Page 22 of Shadowkissed

I hate the way those words settle under my skin.

Like a promise. Likea vow.

“Gods, you’re exhausting,” I mutter, leaning back.

“Well, let me make you something to drink and maybe then you’ll realize you’re exhausted from other things,” he says with a smart ass tone.

“I don’t do coffee, but I’ll take tea, if that’s something you even keep around here.” I could do with something warm to calm myself. Get my pulse back up. Well, at least in a way that doesn't have anything to do with him.

He turns on an electric kettle and within minutes of uncomfortable silence, he pours the boiling water into a mug. Chamomile. I can smell the honey in it. Earthy. Calming.

But I still feel off-kilter, raw. Like I peeled back a layer of myself I didn’t mean to show. His apartment hums with low wards and quiet shadows, the kind of place built for silence. It’s too honest. Too still.

I’m about to ask him for a blanket, maybe a distraction,something—when he steps forward and hands me the cup.

My fingers brush his. Only for a second, but it’s enough.

Boom.

My magic flares like a fuckingexplosion—not outward, but inward. Like itrecognizeshim. Like itwantssomething from him.

A spark crackles beneath my skin. Not dark fae shadow—not entirely. This is something even I don’t recognize. Deeper.

I suck in a breath so fast I almost choke on it.

He doesn’t react. He didn’t feel it. Or if he did, he’s too polite—or too smart—to mention it.

But I feel it.

The air shivers around me. The tattoos on my skin curl inward like they’re trying tohide. And somewhere in the back of my mind, Thorne’s voice echoes like a warning bell.

You are more than dark fae. There’s something ancient sleeping in you, girl. And when it wakes, it won’t ask permission. It will take.

And then Seraphiel, just days ago, and even long before that, when he first claimed me, in the cold void of my dreams:

You were made to unmake the world. And only I can wield that power. Anyone else will burn.

I grip the mug tighter, knuckles going white.

This cannot be happening. This can’t be what he meant. But it is.

I know it. I feel it. The pull I’ve blamed on fate, or magic, or desperation—it’s not just emotion. It’sfunction. My soul doesn’t just want him. It’s trying toconnect. To fuse. Toignitesomething in me I’ve never let wake up before.

I can’t let that happen.

“Thanks,” I say quickly, voice stiff, pulling my hand away too fast. The mug sloshes, but I don’t spill. Barely.

His brows furrow. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I don’t meet his eyes. “Just… tea’s hot.”

Lie.

He knows it. But he lets it go. Smart man.

I stand, pacing to the window even though the blinds are closed. I need distance. Space. Control.

“Is this how you operate?” I ask, forcing levity into my tone. “Pick up strays with secrets and bring them home like wounded animals?”

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