Even I, despite everything I had seen in this cursed existence, went still. I had witnessed quick healing before—my own wounds mending faster than mortal men’s—but nothing like this. This was instantaneous, unnatural, beyond anything even Séraphine had ever encountered.
Séraphine stepped back, satisfaction curling at the edges of her lips. She turned, moving with deliberate grace toward one of her shelves. Glass vials clinked softly as she searched, finally pulling free a slender syringe that shimmered darkly in the dim candlelight. The tool gleamed between her fingers as she turned back to Nerina, golden eyes alight with curiosity. "A vessel such as yours requires somethin’ more precise."
Nerina stiffened as she eyed the syringe, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides. I stepped forward, barely restraining myself. “You said just a taste.”
Séraphine didn’t look at me. "And this is merely that."
My entire body tensed as she reached for Nerina’s arm, rolling back her sleeve.
Just as Séraphine uncapped the syringe, I saw it—the quick flicker of fear in Nerina’s eyes. It wasn’t the blood. It wasn’t the pain.
It was the needle.
She stiffened, going rigid like she was preparing for death. But before I could say anything, her hand found mine without hesitation.
Small. Cold. Shaking just enough that I could feel it in my bones. I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.
There was a moment—half a heartbeat, half a lifetime—where my instincts screamed to pull away. To retreat behind centuries of practiced distance.
But the way her hand trembled, the way her eyes clung to mine—Saints, she wasn’t just reaching for comfort. She was reaching for me.
In that moment, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
It felt foreign—being someone’s safety instead of their ruin. To have someone reaching for me instead of pulling away.
I didn’t squeeze—just let her hold on. Ground herself. Let her know I was here.
She’s gone up against Shadow Sirens and a leviathan. Trains and lives with a crew of cursed pirates on a ship that shouldn’t exist. But the sight of a needle has her hand in mine like I’m the only solid thing left in the world. The thought makes me chuckle—soft and silent, buried under the weight of everything else. She’ll stare down monsters without blinking, but gods forbid a spider crawls too close or someone brings a syringe too close.
Séraphine gave me a knowing glance but didn’t comment. Just swabbed Nerina’s arm. Nerina flinched, her fingers tightening in mine—but she didn’t look away.
Scared, but brave even in the small things.
The moment the needle pierced her skin, the air shifted again. The candles flickered violently, shadows twisting in unnatural patterns against the walls. The very foundation of the shop seemed to groan, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver down my spine.
Nerina gasped, her body tensing. Her mark ignited.
A soft glow pulsed at her forehead, faint at first but growing brighter, swirling with the same silver luminescence that now filled the vial. It shimmered, shifting like ink spilled in water, the lines twisting, reforming, reacting to her distress. The mark burned against her skin, yet she didn’t cry out—her lips merely parted, her breath coming in ragged, uneven draws.
Séraphine’s eyes snapped to the glow. "Fascinatin’…" she murmured, though whether it was admiration or calculation, I couldn’t tell.
I barely heard her. All my attention was on Nerina—on the way her fingers trembled, on the way she clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay still. To stay calm despite her fear.
I watched Séraphine seal the vial, her hands steady, her mouth set in that same knowing smirk that used to undo me. Séraphine’s touch was clinical now, impersonal—just glass and ritual and the scent of burnt myrrh lingering in the air.
Nerina’s fingers were still wrapped around mine—tight, trembling, trusting.
And I wondered… what would she think, if she knew who I used to be? What I’d been with Séraphine. What we’d done. What I’d become, all in the name of wanting more. Would she still look at me like that? Like I was something worth reaching for? If she knew the truth.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The liquid inside the vial was like nothing I had ever seen—violet streaked with something that shimmered like molten silver, like a tiny galaxy swirling within the glass. It pulsed faintly, seeming alive, aware of being taken.
Séraphine tilted the vial, watching the way the liquid moved, her eyes alight with fascination. The scent hit me first—rich, intoxicating, unlike anything I had ever encountered. My grip tightened involuntarily, fangs pressing against my lower lip. It wasn’t just the metallic tang of blood; there was something deeper, something that sent a fierce hunger coiling through me.
I forced myself to swallow, to look away, but it was there—thick in the air, curling around my senses, demanding to be noticed. The sheer power in it was suffocating. I had known hunger before. I had known need. But this? This was something else entirely.
Séraphine’s eyes widened. Her fingers curled around the vial, almost reverently. "Now that… that is truly special."
A chill ran down my spine. I didn’t like this—any of it. I knew Séraphine. She never let something this valuable slip through her fingers. And the look in her eyes told me she had just confirmed something she had suspected since we fell through her front door.
