Page 45 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)

Ransom was vibrating with rage when Sera reached him. She lunged, pressing her hands against his chest. ‘Don’t you dare.’ She had to shout over the music to be heard. ‘Remember our deal!’

Grimacing, he paused to look down at her. ‘He put his fucking hands on you.’

‘A finger,’ she said, pushing him back.

He conceded a step. ‘That’s one finger too many, spitfire.’

The prince’s overfamiliarity had taken her by surprise too. But she was not about to murder him over it. ‘There was nothing in it. Andreas has a flair for dramatics.’

Ransom’s lips twisted, all that latent anger still thrumming against her palms. The prince had slipped away with his mercenaries but there was no telling when he would return, or what Ransom might do with him when he did.

Yanking the silver chain on his waistcoat, Sera dragged him into a nearby alcove, where they were hidden by a teeming bouquet of pink roses.

‘Calm down. You’re like a volcano that’s about to erupt. ’

‘I am calm,’ he said, working to keep his voice even. ‘I’m so fucking calm.’

‘And so convincing,’ she teased, working the dagger from his grip and sliding it back into his pocket. He let her do it, watching her hands with rapt attention. ‘I told you I would be all right.’

He nodded slowly, relinquishing his Shade next. ‘Yeah…’ He rubbed the spot between his brows, trailing off. ‘I thought he… I don’t know what I thought.’

‘You were jealous,’ she said, hooking her finger around the chain on his waistcoat.

‘Obviously.’

‘And we don’t kill people out of jealousy.’

His brows lowered. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘Not tonight there isn’t.’

‘Give me another reason then.’

‘I can’t.’ And she was relieved. ‘Our conversation went… well. He’s not at all like the king made him seem.

He’s human .’ But they had barely scratched the surface, and she was eager to know more about him.

About what he could do for her. And more than that, Bibi.

‘I need more time with him. So if you could refrain from stabbing Valterre’s favourite new saint for just a little longer… ’

He looked pained at the very suggestion. ‘I have a bad feeling about him. About this place. The way he looks at you. The way he looked at me .’

‘That’s because he knows what you are, Ransom.’

‘I don’t fucking doubt it.’

‘You’re worked up, that’s all.’

‘Everyone in this place is worked up,’ he pointed out. ‘It feels like we’re stuck on a carnival ride.’

Huffing now, Sera dragged her fingers through her hair, anxiously pulling at the loose curls. She envied the dancers twirling around them. She wanted to laugh like the table of women nearby, wanted to drink something heady and strong, and damn the consequences.

‘Maybe that’s our problem.’ Thinking too much.

Worrying about every little thing. For once, she wanted to lose herself in a moment, to breathe in the intoxicating fumes of Marvale and float above her worries.

And she didn’t want to do it alone. Feeling bolder, reckless and aching for something she knew only he could give her, she slid her hands up his chest, raising her lips to his ear.

‘Maybe we both need to relax and enjoy the ride.’

He blinked in surprise, some of that coiled tension rolling off him. ‘Are you intending to distract me from my own murderous thoughts, Seraphine?’

‘That depends,’ she said, leaning in. ‘Is it working?’

‘I’m not sure. Keep going,’ he said, sinking into that easy heat between them.

All that aggression towards Andreas twisted, redirected now to other primal urges.

Ones she was eager to indulge. He traced his thumb along her lower lip, smudging the rouging there.

All around them, the sweet smoke thickened, the music pulsing along her skin until it felt like the entire dance hall was pressing in on them.

Pulling on the chain of his waistcoat, she dragged him further into the alcove.

She laid her head back against the wall, spell-struck by the ravenous look in his eyes. ‘You’re the only one I ever want to touch me, Ransom.’

Lust snatched the air between them, those eyes drinking her down. His broad hands circled her waist, tracing the boning of her corset. ‘Where, spitfire?’

A gentle tug made her feathered scarf give way. It made a puddle between them, revealing the creamy slope of her shoulders and the column of her neck. ‘Here,’ she said, arching for him.

Sliding his hands through her hair, he leaned down to kiss her neck. Sera’s lids fluttered, a familiar heat gathering inside her as he deftly worked his way up, tonguing the spot beneath her ear.

All thought eddied away. She forgot all about the prince and the king and the small matter of her own destiny.

Her breath grew harsh and fast as he dragged his mouth down the column of her neck, lightly nipping, then laving with languid strokes of his tongue.

He was teasing her, and she was melting for him, desperate for his hands on her body.

Just a handful of minutes to feel – just feel – and not think.

And, oh, she felt . So much that she found herself unravelling, her own hunger taking over as she reached for the buttons on his shirt.

Not here .

She gripped his waistcoat. ‘Let’s go back to the Paramour. Now.’

‘Spitfire.’ His eyes darkening, he pulled back to look at her. ‘I am dangerously close to using Shade to clear this whole place out.’

She nipped at her smile. ‘Less murder, more kissing.’

‘What about the prince?’

‘Later,’ she said. There was no telling when Andreas would be back, and now that that they were acquainted, she had time for this. Time for Ransom.

They abandoned the alcove. Sera grabbed Val on the dance floor, telling her she was heading back to the inn. Let the others follow at their leisure, though it seemed they were sinking into the spirit of Marvale just as keenly as she was.

Tomorrow, they could be rebels.

Tonight, they could be free.

The journey back to the Paramour was really more of a feverish sprint, both of them barely able to keep her hands off each other as they raced through the winding streets.

Time skipped and swirled and then they were alone, holed up in Ransom’s bedroom at the Paramour Inn.

Moonlight slipped through the drapes and fractured across the walls as Sera crossed to the window.

She was suddenly nervous, her heart so full, she could feel it in her throat.

There was a sense of destiny about this night.

She couldn’t help feeling like they were teetering on the precipice of something new and vital, that their time at Marvale was going to change everything.

Parting the drapes, she watched the red mills turning high on the hills, those red lights casting a crimson glow across the town. She could hear the music all the way from here. It sounded like freedom.

Treading softly, Ransom came to stand behind her. ‘Everything dances here.’ He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. ‘Even the moonlight.’

Smiling, she turned her face up to his. ‘Feels like a good omen.’

His hands skimmed her bare shoulders, each feather-light stroke firing every nerve ending in her skin. A familiar warmth rippled down her spine, her magic unfurling in her chest like a preening cat. It was enamoured with Ransom.

She was enamoured.

‘Thank you for standing down tonight,’ she murmured. ‘For trusting me. For waiting for me.’

He canted his head to look at her. ‘I’ll always wait for you, Seraphine.’

She blinked up at him, the words tripping out before she could stop them. ‘I thought that once before.’

His brows knitted. ‘Things are different now.’

‘Are they?’ she said, her hope a whisper between them.

‘Now I know what it’s like to go without you.

’ The world dimmed to the honeyed light of his eyes, and the way his thick dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

‘There is no Order, no allegiance, no amount of power that’s worth that.

’ He lifted a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear, trailing his finger along her jaw.

Voice hoarse, he said, ‘I am not a good man, Seraphine, but I can be good to you.’

She felt the truth in every word. Fingering the skull ring on his left hand, she said, ‘What will you be, if not a Dagger?’

His smile was slow and secretive, a flicker of white in the moonlight. ‘Bastian, I suppose.’

Yes , her heart screamed. She loved the way he said his own name, as if he was reclaiming it. It felt like a new promise between them.

‘You might miss it, you know,’ she teased, letting him turn her from the window. ‘Being my enemy.’

He rested on the sill, pulling her into him. ‘I was never really your enemy, though, was I?’

She tugged on that silver chain. ‘I can distinctly remember a time when you definitely tried to kill me. Back when I was a thief.’

‘Then you stole the heart right out of my chest.’

Shameless flirt. ‘Maybe you are the real Silver-tongue of Marvale.’

His brow furrowed. ‘Enough about the prince. I’m only interested in one saint tonight.’

‘Please don’t ever call me that,’ she chided.

‘Do you prefer “spitfire”?’

Laughing now, she nodded. ‘I think I do.’

Outside the Paramour, the night mist thickened, blowing in from the west in lofty silver ribbons.

It felt like a curtain was falling over them, hiding them away from the rest of the world.

He moved his forefinger beneath her chin, tipping her mouth to his.

She kissed him once, soft and slow. Then again, her lips parting to welcome his tongue.

He groaned at the first brush, like a dying man slaked of thirst.

She arched towards him, and he deepened their kiss, the hungry press of his mouth dizzying her thoughts. He pulled her closer, and she crawled onto his lap. Pressing her hands against the window behind him, she claimed his mouth, wrenching another deep moan from him. No sweeter music.