Chapter 93 Seraphine
I woke up to chaos.
Not the loud, explosive kind—but the aftermath kind. The kind that tells you something went very wrong while you were unconscious.
The couch beneath me was unfamiliar leather, too soft, my body sinking into it like I’d been dropped there without ceremony. My head throbbed. My limbs felt heavy. Used.
The penthouse looked like a storm had swept through it and gotten bored halfway.
Clothes everywhere. Not folded. Not organized. Just—discarded. A puddle of water spread across the marble floor, soaking into a rug that probably cost more than my rent. There were scorch marks on the ceiling—thin, branching cracks of blackened stone—and more along the floor near the windows.
A woman was crying in the corner.
Quietly. The kind of crying you do when you’re trying not to be noticed.
From somewhere down the hall, I heard Amara’s voice—soft, coaxing. Lucian’s deeper tone followed, calm but strained, trying to talk someone down from the edge.
I pushed myself upright slowly.
The room tilted.
Then—
Everything stopped.
Not metaphorically.
Actually stopped.
The air went cold. My chest locked. My dragon went utterly still.
Dante was standing near the window.
And he was kissing one of the women we’d rescued.
His hands were on her waist. Not restraining. Not pushing her away. Holding. Steady. Familiar. She was pressed up against him like she belonged there, fingers curled in his jacket like she’d claimed the right.
I couldn’t hear anything anymore.
Just the blood rushing in my ears.
Just the sharp, tearing sound of something inside me cracking—not shattering, not exploding—but giving way.
Behind me, footsteps hurried in.
“Oh gods,” Lucian said. “She just—she kissed me out of nowhere, I didn’t even see her move—”
“I’m so sorry,” Amara said quickly. “I lost control of my water for a second, I didn’t mean—”
She stopped.
I felt her see it before she spoke again.
“Sera—don’t—”
Amara moved fast, stepping in front of me, blocking my view with her body. Her hands came up instinctively, like she was shielding me from a blow.
Lucian swore and turned sharply. “Dante—stop—”
But it was already too late.
Something inside me collapsed.
Not my patience.
Not my will.
Not even my emotions.
Something deeper.
Something ancient.
The last barrier between me and my dragon didn’t explode—
It fell.
Heat flooded my veins, fast and vicious, and before I realized I’d moved, I shoved Amara aside.
She went flying.
Not slammed. Not burned.
But thrown—hard enough that she hit the couch with a startled cry.
“Seraphine!” Lucian shouted.
I didn’t hear him.
I walked forward, every step deliberate, my eyes never leaving Dante’s face.
Lucian yanked the woman away from him at last, gripping her arm as she shrieked and fought.
“I want him!” she screamed. “I want to be his mate!”
The words sliced deep and clean.
“How can someone like her be his?” the woman spat, pointing at me. “She can’t even attend to his needs! She’s always passing out, always worrying about everyone else—maybe if she paid attention to herself, or to him—”
“Enough,” Lucian snapped, clamping a hand over her mouth and dragging her toward the hallway. Another woman followed, still crying, still confused.
The doors slammed shut.
Dante stood frozen.
I stopped a few feet in front of him.
My voice came out dangerously calm.
“Is that true?”
His head snapped up.
Guilt flashed in his eyes.
“Seraphine, no—”
“That’s not true,” he said quickly.
But the hesitation had already betrayed him.
The woman’s voice echoed in my head.
Neglecting your duties.
I hadn’t even mated with him.
Hadn’t accepted the bond.
I’d accepted thirty days of protection.
That was it.
Lucian ushered Amara out next, shooting Dante a warning look before closing the doors behind them.
The penthouse fell quiet.
Just us.
Dante stepped toward me. “What you overheard—”
“Was the human version,” he said carefully. “The conversation was in dragontongue. It wasn’t—”
I stared at him.
He reached for me.
I stepped back.
He leaned in and kissed me gently, like muscle memory.
I pulled away.
“Stop.”
He froze.
“You should be proud,” he said softly, trying to steady the moment. “You didn’t burn the penthouse down. You didn’t lash out. That’s growth.”
I laughed.
It sounded hollow.
I turned to the window, staring out at the city below like it might tell me what to do.
“Did you feel that way?” I asked quietly. “Honestly.”
He didn’t answer.
I turned back to him.
“Do you really think I’ve been neglecting some duty to you?” I asked. “When I haven’t even accepted the bond? When I’ve been fighting to keep people alive?”
Silence.
When he finally met my eyes again—
Something was gone.
My dragon stirred uneasily.
He’s changed, she said quietly. Something shifted while you were under.
I swallowed.
I swallowed, my throat tight.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
Dante didn’t hesitate. “A few hours. At most.”
Hours.
Not days. Not long enough for things to rot on their own.
“What changed?” I pressed. “What happened while I was unconscious that made you look at me like this?”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
When he finally looked at me, it was like he was fighting himself—jaw tight, shoulders rigid, fire pulsing erratically under his skin like it didn’t know where it belonged.
“I don’t know,” he admitted at last. The words sounded wrong coming from him—too human. Too uncertain. “Everything was fine. More than fine. We were aligned. We were winning. And then we stepped into the penthouse and it was like—”
He dragged a hand through his hair.
“Like something snapped,” he finished. “I can’t think straight.”
My chest ached.
“But I do know one thing,” he continued, quieter now. “You can’t be my mate.”
The words landed gently.
Which somehow made them worse.
I stared at him. “Why?”
He flinched, just barely.
“After everything we’ve done?” I asked. “After what we survived together—why now?”
He hesitated.
And then he said it.
“Because I need someone who does what I tell them without arguing,” he said flatly. “Someone who fits into my world without pushing back.” His gaze flicked over me—too fast to be kind. “Someone who looks good in my clothes.”
Ouch.
That one didn’t burn.
It cut.
It took a second to register. A full, suspended beat where my mind refused to accept it—like the words had bounced off something inside me that didn’t believe this was real.
Because it didn’t feel real.
It felt… wrong. Like a fever dream stitched together with his face.
I nodded slowly.
Not because I agreed.
Because my brain was moving a mile a minute and I needed him to stop talking before I shattered.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
He exhaled, like he’d been bracing for impact.
I didn’t cry.
That surprised me.
Instead, I tilted my head slightly and asked, “Can we go to dinner?”
He blinked. “What?”
“One last time,” I clarified. “Not as… whatever this was. Just—us. Closure, maybe.” I shrugged, trying to sound casual even as my insides twisted. “And I need fuel. If I’m going to help the other women, I can’t do it on empty.”
He studied me for a long moment.
Then nodded. “That’s… actually a good idea.”
Relief flickered through me—not the good kind. The temporary kind.
“Okay,” I said again.
But even as he turned away to make arrangements, my dragon stirred uneasily.
This isn’t him, she warned softly.
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew.