“She doesn’t know,” I muttered.
Seraphine sighed, almost weary. “She knows enough to be dangerous. The way she touches old words without meaning to, the way shadows respond to her—those aren’t accidents. She may not understand it, but something inside her does.”
I let my hand rest on the leather cover, rough with age.
There were threads in this tale that matched the shape of her. It was myth—but not just myth. And if even a thread was true… Then Kaelith wasn’t just claiming her power. He was trying to harness something older than the goddesses themselves.
Something made of dark. Something the world had tried to forget.
“What happens,” I said quietly, “when that darkness wakes?”
Seraphine looked at me then. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Then, Malachi,” she said, “we remember why children fear the dark. Not for what they see, but for what waits when the light goes out.”
36
Aurelia
Everything was too loud.
Too bright.
Even the dust that floated through the haze of dusk seemed to shimmer too sharply, cutting gold and violet threads of light as it drifted across my chamber walls. I watched it, unsure how long I’d been sitting there, the air brittle against my skin.
I smoothed a hand down my torso, pausing at the place just above my heart. No pain, but the memory of it stirred. The scar was quiet now, but whatever came next would not be gentle.
A sharp knock echoed through the chamber. I didn’t move to answer it.
I turned from the mirror, but the image stayed with me, clinging like shadow.
Kaelith’s mouth on me. His blood on my tongue.
It wasn’t want. Not truly—and especially not for him. It was a hunger threaded through my veins, one that clawed past thought and left my body begging before I could command it still.
I needed it.
And when I drank—when I tasted the searing warmth of his blood—I had felt, for a terrifying moment, whole.
The dreams that followed blurred. Shifting walls. Velvet skin. Kaelith’s voice in my mind. The scent of ash. And Malachi, watching—always just beyond the edge. Unmoving.
And then… The bath. His arms around me. His hands in my hair. The gentle pressure of his thumb beneath my chin. The way he had turned me to face him—slowly, gently.
My body was a mess of sensations. My skin burned. My vision pulsed at the edges. And worst of all, I was so godsdamned thirsty.
I didn’t mean to reach for the heat curling low in my belly. But the memory of his mouth—the way his voice had caught on my name—had taken root somewhere deeper than want.
My breath hitched. One hand braced against the wall, the other slipping beneath my waistband with a hunger I didn’t want to name. Didn’t want to need.
It wasn’t my hand I felt. I imagined him. Malachi, pressed behind me. Filling me with the kind of ache I hadn’t known I was capable of wanting. My hips tilted forward. My lips parted.
I was right there. And then?—
The door creaked open. I jerked upright and spun towards the door, dragging my hand out of my pants just as Malachi stepped into view. There was a flicker in his eyes when they landed on me.
He paused. Sniffed once.
Oh gods.
His voice dropped, rough and too close. “Who’s in here with you?”