Chapter 68: Confessions

The night stretched long over Roman’s estate, the swamp humming beyond the walls with a chorus that never ceased. Lorraine sat curled on one of the velvet chairs in his study, her knees tucked beneath her, nursing a glass of wine she had barely touched. The lamplight painted the room in gold, warm and calm, but she couldn’t shake the echoes of her dream. The goblet. The black water. Jadis’s warning.

The silence between her and Roman was heavy, but not hostile. He was at his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, ink smudged across his fingers. He hadn’t looked at her in several minutes, but she could feel him watching her all the same.

Finally, he broke the quiet.

“I feel it,” he said, voice low, almost reluctant.

Lorraine’s head lifted. “What?”

“The storm. The whispers.” His pen stilled. He looked at her then, and the shadows under his eyes told her he hadn’t slept. “Dwade’s darkness—it’s not contained anymore. It’s pulling at the edges of the city.”

A shiver worked its way up her spine. “You mean…the storm I’ve felt in my visions?”

“Yes.” His jaw tightened. “It’s worse than what you’ve seen. I can feel it clawing against my wards, circling my businesses, bleeding into the Quarter. He’s not hiding anymore. He wants everyone to know he’s stronger.”

Lorraine set her glass aside. “Then we fight him.”

Roman gave a bitter laugh, running a hand over his face. “You make it sound simple.”

“Isn’t it?” she pressed. “You have your coven. We have Shanta, Despoina, Rhyan. And me.”

His eyes burned into hers. “That’s what I fear.”

Her chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

Roman rose from the desk, pacing to the window. Rain tapped faintly against the panes, though the sky was clear. “I didn’t want you in this world, Lorraine. Not this deep. I thought I could keep you close but untouched.” He shook his head, shoulders tense. “But I can’t. Dwade knows who you are now. And if Jadis speaks to you…if you’re truly l’élu, the chosen one…then you’re a beacon. He will come for you.”

Lorraine stood, crossing the room to him. “I can’t just stand aside. I feel it too. Every storm. Every shadow. I can’t close my eyes and pretend I’m not part of this anymore.”

Roman’s gaze softened, but grief lingered there. “You don’t understand what he’s become. That pact he made—” His voice broke off, and he swallowed hard. “Even I don’t know the full cost of it. And if I drag you deeper, if I fail you…”

She placed her hand on his chest, feeling the thud of his heartbeat. “Then we fail together. You told me once I wasn’t alone. Neither are you.”

His hand closed over hers, trembling. For a long moment, they stood in silence, the air thick with words unsaid.

“I can’t fight without you, can I?” he whispered finally.

“No,” she admitted. “And I don’t want you to.”

Roman’s guard cracked then, just enough for her to see the weight he carried. His shoulders sagged, his breath came heavy. He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closing.

“You terrify me,” he murmured.

“Why?”

“Because you make me hope.” His thumb brushed over her cheek. “And hope is dangerous in my world.”

Lorraine smiled faintly, though tears stung her eyes. “Then let’s be dangerous together.”

The laugh that escaped him was low, pained, but real. He kissed her, not with the hunger of their first encounters but with a gentleness that undid her completely. His lips lingered, slow and reverent, as though he were afraid she might vanish if he pressed too hard.

When they parted, Lorraine whispered, “You trust me?”

“With more than I should.”

They sat together on the sofa, bodies close, his arm draped around her shoulders. For the first time, he spoke freely—not just of his hotels and shipments, but of his fears. Of the men who’d died protecting his routes. Of the whispers in the storm that tempted even him, promising power if only he would reach for it.

“I’ve turned them away,” he said, voice rough. “But I wonder sometimes how long before the darkness decides it doesn’t need my permission.”

Lorraine laced her fingers through his. “Then we keep it from finding an opening.”

He smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You speak as though you’ve been doing this for years.”

“Maybe Jadis is lending me her courage,” she said softly.

Roman’s eyes softened. “Or maybe it was always yours.”

They spoke until the candles burned low, about strategy, about hope, about fear. And through it all, Lorraine felt something shifting between them—something more than lust, more than necessity. Trust. Intimacy not just of the body but of the heart.

When at last they drifted into silence, Roman drew her closer, his lips brushing her hair. “If Dwade’s storm pulls at the city, then let it. We’ll stand at its center. Together.”

Lorraine closed her eyes, her heart steady at last. “Together.”

Roman rose first, offering his hand. Lorraine took it, and he guided her through the quiet halls of the estate. The candles along the corridor flickered as they passed, shadows spilling across the walls like watchful eyes, yet she didn’t feel afraid. His presence steadied her, the warmth of his palm against hers grounding her as though he carried her heartbeat in his grip.

They reached his bedroom, and he pushed the door open with a gentleness that belied the power in him. Inside, the air was cool, perfumed faintly with cedar and smoke. Lorraine hesitated on the threshold, heart racing, but Roman turned to her, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.

“Get in here, love,” he murmured.

She nodded, stepping into him. Their lips met, slow at first, then deeper, a promise wrapped in every movement. His hands slid around her waist, drawing her close until the world beyond the four walls ceased to exist. Lorraine pressed her face to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. For the first time since the storm began, she felt safe. Not because the darkness had lessened, but because she knew they would face it together.