Page 28

28

SERAPHINE

T he first thing I notice is how quiet it is.

No alarms, no sirens, no pulse of oncoming magic like a pressure headache. Just warmth. And the weight of Jackson’s arm slung across my waist.

The bedroom is still dark, the curtains pulled half-shut against the gray light trying to bleed through. But his body’s warm against mine, his breathing steady. Grounding. Real.

My hand rests over his on my stomach, thumb brushing across his knuckles like maybe I could memorize the story there, even if he never tells it out loud.

For one fragile second, I’m happy.

Like really, actually, dangerously happy. And that terrifies me more than any prophecy ever could. Because I know what happens to things I love.

They’re taken. Ripped. Used. Burned.

But I also know something else, something deeper than fear.

I can’t turn back. Not now. Not after the way he looked at me in the rain. Like I was worth loving even if it killed him.

I shift slightly, enough to see him more clearly.

He’s still asleep, lips parted just a little, hair mussed from the pillow. His shirt’s somewhere on the floor. I can feel his heartbeat through my back.

This man. This human .

The key to something ancient and terrible. But also... the key to whatever’s left of me.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Then his.

We both groan at the same time, and he mutters something that sounds like “Is it legal to shoot a notification?”

I reach out, grab my phone, squint at the screen. Then I go cold.

Jackson’s already reading his too. He shifts, sits up against the headboard, the sheet sliding off his chest.

“Refuge hit,” he mutters. “Fuck.”

I nod once. “Gideon’s Torch.”

His jaw tightens. “Again.”

“Every time we sleep together,” I say, dragging a hand down my face, “something explodes.”

“Should we take that as a sign?”

“Yeah,” I groan. “A very bad one.”

His phone rings. Mine buzzes again.

Halbrook.

Jackson answers before I can.

“This better be a prank.” A pause. His face hardens. “We’re on our way.”

He hangs up, already grabbing clothes from the floor. “They hit the Stone Haven enclave. Wards failed.”

My stomach drops. “That’s one of the few sanctuaries left with mixed-blood protections.”

He nods grimly. “Not anymore.”

We drive fast.

The city blurs past in shades of gray and flashing red.

Jackson’s jaw is set, his eyes focused like he’s already counting the dead.

I sit rigid in the passenger seat, fingers twitching with shadow-magic I don’t dare cast in public. My hair’s still damp from the night before, pulled into a messy braid down my back. The bond between us hums low and steady, a background vibration I’ve stopped pretending to ignore.

This is our life now. War between kisses. Fires between soft things.

And still, we go.

Stone Haven looks like it was swallowed whole and spit back out in pieces.

The once-beautiful stone archways are cracked and scorched. Magical residue sizzles in the air. There are bodies near the entrance—shifters, witches, a vamp elder I recognize by her shattered signet.

They were caught off guard. This was meant to cause pain.

Jackson barrels through the chaos like a goddamn storm. He barks orders, helps an old troll off the ground, and doesn’t hesitate to shoot the bastard who charges us with a flaming sigil pressed to his chest.

I move beside him, magic surging from my palms, shadows lashing out to strike down the next wave.

We don’t talk. We fight.

We’re in sync in a way I never thought possible. His gun follows where my magic leads. My wards snap up just in time to block the spell that would’ve burned through his ribs.

He glances at me once, mid-battle.

I nod.

He smirks.

And we move.

When the last attacker flees into the smoke and the echoes of gunfire finally die, we’re left in a ruin of what used to be safety.

Children are crying.

Old magic whimpers beneath our boots, cut off too early.

Jackson turns to me, blood spattered on his jaw, eyes still blazing.

“You good?”

“Alive,” I say, stepping closer.

We stand in the middle of the wreckage—scorched earth, bleeding walls, silence ringing loud.

“You still think we’re cursed?” he asks.

I breathe out. Then, despite everything, I lean in close enough for only him to hear.

“No,” I say. “I think we’re inevitable. ”