“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything this delicious.” I dig the fork into the cake and take a bite that’s far too big. “Do you eat this a lot?” I ask after swallowing.
“No,” he tells me, eyes now on my mouth.
He reaches a finger toward my face.
I stop moving.
He does, too, but not for long.
His finger brushes the corner of my lips, and I don’t think I’m breathing. He pulls it away, smirking at the brown that’s now smearing his thumb, he wipes it on his thin, black shirt.
“It’s a special treat reserved only for birthdays. I’m glad you like it.” His eyes find mine again, and I’m still not breathing.
“Like might be an understatement.” I clear my throat before shoving another bite into my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I say, “about before.”
He studies me, his forehead creasing. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I glare at him, not because I’m angry, but because he’s wrong. “That’s a lie and you know it.”
“Serafina,” he begins, his voice soft, his forehead still scrunched. “I can’t pretend to know the struggles you’ve—”
“Please, don’t,” I say, needing him to stop. “I don’t want to spend the rest of what’s left of my birthday arguing with you. I’m trying toapologize, so please, just let me. Believe it or not, apologies from me don’t come around very often.” I force myself to laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
“Oh, I believe it.” He tilts his head, and I resist the urge to snap at him. “How do you normally celebrate your birthday?”
“With Char,” I blurt out, the words beckoning a wave of sadness.
This is the first birthday in years I’ve spent without him. I frown at that realization.
“Char?” he questions, and I try to push the sadness away.
“My best friend,” I explain. Another bite of moist cake finds its way to my lips. “Every birthday we spend together. And every year he gives me a present. One year, it was a whole chicken.”
I smile fondly at the memory, and the goofy grin he had when he handed me the live bird. It squawked and tried to run, but my stomach nearly caved in on itself and the last thing I was going to allow was my dinner to get away.
“Another year, it was a knife.” I rub my leg, the spot where my blade had always been since the day he gave it to me. I silently curse myself for allowing Norin to become its new owner. “I still don’t know how he got it. He would never tell me.”
It was late when Char came to my door. His hair was a mess, and dirt was splattered across his sharp features. He was panting, looking over his shoulder before pushing into my home. I had a lot of questions, but he answered none of them. Instead, he placed the blade in my hand and told me to never leave my house without it.
Up until a few days ago, I’d done exactly that.
“We take care of each other.” I pause because that’s not the truth. “He takes care of me,” I correct.
“You don’t strike me as someone who needs to be taken care of.”
My eyes lock on his, and he looks like he really means what he says.
“What makes you say that?” I ask, needing to know if there’s truth behind his words.
“Other than that fiery temper of yours?” He raises a brow, and my heart sinks.
My fucking temper.
Char never fails to remind me how much he hates it. How much it makes him worry about me,fearfor me. And here Jax is…basically saying the same thing.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” he demands, his lips tilting down, and I swear the shadow behind himmoves. “Your temper, Serafina, is not a fault. It’s not a flaw or a weakness. That temper, thatfiercenesswithin you, the way you stand up for yourself, using that quick tongue of yours to fight your battles, even against me.” He shakes his head on a laugh. It’s bitter, raw, and real. “It’s what’ll keep you alive long after your third trial is over. You’re more than what people see. Or at least, more than what youthinkthey see. But that’s what you don’t understand—”
“Don’t understand…” My voice is hardly a whisper, my heart pounding so loudly I can barely hear myself speak. The room feels like it’s narrowing, closing in, and all of my focus, all of my attention, is onhim.
