Page 55

Honey and Defiance

I hesitated just long enough for the air between us to change—just enough for my heart to skip once, hard. Then I stepped back and gestured him inside.

Samael moved past me with the kind of ease that made it clear he knew I wouldn’t refuse him. The door clicked softly shut behind him, and suddenly, my quiet dorm room felt smaller. Warmer. Or maybe that was just my skin.

He shrugged off his coat with casual grace, shaking snow from his shoulders before hanging it neatly on the back of my chair. Beneath it, he wore a dark, high-collared tunic—simple but cut close to his frame. He looked out of place in this soft, lamp-lit space, like a storm wrapped in velvet.

His gaze swept the room once, then returned to me—and lingered.

I shifted slightly, arms wrapping around myself, suddenly all too aware of my damp skin and the thin camisole I’d thrown on without a second thought. His eyes flickered down—just for a heartbeat—and when they lifted again, a knowing smile played on his lips.

“Apologies,” he murmured, voice like dark velvet. “I hadn’t intended to catch you—undressed.”

The heat that rushed to my cheeks could rival the flame of my own Ignis Vire . I opened my mouth, closed it again, and managed a muttered, “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Samael laughed, a low, breathy sound that curled in the air between us. “Clearly.” He stepped further into the room and glanced toward my desk, then at the faint steam still fogging the bathroom mirror. “I just came to congratulate you.”

I blinked. “Congratulate me?”

“For putting Vivienne in her place.” He leaned against the edge of my dresser, arms crossed, watching me. “It’s been a long time since someone bested her like that. Maybe ever. You made it look—effortless.”

I scoffed under my breath and shook my head. “It wasn’t.”

“All the more impressive, then.” He tilted his head slightly. “You looked—powerful today.”

The words hung between us, heavy and electric.

I tucked a loose strand of damp hair behind my ear and shifted awkwardly. “Why are you really here, Sam?” I asked, quieter than before. The air felt taut, as if it was waiting for something. “It’s late. You don’t just drop by girls’ rooms to hand out compliments.”

He watched me for a long moment, then pushed off the dresser and took a slow step forward. “No,” he said, voice low. “I don’t.” Another step. “I saw you tonight. After class. You and your friends, sneaking back from the main wing.”

My stomach flipped.

“You were out after curfew,” he added, arching a brow, “you know how dangerous the campus is, and if one of the professors had caught you…”

I swallowed. My voice was careful. “We were—doing research.”

He didn’t press. Instead, his gaze softened a fraction. “I didn’t like the idea of you wandering the castle alone after what happened in the dining hall.” His eyes met mine, sincere beneath the usual coolness.

“I didn’t feel safe leaving you alone.”

Something in my chest pulled taut—something unsteady.

I lowered my eyes, unsure what to say, and when I looked back up, he was closer. Not touching distance yet, but enough that I felt the weight of his presence. I stepped back toward the bed without thinking, the edge catching behind my knees.

“Also, about Vivienne—” he began, and there was a note in his voice I hadn’t heard before. Not tiredness. Not annoyance. Something closer to regret.

I waited.

“It’s not real,” he said simply. “Whatever you think you see between us.”

I blinked. The words were so direct, they took a moment to register. “Then what is it?”

I waited.

He exhaled softly. “Convenience. Expectation. Our families have known each other for generations. Mine’s old money. Hers are political. Our fathers thought it’d be—mutually beneficial.” He said the words like they tasted bad.

I stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“When I was younger, I didn’t think to question it. She was ambitious. Beautiful. Driven.” A pause. “But the older I got, the more I saw her for what she really is. Sharp edges, masked as elegance. She wants a kingdom, not a partner.”

He stepped closer again, and this time I didn’t move.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, but she’s convinced I’ll change my mind. That I’ll come to love her. She sees every refusal as a challenge.” His voice grew quieter, like he was admitting something he hadn’t before.

“Vivienne isn’t the kind of woman I’d choose to spend a life with.”

My breath caught.

He was right in front of me now. I could smell the cold on his clothes, the faint spice of his cologne, something darker and unfamiliar beneath it—like magic folded into shadow.

I tilted my chin slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. “So, what kind of woman would you choose?”

The corner of his mouth lifted again. But this smile wasn’t playful. It was heavier. Warmer.

“Someone who sees the world like I do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who carries fire and shadow in equal measure—and doesn’t run from either.”

The room felt hot suddenly, though the snow still clung to the edges of the windows. My heart drummed painfully against my ribs, loud enough I was sure he could hear it.

Neither of us moved. The silence stretched—charged and breathless.

He reached out slowly, brushing a damp strand of hair from my temple. His fingers grazed my skin with maddening gentleness, and I couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath that escaped me.

“You should tell me to leave,” he said softly.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Not yet.

“You should tell me to leave, little raven,” he said again, voice low and rough—smoke over silk. But there was no conviction in it. Only temptation.

I didn’t move.

The air between us coiled tight, thick with tension, the kind that shimmered just before a storm broke. My breath hitched in my throat, camisole rising with the rhythm I couldn’t control.

“And miss the chance to see you lose your composure?” I asked, my voice soft, laced with a challenge I didn’t entirely believe I wanted to win. “Not likely.”

Samael’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous. The kind of smile that promised ruin and begged you to chase it anyway.

“You think this is me undone?” he murmured, stepping closer. One calculated step at a time. “Elvana…” His gaze swept over me like a touch. “I haven’t even started to unravel.”

He stopped inches from me—close enough for the heat of his body to blur the space between. The amulet at my throat pulsed once, caught in the charged gravity of him, but I couldn’t look away.

I didn’t want to.

The way he said my name coiled around my spine like silk and heat.

He moved another step closer, the scent of frost and sandalwood clinging to his clothes. I held my ground, though everything in me was pulsing with tension. Awareness.

You’re the one breathing like we’re still in the dueling ring,” he said, voice curling around me like smoke from a dying flame.

“Maybe that’s because you’ve cornered me again,” I replied, biting my lip before the words had a chance to cool.

His eyes caught the motion—burned into it—and something dark flickered there. Amusement, yes, but threaded with heat. “If I have,” he murmured, “you haven’t exactly tried to escape.”

Another step.

Then another.

The space between us vanished like breath in winter, until I could see the subtle sheen along his collarbone, the way his lashes cast shadows against cheekbones sharp enough to cut.

“I haven’t done anything—yet,” he said.

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a warning.

It was a promise.

Low. Wicked. Inevitable.

My pulse tripped hard beneath my skin.

He was close enough now that I could see the faint scar cutting cleanly along his jawline under the stubble, the glint of emerald threading the dark of his irises. There was a dangerous stillness to him—coiled, controlled, as if he were holding himself back by sheer will.

Waiting.

Watching.

And knowing exactly what he was doing.

His gaze lingered on my mouth for a fraction too long before lifting to meet my eyes again—no longer teasing, but sharp. Focused.

“You should know something,” he said, quieter now—like the words might break if spoken too loud.

The air thickened. Not cold— weighted. Like a storm holding its breath.

I didn’t speak. I let the silence stretch, let him fill it.

“I have a past,” he said finally, each syllable deliberate. “Not the kind people whisper about over tea. The kind they lock behind warded doors. The kind that stains.”

His hand hovered near my arm, close enough to feel the heat of it but not enough to touch. A line drawn in shadow. An invitation. A warning.

“There’s blood on my name, Elvana. Not all mine. But enough.”

I studied him—how still he was, how carefully he watched me. Not daring to hope. Not wanting pity. Just… offering the truth.

And maybe, offering me the choice.

I took it.

I stepped closer, closing the space with the press of a breath, tilting my head just enough to meet his gaze.

“Do you think I scare that easily?” I murmured.

His eyes burned. Disbelief warred with something older. Deeper. Hunger.

“You should,” he said.

“But I don’t.”

I reached up, fingers brushing the open edge of his collar—tracing warmth, tracing fire. His pulse kicked beneath my touch.

And still, he didn’t move.

He was letting me decide.

“Darkness isn’t foreign to me, Sam. I’ve lived with it. Danced with it. I don’t need saving from it, and I sure as hell don’t need someone shielding me from theirs.”

His breath caught—so subtle it might’ve gone unnoticed.

But I noticed.

Then his hand was at my neck, warm and deliberate. His thumb grazed the hollow of my throat, lingering just above the frantic beat of my pulse like it belonged there.

His other hand slid to the small of my back, slow and certain, drawing me toward him inch by aching inch—until our bodies were almost flush and the only space left was charged, electric.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said, voice raw and reverent. “You walk into my silence… and set it on fire.”