm against the mark, wincing at the sharp sting. It was real. Permanent. I was stuck with him now, whether I liked it or not.

The thought made my stomach twist.

Then my eyes landed on the desk.

My head snapped up. My heart stopped.

The shirt I'd draped over the sketchbook. The one that had been hanging halfway off the edge.

It was gone.

Lying on the floor now. Crumpled in a heap.

And the sketchbook was sitting on the desk in full view. Brown leather cover gleaming under the lamplight. Pages slightly worn at the edges. Half the cover completely exposed.

Oh God.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. My whole body locked up, frozen in place.

Had he seen it?

I played back the last few seconds in my mind. When we'd kissed. When we'd stumbled. My hip colliding with the desk. The lamp flickering. That soft sliding sound I'd barely registered.

The shirt had slipped then. While his mouth was on mine. While his hands were in my hair.

We'd been too lost in each other to notice.

But just now. When he'd been standing by the desk. His back to me. He could have looked down. Could have seen the book sitting there in plain sight.

Did he know?