Chapter 108 Unwanted packages
Chapter 108 Unwanted packages
Seraphina’s POV
The warmth of Cassain's office, the solid weight of his body beneath mine, and the scent of old paper and his clean skin. It was a pocket of peace I hadn't realized I desperately needed. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the constant, low-grade hum of anxiety in my chest had quieted. I had a father. A complicated, broken, emotionally stunted father, but a father nonetheless. The revelation had lifted a weight I hadn't even known I was carrying.
I was tracing the lines of his forearm, my head resting on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, when a sharp, insistent knock echoed from the front door. It wasn't the casual rap of a delivery or the friendly tap of a neighbor. It was clipped, professional, and urgent.
Cassain tensed beneath me, his hand stilling on my back. "Expecting someone?" he murmured, his voice already shifting from lover to protector.
I shook my head, a sliver of the old unease returning. We heard Malakai's voice, deep and calm, from the entryway, followed by a muffled exchange. Then his footsteps were coming down the hall, fast. He appeared in the office doorway, his face grim, his eyes locked on mine. In his hands, he held a medium-sized, plain cardboard box. It was sealed with packing tape, but there was no address, no postage, no label of any kind.
"This was just left on the doorstep," he said, his voice low. "No courier. No car. It was just… there."
My blood ran cold. This was it. The other shoe dropping. The Shark wasn't just going to come for me. He was going to play games.
"Open it," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the ice forming in my veins.
Cassain shifted me off his lap, and we both stood, moving to stand beside Malakai as he set the box on the desk. Soren appeared in the doorway, drawn by the sudden tension, his expression questioning.
With a flick of his pocketknife, Malakai sliced through the tape. The flaps fell open, revealing a bed of what looked like red velvet lining. Nestled in the center was a single, pale finger, severed cleanly at the knuckle. A wave of nausea washed over me, hot and acidic.
Beside the grotesque offering was a small, cream-colored envelope. Cassain picked it up with a handkerchief, his movements precise and careful. He slid out a single piece of heavy cardstock and unfolded it. The handwriting was a sharp, elegant scrawl.
My Dearest Seraphina,
It has come to my attention that you are proving to be rather… elusive. A challenge. I do enjoy a challenge, but I am also a man who believes in efficiency. If I cannot take out the queen, I will begin by dismantling her kingdom. Piece by piece.
This is just a taste. A small token of my affection. For every day that you hide behind your pets, I will send you another piece. An ear, a hand, a foot. I will work my way through the people you care about until there is no one left to shield you. And then, I will come for you.
I know who you hold dear. I know their names. I know their routines. Tell me, my dear, do you think Cassain's strategic mind can protect him from a sniper's bullet? Can Malakai's brute strength save him from a poison he can't see? Can Soren's fire burn away a threat he doesn't know is coming?
The clock is ticking.
\-The Shark
The words hung in the air, a poison cloud that suffocated the room. Soren's face had gone white, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Malakai was silent, but his jaw was tight enough to crack granite.
Cassain's expression was a mask of cold fury, his eyes already calculating, planning. But it was the last line that broke me. The threat wasn't just to me. It was to them. To my heart, my soul, my reason for breathing.
My gaze fell back to the box, to the pale, severed finger lying on its velvet bed. And that's when I saw it. Tucked onto the ring finger was a small, silver ring set with a single, glittering emerald. My breath hitched. A strangled gasp escaped my lips.
No. It couldn't be.
I leaned closer, my eyes scanning the ring, the delicate, leaf-like pattern etched into the band. I knew that ring. I knew it better than I knew my own soul.
I had been with Roxie the day she bought it. We were sixteen, blowing our first paychecks from our part-time jobs at the diner. It was an impulse buy, a cheap piece of costume jewelry from a street vendor, but she had loved it. She said the emerald reminded her of my eyes. She never took it off. Not once.
Roxie. My Roxie. My loud, vibrant, endlessly loyal best friend from high school. The only person from my old life who had ever known the real me and hadn't run screaming. The only person who had ever made me feel normal.
The world tilted, the walls of the office spinning. The warmth I had felt just moments ago vanished, replaced by a void so cold and vast it threatened to swallow me whole. A single tear traced a path down my cheek, hot and silent.
Roxie was dead. My funny, kind, beautiful friend, who had a weakness for rom-coms and could make the best chocolate milkshakes in the world, was dead. Because of me. Because someone wanted me dead.
A sob tore from my throat, raw and agonizing. My knees gave out, and I would have collapsed to the floor if Malakai hadn't caught me, pulling me into his arms. I buried my face in his chest, the fabric of his shirt soaking up my tears, but nothing could stop them. The guilt was a physical weight, crushing me, suffocating me.
Someone had died because of me. A piece of my past, a precious, beautiful memory, had been brutally, senselessly slaughtered. And it was all my fault.