Page 72 of Tainted Souls
“Seraph.” He meets my gaze. “I didn’t know you would be coming today.”
I take the seat opposite him. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. Is that okay?”
He nods, though doubt lingers in his eyes. “They’re trying to teach me control techniques. How to manage thirst and resist temptation.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s exhausting, to be honest, but I think it’s helping.”
“That’s good,” I say, genuinely relieved.
“My parents arrived yesterday,” he blurts out, his expression clouding. “My mother cried the entire time, blaming herself for letting me move to Penn City. My father couldn’t look me in the eyes, unable to accept what I’ve become. My sister asked if I was going to hurt her.”
My whole body tenses up, guilt gnawing at me. “I’m so sorry,” is all I can say.
“No,” he says, head dropping. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” His eyes shift from mine to his hands, where his fingers twist together nervously. “I remember everything—taking your dagger, stabbing you, carrying you away. I was screaming inside my head the whole time, but I couldn’t stop myself.”
I reach across to still his fidgeting hands. “Don’t worry about it. You were controlled by the sire bond. There’s no way you could’ve fought it. Redmoore is currently investigating it.”
“I could’ve killed you,” he says, guilt and horror filling his features. “Again.”
“You already died because of me.”
We sit in silence for a while, the filtered sunlight casting soft shapes across the floor. The quiet hum of the solarium wraps around us like a fragile shield, from the gentle rustle of leaves to the distant drip of water from a fountain—the kind of silence that isn’t empty but full of things left unsaid, a shared breath held between two people struggling to find the right words.
My gaze drifts to the flowering branches overhead, tracing shadows that dance slowly, as if even time itself is hesitating.
“I brought you something,” I finally say, reaching into my pocket.
His eyebrows lift in surprise as I hand him a small gift box, about the size of my palm. Inside lies a silver capsule, only slightly larger than a lipstick tube, with intricate engravings along its surface. It features an intricate lock mechanism on the front and tiny blue lights that pulse along the edges.
Max carefully turns the device over in his hands, expression shifting from surprise to recognition. “An encrypted message capsule? How’d you get your hands on one?”
“I bartered it for a favor.”Maybe blackmailed Viktor.“I know how careful you have to be with client communications. This capsule stores sensitive information that only you can access, on-the-go.”
Max activates the device, a holographic interface appearing above it, displaying empty folders waiting to be filled.
“It has enough storage for over a thousand case files,” I continue, leaning forward slightly. “And it can’t be hacked or accessed remotely. The encryption changes every twelve hours.”
Max closes the interface and holds the device tightly. “Thank you, Seraph. This is… incredibly thoughtful.”
“I know,” I say, giving him a cheeky wink. Practical gifts work every time. “Happy anniversary.”
Max’s expression becomes more contemplative, his fingers absently marking lines on the bench between us. “I’ve beenthinking about our anniversary. I haven’t forgotten.” He takes a deep breath, his new vampire stillness making the gesture seem almost performative. “I know you probably thought I was going to propose.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “I didn’t—”
“You did.” He smiles gently. “I could tell. The hints you dropped about your ideal type of engagement ring, the way you lingered at every jewelry store window.”
I feel heat rising to my cheeks, embarrassed at being so transparent. “Was I that obvious?”
“To me, yes.” He offers a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Truth is, I had something else planned. Not a ring nor marriage.”
The admission stings. My expression struggles to remain neutral as disappointment settles within. “Oh?”
“I bought us tickets to Mythcrest,” he continues, not meeting my eyes. “A two-week retreat exploring the countryside, fully booked with luxury cabins and security escorts. Standard for travelers heading out east. I thought it might help us… reconnect.”
The Mythcrest he’s talking about is really just land long occupied by Northcross. Nothing truly unexplored, just familiar regions made to feel exotic, knowing tourists would pay to feel like adventurers.
But that’s not the part that gets me.
“Reconnect?” I echo, the word hanging awkwardly between us.
