Page 67 of The Rebel and the Rose (The City of Fantome #2)
Ransom had been dead. He was sure of it.
One moment, he was as cold as ice on the riverbank, breathing in the scent of lemon blossoms that clung to Seraphine’s skin for the final time.
Feeling that tug in his chest growing weaker.
Then his heart had stopped, the world dimming to the cracked whisper of her voice:
I love you .
Come back to me .
He would have given anything. Everything . But there was nothing left to offer. No air to breathe, no blood to pump. No spark of life.
And then—
Deep in the blackness of oblivion, the sun rose over the waters of his soul. It was a gift this light. A second chance at life.
I love you .
Come back to me .
And something more. Something ancient and powerful waking in the deepest part of him – magic bloomed in the dark reaches of his soul. And it whispered, Live .
He woke to a wash of bright light, and the face of the woman he loved. Seraphine was more beautiful now than she had ever been, her face like a painting on the canvas of his heart. He hated the tears that marred her cheeks, the pain breaking her voice.
The strange power inside him grew, yawning through his blood and bones.
Saint , said the old voice.
Welcome to the game .
Shadows crawled over them, dimming the light of her handprint on his chest. Seraphine’s eyes were wide in the sudden dark, the whites of them glowing like moons.
She clutched his shoulders, pulling him upright.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, anchoring her to him.
He was surprised at his strength, at how easily he could pull her into his lap.
She trembled against him, some new fear stealing the colour from her cheeks. Her gaze shifted to something over his shoulder, her mouth forming a soundless word: monsters .
Yes , purred that voice inside Ransom.
The darkness rippled, the shadows dividing into forms. Beasts.
Each one, huge and strange and snarling.
The largest of them prowled back and forth like a panther, with long, pointed ears and sharp, slender fangs.
In the water, a serpent made of dark mist raised its dragon-like head to watch them.
Wolves moved along the strand, stretching their wide shadowy backs, and overhead a shadow-falcon with razor talons circled lower.
Seraphine buried her face in his chest.
Ransom held her tighter, whispering, ‘It’s all right. They won’t hurt us.’
‘They look just like your drawings,’ she said, half muffled. ‘Your nightmares.’
Ransom felt himself smile. ‘They are my nightmares.’
Only he was not afraid of them now. Unnerving as they were, the shadow beasts bore no threat to him. They were woven from his own imagination. Their forms born from this new power in his soul.
Not light, like Seraphine.
But darkness. Dreams and shadow. The two halves of Ransom’s existence, the good and bad, combining to form an entirely unexpected power.
A Saint of Nightmares.
Twin serpents curled around his ankles, hissing softly. The sound, the weight of them, was as real as adders, those black fangs just as deadly.
‘They’re mine, Seraphine,’ he said, against her hair. ‘They answer to me.’
Slowly, she pulled back, raising her cautious gaze to him. He glimpsed the golden sheen of his own eyes in the reflection of her wide black pupils. Cupping her face with gentle hands, he brushed his nose against hers. ‘I promise, they will never hurt you.’
But they will kill for you .
I will kill for you .
Already attuned to his desires, the shadows peeled away from them, rearranging themselves in a circle, facing the river and its tributaries. A wall of beasts, ready to strike at his command.
‘They’re yours?’ she said, pulling back. ‘You created them?’
‘With your help,’ he said, ‘Saint-maker.’ First Lark and now Ransom. A power so great that Andreas coveted it above all others. ‘I guess you didn’t mean to do it?’
She shook her head. ‘I meant to save you. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.’ She was crying again. He tugged her close, pressing his lips against her hair. She turned her face to his, seizing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.
His heart thrummed, the beasts around them settling. Contented.
‘Saint of Nightmares,’ she murmured, echoing in his thoughts.
‘Are they growing on you?’
She paled as the serpent slithered towards her. With a flick of his finger, Ransom sent it away. ‘I’m sure they will,’ she said, a little sheepishly.
He turned from her, squinting into the darkness. ‘Andreas’s soldiers seem to have retreated for now. It won’t be long before they regroup.’
‘We need to keep moving,’ said Sera, gripped by the same growing urgency.
They rolled to their feet, their strength renewed by the magic that had passed between them. Pulling her into the heat of his body, Ransom raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there. ‘Ready, spitfire?’
Sera smiled, twining her fingers with his. ‘For this, and whatever comes after.’
And then they were running, hand in hand, a swarm of shadow beasts gathering at their backs.