Chapter 4: Mom, What Is in It?

SERAPHINA

I pulled the silk scarf tight over the stone, but the light leaked through like water through a thin cloth.

"Why is the room silver?" Alaric mumbled from the bed, his voice rough and dazed.

"It is the moon," I whispered, low and rough, so he would not know my voice. "It is coming through the window."

"The curtains are closed."

"Then it is a very determined moon."

He laughed weakly. "Isadora never makes jokes."

"People change."

"Do they?" His voice was thick with fever. "That is the first thing you have said tonight that I believe."

"Come here," he said, reaching blindly into the dark.

I crossed the room and sat beside him. His hand found mine, his long fingers wrapping around my palm, pulling me closer. "Your hands are small."

"Yes."

"Isadora's hands are not small." He pulled my wrist upward, his thumb moving across my skin. "I cannot smell you. I cannot see you. The wine took everything. But my wolf will not stop talking."

"What is he saying?"

"One word. Over and over." He swallowed hard. "Take off the mask."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because if you see me, you will stop."

"What if I want to stop?"

"Do you?"

A long pause hung between us. His hand slid from my wrist up to my cheek, his broad palm burning against my skin. "No."

He pulled me down, his mouth finding mine in the dark. It was a slow, deep kiss that stole the air from my lungs, tasting of bitter wine and heat. I should have run, but he was warm and shaking, his large frame radiating an intense fever.

"Do you ever pretend, Isadora?" he murmured against my lips, his hands trailing down to my shoulders.

"Every day."

"Pretend with me tonight."

"Pretend what?"

"That we are only two wolves in the dark."

His fingers moved over my back, tracing the line of my spine until the gray scarf loosened and fell away. The moment the silk slipped, the moonstone blazed. A brilliant wave of pale blue light flooded the room, rippling across the ceiling like liquid silver.

"What is that?" he breathed, his eyes heavy as he looked at the glowing stone on my collarbone.

"Moonlight," I whispered.

He pulled me flush against his chest, his broad hands sliding beneath my waist. The heat of his body pressed against mine, setting every nerve on fire. His lips trailed down my jaw, biting gently at my throat before sweeping over my pulse point. A sharp, breathless gasp escaped me as his weight settled between my thighs.

"Are you afraid?" he rasped, his touch growing possessive, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled my mouth back to his.

"Of tomorrow," I whimpered into his mouth.

"Tomorrow can wait."

His hands moved over my hips with heavy, urgent pressure, pulling me tight against his rising heat. Every touch was electric, consuming me completely until the line between who I was and who he thought I was dissolved entirely in the dark.

The heavy oak door creaked open.

A thin line of yellow hallway light cut across the floor. I froze, my heart dropping into my stomach. A figure stood in the doorway in a long white gown, her platinum hair shining under the sconces. Her scent reached me before her voice ever could—white jasmine and cold snow.

Isadora.

She did not move. Her clear blue eyes went to the silver light blazing on my collarbone, then to the white feather mask on my face, then to Alaric's broad hands holding me against him.

"It never glowed for me," she whispered softly.

I could not breathe. Alaric turned his head toward the sound, blind and confused. "Isadora?" he mumbled.

She stared at me for a long moment, her face perfectly still, but behind her calm exterior, something shattered.

"Sleep well, Alaric," she said quietly.

The door clicked shut, sealing us back in the silver dark.

"She came," Alaric slurred, his grip tightening around my waist as he pulled me back down to his chest. "She is here."

"Hush," I whispered, my voice trembling. "She left."

"Why?"

"I do not know."

He pulled me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my bare skin. "Stay."

"I cannot."

"Please. Stay until the moon sets."

"I promise," I lied into his shoulder.

After that, I stopped thinking about masks and manors. I lost myself in the searing heat of his skin, the heavy press of his body, and the way he held me like I was something he refused to lose. Somewhere in the deep dark, he murmured a name that was not mine, and for one stolen night, I let myself believe it belonged to me.

Gray light crept under the curtains.

Alaric slept beside me, one heavy arm thrown over my waist, his breathing deep and even. The moonstone lay quiet on my collarbone. The white feather mask lay crooked on the pillow.

"What have I done?" I whispered to the silence.

He did not move.

"You called for her, and I took it. You will wake up and hate me."

Very carefully, I slid out from under his heavy arm, my legs shaking so hard I could barely stand. I dressed quickly in the cold air, wrapped the gray scarf over the stone to hide its faint shimmer, and set the feather mask on the dresser.

At the mirror, I saw a girl who had stolen one night in another woman's shadow.

"Goodbye, Alaric," I whispered. "I love you. I have always loved you."

I crossed to the door and wrapped my cold fingers around the brass handle.

"Seraphina."

I stopped dead.

His voice came from the bed, rough and half asleep, but it was not slurred. It was not confused.

"Seraphina. Wait."

I did not turn around. I could not. I pulled the heavy door open and fled into the corridor.

I ran down the long tower stairs and through the silent hallway, past the cold, empty ballroom, until I reached the bottom of the back stairwell.

My mother was standing there in the shadows, still wearing her pale gold gown, holding a small steaming ceramic cup in her hands.

"Mom."

"Where have you been?"

"Nowhere."

"Your scent says otherwise." Her voice was eerily calm. "You missed your tea last night. Drink it. Quickly."

"What?"

"Your wolf is stirring. I could feel it from my room." Her dark eyes dropped to the thick gray scarf around my neck. "Corvin must not know. Nobody must know. Drink it before anyone learns what you are."

"What am I, Mom?"

"Drink, Seraphina." She pressed the warm cup into my shaking hands.

"Mom, what is in it?"

"Leaves. Moon leaves."

"Only leaves?"

"Only leaves." Her hands shook against mine. "Please."

Warm steam curled up into my face. I raised the cup and breathed in deeply. Under the scent of bitter leaves and damp earth, there was something else—something sharp, cold, and distinctly metallic.

I knew that smell. I had smelled it only hours ago in a silver goblet held in Damon's steady hand.

It smelled like rust and ash.