Seraphina
I stood watching Kael's form disappear down the corridor.
The heat from our conversation still lingered in the atmosphere.
Cold air washed over my body, breaking me from the spell that Kael's company bound me to.
I stepped back into the room and locked the door. Taking deep breaths, I made my way to my bed once again. I didn't need anyone to tell me that it was going to be a long night.
I sat there for a few seconds, staring at the closed door like it might open again.
The heat from our conversation hadn't dissipated; it had simply shifted, curling into my chest and settling somewhere deep in my gut.
I exhaled slowly, pressing my palms against the wood, grounding myself. "Get a grip, Seraphina," I muttered.
My voice sounded too small in the silence of the room.
The chill from the air conditioning brushed against my skin, and only then did I realize how aware I was of my body.
The lingering sensation on my neck, the way my chest rose and fell a little too fast, the ache in my thighs from standing so still.
He had that effect.
Annoyingly calm, unreadable, yet every move he made carried weight. Even when he wasn't doing anything, he managed to command the space around him.
It wasn't fair. No one had that much control.
The smell of the satin sheets filled my nose. They smelled faintly of my perfume, but now they felt foreign… like the room itself had shifted after he'd been here.
I buried my face in my hands. "What the hell is wrong with me?"
I wasn't supposed to care. Not about him. Not about his bleeding shoulder or the way he'd looked at me like I was a problem and a puzzle he couldn't solve.
Not about the way he and Cleo…
I tried to cut off that thought and tried to remember our conversation.
The way his voice dropped when he spoke, it was low, measured, and almost dangerous. It felt too familiar, but I couldn't quite place my finger on why I felt that way.
Whatever it was, the reality of it crawled under my skin, dragging thoughts I shouldn't be having to the surface.
I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The shadows played tricks with the dim light, and for a moment, I could almost imagine his silhouette standing by the door again—tall, steady, too composed for someone carrying that much tension.
I turned on my side, annoyed at myself for even thinking about it. "It's just an attraction," I whispered.
"That's all it is."
But even that felt like a dangerous admission.
Attraction was fine when it was distant, harmless—something you could control, like a fleeting glance or a passing thought.
But this wasn't that. This felt like standing too close to a fire and pretending you wouldn't get burned.
The image of Cleo's hands on him flashed across my mind before I could stop it, and my stomach twisted.
The sound, the way his voice had deepened. I had heard enough to know what they were doing, and worse, how much he'd been into it.
I rolled over, gripping the sheets tighter. My body betrayed me with every memory. The flush crept up my neck, the pulse between my thighs stubbornly alive.
I hated it. Hated that he could make me feel this way without even touching me.
A part of me wanted to blame him for his arrogance, his sharpness, the way he always seemed in control. But the truth was simpler, uglier.
I was attracted to him.
Not in the sweet, romantic way movies liked to pretend desire looked like, but raw, physical, messy.
The kind that you knew would end badly, but you wanted it anyway.
I shut my eyes tight, trying to drown the thoughts, but they only sharpened. The heat in my stomach spread lower; I pressed my thighs together, hating myself for it.
Stop it. This wasn't who I was. I wasn't the kind of girl who got flustered over a man; especially not one like him.
Kael was chaos disguised as discipline. A man who'd lived too much, seen too much. The type that carried violence in his silence. That much was clear after today's attack.
But beneath all that cold restraint, there was something else; perhaps something enticing that drew me in. Like I could sense the danger pulsing under his skin but a part of me wanted to be the only one capable of controlling his mind and body.
I ran a hand through my hair and sat up again. The clock by the bedside read past midnight. The air felt thicker now, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
I needed to do something, anything to clear my head.
I got up and paced the room, my reflection catching in the mirror by the dresser.
My pink lingerie clung to me, the fabric tracing the outline of every thought I was trying to suppress.
Maybe that was why he looked at me the way he did.
The way his gaze had flicked over my body; slow, deliberate, but with a kind of control that was almost worse than hunger. Like he was daring himself not to react.
I should've been offended, but instead, the memory sent another shiver down my spine.
I stopped pacing, gripping the edge of the dresser.
My heart wouldn't settle. Every nerve felt alive and burning.
"God, you're losing it," I whispered to my reflection.
The woman staring back looked nothing like me. She had flushed cheeks, messy hair, eyes darker than usual.
There was no mistaking the frustration in her face.
I sighed and sat back down on the bed, pulling the duvet over myself. Maybe sleep would dull it. Maybe by morning, everything would make sense again.
I lay on my bed, counting down to the moment when sleep would finally elude me. The stress and emotional turmoil of the day's events caused me to sink into a deep slumber.
I soaked myself in the forgetfulness of what happened, and the warm arms of sleep embraced me until I fell into a nightmare.
I dreamt of the masked man again. But this time, we were back at the shooting scene and he was holding a gun.
He stood, his gaze filled with rage and resentment. It took me a moment to realize his gun was tilted towards my direction—and I was the target. I tried to run, but I was glued to the spot.
The sound of a gunshot rippled through the air and my eyes flung open, beads of sweat coursing down my cheeks.