Chapter 65 Seraphine
Amara leaned back on the couch and let out a long breath.
“We don’t have to figure this out tonight,” she said firmly. “Like—at all. Tonight is officially a no life-changing decisions zone.”
I snorted softly. “You say that like it’s a rule.”
“It is now.” She grabbed her phone. “And rules require food.”
Ten minutes later, she’d ordered an absurd amount of Chinese takeout—lo mein, fried rice, orange chicken, dumplings, crab rangoons—and declared that emotional crises burned calories, so we were absolutely justified.
She kicked her shoes off, curled up on the couch beside me, and turned on some trash reality show where everyone was yelling and crying over nothing that actually mattered.
The noise helped.
The normalcy helped.
For a while, we just ate in silence, watching other people implode on screen while sauce stained our fingers.
Then Amara glanced sideways at me.
“So,” she said casually. Too casually.
“…what was it like? With Dante.”
I nearly choked on my lo mein.
“Oh my god.”
She grinned. “What? I’m your best friend. I’m legally obligated to ask. Don't skimp—we're friends here. I want the details!"
I hesitated, pushing noodles around my container.
“It was…” I searched for the word. “Intense. He's... controlling, but in this way that just takes over. He had me pinned against the wall, hands everywhere. Rough, you know? Like he couldn't decide if he wanted to devour me or break me."
Amara hummed approvingly. “Okay, green flag. Did he use his fingers too?"
I couldn't help but nodd. I couldn't actually say the words, my face already red as a tomato.
Her eyebrows shot up. "Damn, that sounds intense."
I hesitated again, then added quietly, “It made everything he said later hurt that much more.”
Amara’s expression shifted, anger flashing briefly before she masked it.
She didn’t interrupt. Just let me finish.
When I finally trailed off, she bumped her shoulder against mine.
“He’s an idiot,” she said. “A powerful, terrifying idiot—but still an idiot.”
I laughed weakly.
Then I looked at her. “Okay, your turn.”
Her eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh no,” I said, sitting up. “You asked first. Spill.”
She groaned, burying her face in a pillow.
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
She peeked out, face already pink. “Fine. But I’m not doing play-by-play.”
“Coward.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lucian is… very attentive,” she said carefully. “Like—he notices everything. My breathing. My mood. The way I react before I even know I’m reacting.”
I smiled despite myself.
“And?” I prompted.
“And he makes me feel safe,” she admitted softly. “Not trapped. Not owned. Just… chosen. Constantly.”
Her voice wobbled a little.
“Like, heart-eyes, can't-think-straight in love. He's everything—gentle but firm, makes me feel safe and wild all at once. I’m so stupidly in love with him it’s embarrassing.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand. “That’s not stupid.”
She smiled at me, eyes shining. “Neither are you.”
Amara tilted her head, chopsticks frozen mid-air.
“…Do you think being mated is like being married?” she asked.
I blinked. “Oh. We’re doing that now.”
She nodded seriously. “I mean it. Is there a ceremony? Can there be a ceremony? Are humans allowed to attend? Because my mom is going to lose her entire mind if she finds out I bonded myself to a literal water dragon without so much as an invite.”
I laughed, soft but real. “Valid concern.”
“And rings,” she added quickly. “Please tell me there are rings. I don’t care how ancient or primal dragon culture is, I want a ring.”
I leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Okay, but now that you say it… I have questions too.”
She turned fully toward me, eyes bright. “Hit me.”
“Well,” I said slowly, “if we’re mated in dragon terms… are we married in the human world? Like legally? Do we need paperwork? Because I am not sharing a credit score with someone without knowing first.”
Amara snorted. “Oh my god.”
“I’m serious,” I continued. “Assets. Bank accounts. Taxes. Health insurance. Do dragons even do taxes? Because I swear if Dante owns half the city and still hasn’t filed—”
She burst out laughing, nearly dropping her dumpling. “You’re worried about tax fraud.”
“I am a journalist. It’s my brand.”
She wiped at her eyes, still smiling. “Okay, but really… I don’t know. Lucian hasn’t exactly given me the Dragon Mating Handbook, chapter one through ten.”
“Rude of him,” I muttered.
Amara grew thoughtful. “I think… it’s probably whatever we want it to be. Dragon law is about bonds and territory and instinct. Human law is about… paperwork and witnesses and signatures.”
“So potentially,” I said, “we could be mated magically but still choose to get married human-style.”
Her eyes lit up. “With a ceremony.”
“With a ceremony,” I agreed.
“And vows,” she pressed.
“And vows.”
“And rings.”
“Yes, Amara. Rings.”
She sighed dreamily, then frowned. “But my parents…”
I reached for her hand. “We’ll figure that out. One panic at a time.”
She squeezed my fingers. “You know… I wouldn’t want to do any of this alone.”
My chest tightened.
“Same,” I admitted quietly.
We sat there for a moment, the questions unanswered but no longer terrifying. Just… unknown. Big. Human and dragon tangled together in a way neither of us had been prepared for.
Amara nudged me with her knee. “If nothing else, at least we’ll be confused together.”
I smiled. “Honestly? That might be the most comforting part of all of this.”
The TV droned on in the background, the food went cold, and for the first time all day, the future didn’t feel like a threat.
The lights flickered.
Once. Twice.
The TV cut to black mid-sentence, the sudden silence so loud it rang in my ears.
“Did you—?” Amara started.
I grabbed her instinctively, fingers curling into her sleeve—
And then something yanked me backward.
Hard.
My grip tore free.
“SERAPHINE—!” Amara screamed.
I barely had time to gasp before rough fabric slammed over my head, cutting off sight and air in one violent motion. My hands flew up, nails scraping uselessly at the bag as panic detonated in my chest.
“Hey—HEY—!”
Pain exploded across the side of my head.
White-hot.
Blinding.
My knees buckled as something heavy struck my ribs, driving the breath from my lungs in a broken wheeze. I heard Amara shouting—my name, curses, terror—but it sounded distant, warped, like I was already underwater.
And then there was only black.