Chapter 36 Black-eyed Fury
Serafina
The bath was supposed to quiet me.
The hut was warm, the air fragrant with crushed petals steeped into the steaming water. Firelight from the hearth bled through the doorway in soft gold ribbons, flickering against the wooden walls and the curved lip of the copper tub. The forest outside whispered in low, nocturnal murmurs—wind combing through leaves, branches shifting, the distant call of something unseen. It should have soothed me. It should have drawn me back to the exhilaration of flight, to the memory of wind tearing through my hair and the dizzying drop beneath my feet as Azerath carried me across the sky.
Instead, all I could think about was him.
The way I had leaned toward him.
The way I had waited.
The way he had stopped.
I sank lower into the floral-scented water, letting it lap at my shoulders, but it did nothing to drown the humiliation prickling beneath my skin. I had surrendered to the moment—heart racing, breath shallow—waiting for a kiss that never came. He had looked at me as if he wanted to. I had seen it. I knew I had.
And then he had pulled away.
The memory made my stomach twist. Embarrassment burned hotter than the bathwater.
I pressed my lips together. I had known him for two days. Two days. And already my body betrayed me, answering every glance, every brush of his hand, every low murmur of his voice like it was starving. I was furious at myself for being so easily affected. Furious that he could make me feel so foolish.
Across from me, Blink sat perched at the edge of the tub, her large wolfish body half-submerged. The moment I had slipped into the water, she had hopped in without hesitation, as though bathing alongside me was the most natural thing in the world. Now she blinked up at me with luminous eyes, ears twitching as droplets clung to her whiskers.
“Do you think he likes me?” I asked her quietly.
Blink huffed, her muzzle bobbing in what I chose to interpret as a nod.
A small, reluctant smile curved my lips. “Then why didn’t he kiss me?”
She huffed again, this time shaking her head and sending a spray of water outward.
“I don’t know either,” I murmured, leaning my head back against the rim of the tub. “Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe I’m the only one losing my senses. Maybe I should concentrate on other things."
The fire cracked softly in the other room. The sound felt grounding.
“I need to focus,” I continued, more to myself than to her. “My brother. That’s why I’m here. That’s what matters. Once I find him… once Lio and I are reunited…” My voice softened. "We could start making plans for our future. Maybe we could live here. In the forest. With you.”
Blink bobbed her head again, as if approving of this imagined future. For an animorph, she was unnervingly perceptive.
I reached for a small wooden pail beside the tub and gently poured warm water over her head. It trickled down her fur in silvery streams. She licked at the droplets clinging to her nose before giving herself a vigorous shake, spraying me in retaliation.
I laughed—bright and unguarded. The sound startled even me.
Having her there, this strange, loyal creature who had chosen me without hesitation, eased something in my chest.
I placed a folded towel on the marble floor beside the tub so she wouldn’t slip. Blink eased herself out, paws careful, then shook again with theatrical enthusiasm. I shielded myself with another towel until she finished, then draped the same one over her back, rubbing gently to soak up the excess water.
“Go dry off by the fire,” I told her. "I'll be out shortly."
She obeyed, padding out of the bathing room with damp fur and dignified purpose.
The hut felt quieter without her.
A yawn slipped from my lips as I rose from the tub, warmth cascading off my skin in silver trails. The air felt cooler now, brushing against me as I reached for a towel and drew it slowly over my arms, my shoulders, my collarbones—pressing away the lingering heat of the bath. Steam still curled faintly around me, ghostlike, before dissolving into the dim hush of the hut.
Sleep. The word drifted through my mind like a promise.
We were no longer walking to Dust at dawn. There would be no relentless march beneath a canopy of dense trees, no stones biting into my feet. For once, I could surrender to rest. I could let the morning arrive without racing it. I could wake when the light filtered gently through the windows instead of before it.
After working the towel through my hair, squeezing out the last threads of water, I hung it carefully on its peg. Droplets still clung stubbornly to the ends, sliding down the curve of my spine in cool, wandering paths.
I stepped out of the bathing room.
And without thinking, I crossed into the bedroom bare, hair spilling damp down my back, skin luminous in the low firelight. Tiny beads of water traced over my shoulders and along my waist, catching the glow from the hearth.
For a fleeting, careless second, I belonged only to the quiet of the room and the promise of sleep.
I froze.
Azerath sat in the rocking chair beside the bed.
He looked as though he had been there for some time, long legs stretched comfortably before him, dark gaze fixed entirely on me.
“Azerath!” The shriek tore from my throat before I could stop it. I lunged for the nearest pillow and pressed it desperately against myself. “What are you doing inside my bedroom? Get out!"
“Excuse me,” he replied smoothly, not moving in the slightest. “But this is our room. And I will not get out.”
His voice was maddeningly calm.
“Just like you,” he continued, “I require rest.”
“We said good night,” I sputtered. “I thought—”
I stopped when I noticed the faint curve at the corner of his mouth. Amusement. He was amused.
“At least close your eyes or turn away,” I demanded. “Better yet, give me a few minutes so I can be decent. Unlike you, I cannot summon clothing from thin air.”
He scoffed softly. “I do not understand your modesty. I am your husband. Why hide your body from me?”
Heat rushed into my cheeks.
He tilted his head slightly. “Would it make you more comfortable if I removed my clothes as well?”
The ember inside me stirred.
It began as a pulse beneath my sternum—small, insistent. Then it flared.
“No,” I snapped, cheeks blazing. “It would not. I have lived my entire life with my brother, and not once has he seen me unclothed."
“Semantics,” Azerath murmured.
He rose fluidly from the rocking chair, every movement unhurried, controlled. He moved toward the closet as though my outrage were nothing more than background noise.
My heart pounded harder against me chest. “What are you doing?”
“I am retrieving a nightgown,” he replied evenly. “You are wet. I do not wish you to fall ill.”
“I can do it myself!” I shouted, clutching the pillow tighter. “Get out. Now. Or I’ll—”
The heat surged, ripping through me.
It raced from my chest into my throat, down my arms, into my fingertips. It was no longer an ember. It was a blaze seeking release.
“Or you will what?” he asked, almost lazily.
I stomped forward, fury overtaking embarrassment. “Or I’ll make you.”
I dropped the pillow.
For a split second, I felt exposed—but the heat was stronger than shame. It filled my palms, coiling, demanding to be freed.
I raised my hands. Light burst outward.
Gold sparks shot forward in a crackling arc and struck Azerath squarely in the chest. He stumbled backward, surprise flashing across his face before it was swallowed by something like approval.
“Serafina,” he began—
I stepped forward and did it again. And again. And again.
Each blast forced him farther toward the doorway until he crossed the threshold entirely.
I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, chest heaving, heart pounding so violently I thought it might burst through my ribs. My hands still glowed faintly, thin trails of golden light curling from my fingertips before fading into the air.
The room felt charged, as if lightning had struck inside it.
Then, I heard a whimper.
Blink.
Slowly, I turned to her, catching my reflection in the mirror.
The sight stole my breath.
My hair—only moments ago damp—was completely dry and lifted away from my shoulders, suspended as if held by a steady current.
My green eyes were gone.
They were entirely black. No whites. No light. Just a solid, depthless darkness staring back at me.
And my face—my expression was twisted with fury so intense it looked inhuman.
Monstrous.
I stared at myself as if I were looking at a stranger.
The heat in my hands began to fade. The sensation drained from my palms and fingers, slowly weakening until it was no more than a faint warmth beneath my skin. The tension in my shoulders loosened. My reflection shifted with it. The black in my eyes receded gradually. Green returned, then white, spreading until it replaced the darkness entirely. The harsh lines of anger softened.
I inhaled sharply.
That wasn’t me.
Or perhaps it was—and I had simply never seen it before.
Shaken, I grabbed the nightgown and pulled it over my head with unsteady hands. The fabric slid down my body, cool and soft against overheated skin. The simple act of dressing felt stabilizing, ordinary in a way I desperately needed.
When I opened the door, Azerath stood right in front of it, as if he had been waiting.
A lazy smile curved across his handsome face, calm and infuriating, his gold eyes fixed on me. His clothing was singed and torn, the fabric blackened where my power had struck him.
“You tricked me,” I hissed.
“You asked me to teach you,” he said calmly. “That was your first lesson."
He examined the charred remnants of his shirt. With a casual wave of his hand, the damaged fabric dissolved and was replaced instantly with fresh clothing, unmarked and pristine.
“Your fury,” he continued, his gaze sharpening slightly, “is boundless. If you do not learn to control it, you will destroy far more than clothing.” A pause. Then, unexpectedly, “But all the same, it was a start. I’m proud of you.”
I blinked.
My eyebrow lifted before I could stop it. “Uh… thank you.”
He inclined his head once, as if the matter were settled.
“Tomorrow,” he went on, “we will practice channeling that power through something other than anger. Joy. Calm. Purpose.” His eyes held mine steadily, unwavering. “Otherwise, you may burn the world without any assistance from me.”
I rolled my eyes. As if little ol’ me could burn an entire world.
“Good night, Azerath,” I said flatly. “And stop watching me sleep.”
There was the faintest shift in his expression.
“May I lie beside you, then?” he asked, almost hopeful.
“No,” I snapped, and shut the door in his face.
I turned and climbed into bed. The mattress dipped gently a moment later as Blink leapt up, circling once before curling near my feet. Her fur was warm and dry from the fire. Solid. Real.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
The image from the mirror replayed in my mind—black eyes, controlled fury, power radiating from every line of my face. It had not felt weak.
It had felt strong.
Intoxicating.
Terrifying.
Was that what I carried inside me?
Was that what Azerath had seen from the beginning?
I pressed my forearm over my eyes.
I was supposed to save my brother. Not become something unrecognizable.
But as exhaustion pulled at me and sleep began to settle into my bones, one truth remained clear beneath the fear:
The power had answered me.
And part of me had liked it.