The streets glistened with leftover rain as Seraphina stumbled away from the café, the echo of Lucian's voice clinging to her like smoke she couldn't wash off. His words his apologies, his pleading should have mattered. Once upon a time, she would have folded into them, searching for safety. But tonight, they felt hollow, like trying to drink from an empty glass. Every phrase rang false, tinny against the steel walls of her chest.
Her hands shook inside her coat pockets, fists clenched tight. The ache in her throat pulsed with the tears she had forced back in front of strangers. She had walked out with her chin high, but now, in the quiet of the narrow street, her body betrayed her. Her knees trembled, her breath hitched, and she felt like she was splintering apart with every step.
And beneath all of it, something darker twisted in her stomach something she refused to name. A memory not of Lucian's touch, but of another pair of eyes watching her with unbearable certainty.
She heard it before she saw him: the scrape of a boot against cobblestone. She slowed, heart jerking. A figure leaned against a lamppost at the corner, tall and unmovable, as though the night itself had conjured him. The pale light caught the sharp lines of his face, the storm-dark eyes that never seemed to look away.
Kaelen.
Her pulse spiked, anger flooding in to mask the fear. "You followed me?" she snapped, her voice raw from the tears she hadn't shed.
He tilted his head, not moving, as though even his stillness was deliberate. "I didn't have to," he said smoothly. "You drag storms behind you, Seraphina. They're hard to miss."
She bristled, clutching her coat tighter around her. "Don't mock me. Not now."
"I'm not mocking." His voice was low, dangerous in its calm. "I saw the way you let him take your hand. Tell me it didn't make you sick."
Her jaw clenched, fury sparking hotter. "What gives you the right to speak to me like this?"
"The moment you opened that letter," he said, pushing away from the lamppost and stepping toward her with unhurried precision, "you gave me the right."
Her breath caught. She stepped back, but he closed the space with infuriating ease. She hated the way the street seemed to narrow around them, as if the whole city bent itself toward this confrontation.
"You think you know me?" Her voice cracked, brittle and sharp. "You think you see anything but a conquest? You're no different than him."
Something flickered in his eyes then hurt, maybe, quickly masked. He laughed under his breath, bitter and humorless. "No. Lucian wants your obedience. Your perfection. I don't give a damn about that. I want the fire you bury so deep you've almost convinced yourself it's not there."
The words struck her like a blow, leaving her reeling. He was wrong. He had to be. But the certainty in his voice, the raw hunger in his gaze it rattled her, because a part of her knew he wasn't wrong at all.
The air thickened, rain beginning to fall again in cold, thin drops that kissed her hair and slid down her cheeks, mingling with the heat of her skin. She trembled, furious with herself for trembling at all.
Kaelen stepped closer still, close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body even as the night chilled her. He didn't touch her. He didn't have to. His presence pressed against her like a hand at the small of her back, daring her to lean or resist.
"Say it," he murmured, his voice rough, threaded with steel. "Look me in the eye and tell me I don't keep you awake at night."
Her heart hammered so violently she thought it might burst. She forced her eyes to his, hating the way her voice faltered when she whispered, "I don't…"
The corner of his mouth curled. "Liar."
The word slithered into her chest, filling the spaces Lucian's pleas had left hollow. She wanted to shout, to run, to strike him just to shake loose the truth he seemed to drag from her unwilling lips. But she stood frozen, caught between loathing and the ache that burned hotter every second.
His hand lifted, slow enough for her to stop him if she wanted. She didn't. His fingers brushed against her cheek, pushing a damp strand of hair away from her face. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent, but it seared through her like fire. For one dangerous moment, she leaned into it, her eyes fluttering closed.
Then the horror of what she was doing slammed into her. She jerked back, gasping, clutching her coat tight around her chest as though she could shield herself from him, from herself. "Don't," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Don't do this to me."
His eyes darkened, his hand falling back to his side. "I'm not doing anything," he said softly, the faintest edge of triumph curling in his tone. "You're the one trembling."
Her breath caught, her whole body trembling indeed. Rage sparked at him, at herself, at the way the world seemed to tilt whenever he was near. She turned sharply, boots splashing through shallow puddles as she stormed down the street.
He didn't follow. She could feel his gaze on her back, heavy as a hand, until she turned the corner and the lamplight swallowed him.
Only then did she stop, collapsing against a cold stone wall, her chest heaving. She pressed a shaking hand to her lips, as though warding off a kiss that hadn't even happened. And still, her skin burned where his fingers had touched.