Chapter 4 – Claim Me

POV: Seraphina Marcell

The room is heavy with warmth and the faint scent of rain-soaked cedar.

I can feel my pulse in my throat, a tremor that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with Alex’s hands on my skin.

He kisses like someone trying to erase a memory, slow, deliberate, a little desperate. Every touch feels like it’s made of questions neither of us wants to answer.

“Seraphina,” he murmurs against my neck. My name sounds different when he says it. Not like the polished version people use at fundraisers or family dinners, but like something softer, like it belongs to him.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper.

He doesn’t. His hand slides to the small of my back, guiding me closer, and the world outside disappears. No glass walls. No raised voices. No shattering vases. Just the sound of his heartbeat, unsteady and human.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. “You sure?”

The question hangs between us, a fragile thread. I nod before I can second-guess it.

He searches my face, eyes dark, conflicted, then leans in again, his lips finding mine in a kiss that feels like surrender and defiance all at once. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, grounding myself in him, in now.

Every thought that used to matter, the fight, the blood, the perfume, fades.

I just want to be claimed.

To stop being the girl watching from the sidelines of her own life.

He breathes my name again, like a confession. His touch deepens, guiding, coaxing, taking, and I let him. Because for once, I don’t want to think. I just want to feel something that isn’t fear.

His jacket falls to the floor. My pulse drowns out the rain. The only light in the room comes from the streetlamps seeping through the blinds, striping his face in gold and shadow.

“Look at me,” he says softly.

I do.

The world tilts. My breath catches. The moment feels infinite, until the shrill vibration of my phone cuts through it.

We both freeze.

The sound is jarring, intrusive, cruel in its timing. I blink, disoriented, as Alex mutters something under his breath. His hand is still on my hip, the other pressed against the mattress.

The ringtone continues, slicing through the haze we’d built.

He glances at the phone on the nightstand. “Don’t answer it,” he says quietly.

I frown. “Why not?”

“Because I want you here. With me.”

His tone is low, almost pleading, but something in it feels… off.

“It might be important,” I say, reaching for the phone.

He exhales, sitting back slightly, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “Fine.”

I grab the phone, flipping it over. The name glowing on the screen makes my chest tighten.

Avery.

I hesitate. She never calls this late.

I glance at Alex, whose expression flickers for just a fraction of a second, something sharp and unreadable passing through his eyes before he masks it.

“Answer,” he says. “It’s fine.”

But it doesn’t sound fine.

I swipe to pick up the call, my voice unsteady. “Hey, Ave.”

“Phina?” Her tone is soft, concerned. “Are you okay?”

I glance at Alex again. He’s watching me, silent, expression unreadable.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why?”

“I just… I heard something earlier. You texted me weird before you left the house, remember? I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

I force a laugh, trying to steady my voice. “I’m fine. Just needed to get away for a bit.”

“Where are you?”

“With Alex.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

There’s a pause on the line, brief, but heavy enough to feel.

“Oh,” she says finally, her voice a little too bright. “That’s… good. He’s probably taking care of you then.”

Something in her tone makes me sit up a little straighter. “Yeah. He is.”

Alex looks away, running a hand through his hair, pretending to busy himself with the rumpled sheets.

Avery laughs softly. “I know how he gets when he’s worried. He probably rushed over the second you called.”

“He did.”

I study him as she speaks, the way his shoulders stiffen, how he won’t meet my eyes now. The memory hits me again: the smear of blood on his wrist. The faint trace of her perfume clinging to his collar.

I shake it off. Not now. Not when everything inside me is still raw and half-alive.

Avery’s voice softens again. “I just wanted to check on you, okay? Don’t let your parents get to you. Call me tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I whisper.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Goodnight, Phina.”

“Goodnight.”

The call ends. Silence presses in again, louder than before.

Alex leans back against the headboard, watching me carefully. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, even though my throat feels tight. “She was just checking in.”

He nods once, eyes flicking to the phone still in my hand. “You two talk a lot, huh?”

I frown. “We’ve been best friends since high school.”

He forces a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Right.”

I set the phone down, trying to ignore the unease creeping up my spine. The air feels different now, not colder, just… heavier.

He reaches for me again, fingertips brushing my arm. “Come here.”

I hesitate, then move closer. His touch is gentler now, slower, like he’s trying to erase the interruption. His lips find mine again, but something in me is elsewhere, listening for an echo, a lie, a clue in the quiet.

For a second, I swear I still smell it, Avery’s perfume, faint but there.

He whispers against my mouth, “Forget the call.”

I nod, though my heartbeat says otherwise.

Because forgetting feels impossible now.

The warmth of his hands doesn’t drown out the thought burning at the edge of my mind, that while I was breaking apart tonight, someone else might’ve already been with him.

And if that’s true, then maybe I was never the one being claimed at all.

The phone buzzes again on the nightstand, another message from Avery.

This time, Alex reaches over and flips it face-down before I can read it.