Page 9

9

LIORA

I should leave.

I should disappear into the nearest shadow, vanish through the cracks in the floorboards, dissolve into mist like I was never here. That’s what I’ve always done.

Instead, I sit. Still bleeding. Still shaking. Still here.

The wolf is watching me like I’m made of glass and bombs—equal parts breakable and dangerous. He hasn’t moved since he said it.

I’m not walking away.

Fool.

He should. He really, really should.

“You have a hero complex,” I murmur, tracing a finger over the rim of the chipped mug he gave me. “It’s going to get you killed.”

“I don’t think this is about me.”

I snort, low and bitter. “Everything’s about you. You just don’t know it yet.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just stands there, arms crossed, tension humming through every muscle. He’s been coiled like that since I woke up—like his body knows this is a mistake but his soul hasn’t caught up yet.

“You talk like a damn riddle box,” he says finally. “I’m trying to help, and you’re making it damn near impossible.”

“That’s the thing about help,” I reply, tone airy. “Sometimes it looks a lot like digging your own grave.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“That’s the smartest thing I’ve done all week.”

His jaw flexes.

And yeah—I’m pushing him. Hard. But it’s safer this way. If I keep him annoyed, keep him guessing, maybe he won’t see how close I am to falling apart. Because he said Seraphiel’s name like it was just another entry in a case file. No fear. No reverence. Just fact.

And that isn’t normal. It should terrify him, but yet, it doesn't.

“How do you even know who he is?” I ask, keeping my tone sharp. Accusatory. Defensive.

Dante tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “I listen. I research. I know things that most people want to pretend don’t exist.”

“That’s not something you just find in a dusty book, wolf. Seraphiel’s not in your public supernatural databases. His name’s a death sentence in most circles.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “so’s mine.”

That shouldn’t impress me.But it kind of does.

I glance down, trying to breathe past the rising heat coiling under my skin. The ache. The one I can’t explain. It's not fear, not pain, not lust exactly—it’s need. For what, I don’t even know.

“You know,” I murmur, “most people run screaming when they hear his name. And you—you stand there like you’re planning how to stab him in the throat.”

“I am.”

My gaze snaps up.

He’s not lying.

His expression is hard, unreadable. That guardian blood—yeah, it’s there. Thorne was right, as usual. I see it now, all sharp lines and unwavering calm. The kind of calm that comes before something breaks.

And it shouldn’t make my heart thud like this.

“You have no idea what he is,” I whisper.

“Then tell me.”

I open my mouth—and close it. Shake my head. “You don’t want that story.”

“I want the truth.”

“Fae don’t do well with truth,” I say, mouth twisting. “It’s sharp. Unforgiving. It never comes without a cost.”

His eyes don’t leave mine. “Then I’ll pay it.”

I hate the way those words settle under my skin.

Like a promise. Like a vow .

“Gods, you’re exhausting,” I mutter, leaning back.

“Well, let me make you something to drink and maybe then you’ll realize you’re exhausted from other things,” he says with a smart ass tone.

“I don’t do coffee, but I’ll take tea, if that’s something you even keep around here.” I could do with something warm to calm myself. Get my pulse back up. Well, at least in a way that doesn't have anything to do with him.

He turns on an electric kettle and within minutes of uncomfortable silence, he pours the boiling water into a mug. Chamomile. I can smell the honey in it. Earthy. Calming.

But I still feel off-kilter, raw. Like I peeled back a layer of myself I didn’t mean to show. His apartment hums with low wards and quiet shadows, the kind of place built for silence. It’s too honest. Too still.

I’m about to ask him for a blanket, maybe a distraction, something —when he steps forward and hands me the cup.

My fingers brush his. Only for a second, but it’s enough.

Boom.

My magic flares like a fucking explosion —not outward, but inward. Like it recognizes him. Like it wants something from him.

A spark crackles beneath my skin. Not dark fae shadow—not entirely. This is something even I don’t recognize. Deeper.

I suck in a breath so fast I almost choke on it.

He doesn’t react. He didn’t feel it. Or if he did, he’s too polite—or too smart—to mention it.

But I feel it.

The air shivers around me. The tattoos on my skin curl inward like they’re trying to hide . And somewhere in the back of my mind, Thorne’s voice echoes like a warning bell.

You are more than dark fae. There’s something ancient sleeping in you, girl. And when it wakes, it won’t ask permission. It will take.

And then Seraphiel, just days ago, and even long before that, when he first claimed me, in the cold void of my dreams:

You were made to unmake the world. And only I can wield that power. Anyone else will burn.

I grip the mug tighter, knuckles going white.

This cannot be happening. This can’t be what he meant. But it is.

I know it. I feel it. The pull I’ve blamed on fate, or magic, or desperation—it’s not just emotion. It’s function . My soul doesn’t just want him. It’s trying to connect . To fuse. To ignite something in me I’ve never let wake up before.

I can’t let that happen.

“Thanks,” I say quickly, voice stiff, pulling my hand away too fast. The mug sloshes, but I don’t spill. Barely.

His brows furrow. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I don’t meet his eyes. “Just… tea’s hot.”

Lie.

He knows it. But he lets it go. Smart man.

I stand, pacing to the window even though the blinds are closed. I need distance. Space. Control.

“Is this how you operate?” I ask, forcing levity into my tone. “Pick up strays with secrets and bring them home like wounded animals?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

I glance over my shoulder.

He’s smirking for the first time. But there’s heat in his eyes. And something else —something softer.

“Careful,” I say. “Fae don’t like compliments. They usually mean you’re trying to steal something.”

“What would I steal from you?”

My smile fades.

Everything.