Chapter 116 White picket fence

Chapter 116 White picket fence
Seraphina’s POV:

The moon was a sliver of silver in the black sky, its light filtering through the sheer curtains of our bedroom. But sleep was a distant country, one I couldn't reach. Their words echoed in the quiet darkness, a chorus of fear and love. Malakai's desperation, Cassain's resolve, Soren's silent support. Is this war worth it? The question was a stone in my gut, heavy and sharp.

I hated it. I hated that we couldn't just pack a bag, drive until the city lights faded, and find a small, quiet life somewhere. A life where the only monsters were the ones under the bed, not the ones sending body parts in a box. But that was a child's fantasy. We were all children of this world, born and bred in its violence. We knew the rules. You don't get to walk away. You either win, or you die.

And yet, looking at them, at the three men who had become my everything, I knew our life was worth fighting for. This strange, complicated, beautiful life we had built together was more than I had ever dared to dream of.

Slipping out from under the covers, careful not to wake them, I padded silently out of the room. The villa was quiet, a sleeping giant holding its breath. I went to the kitchen, my movements practiced and sure, and put the kettle on. While it boiled, I stood at the counter, staring out the window at the dark, still gardens. This was my home now. This was my peace.

With a steaming mug of chamomile tea in my hands, I walked out onto the balcony that overlooked the back gardens. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of jasmine and damp earth. I leaned against the stone railing, the warmth of the mug seeping into my cold hands, and let the quiet settle over me.

"Couldn't sleep?"

I jumped, the hot tea sloshing over my hand. I hadn't heard him approach. But then, I never did with Malakai. He moved like a shadow, a silent, comforting presence that was as much a part of this house as the stone walls themselves.

"Malakai," I breathed, setting the mug down. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he said, his voice a low, gentle rumble. He moved to stand beside me, not touching, but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. "Are you okay?"

I was quiet for a long moment, just looking out at the darkness, processing the storm of emotions inside me. The fear, the love, the desperate, aching hope for a future I wasn't sure we'd ever get to have.

"I know what we have isn't… normal," I finally said, my voice soft, barely a whisper on the night air. "All three of us. But it works for us. It's our kind of normal."

I turned to look at him, his face a study of shadows and moonlight. "I really do want a future with all three of you. I know it sounds crazy, given… everything. But I do. I eventually want to settle down, have kids, and see a little version of each of you running around." A small, sad smile touched my lips. "I've never met anyone before who made me want to start planning ahead. Until you three."

I looked away, my gaze fixed on the dark horizon. "And that terrifies me, Malakai. It terrifies me more than Richard, more than any bounty hunter, more than any fight I've ever been in. Because I have something to lose now."

I felt his gaze on me, intense and unwavering, and I forced myself to continue. "I feel so safe when I'm with you. I don't have to look over my shoulder anymore. I have someone I can lean on, someone who will catch me when I fall. I can't imagine ever losing that… losing you."

I turned back to him, my heart in my throat. "I love you so much, Malakai," I whispered, the words a sacred truth in the quiet night. "Even your darkness is beautiful. Everything about you, the good and the bad, the light and the shadow… it only makes me love you more."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. I saw a flicker of surprise, not at my declaration of love, he knew I loved him, but at the raw, unfiltered vulnerability of my speech. I had never laid my soul bare like this to him.

And then he moved.

He crossed the small space between us, his hands wrapping around my waist, lifting me off my feet as if I weighed nothing. I let out a soft gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders to steady myself. He didn't say a word. He just looked at me, his eyes burning with a fierce, possessive fire that drove me crazy, that made my blood sing and my body ache.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It wasn't a soft, reassuring kiss. It was a claiming. A possessive, demanding, all-consuming kiss that stole the air from my lungs and left me breathless and trembling in his arms. His lips were fierce against mine, his tongue a bold, invasive presence that tasted of desperation and a love so profound it was overwhelming. He was kissing me like he was trying to brand his soul onto mine, like he was trying to prove to me, to himself, to the universe, that I was his. And I was. Completely. Utterly. His.