Page 28 of The Dragon and the Dove

‘Look,’ he said.

A ghostly pale face stared back at her, her blue eyes rimmed in shadow. The veins in her neck were like fine blue threads, the scattering of freckles across her nose all but faded. Even her hair was wan, the wheat-blonde strands clumping in messy tangles.

‘You win,’ she said, wincing. ‘I look like I just crawled out of a dumpster.’

She felt exactly as she looked. Like she could close her eyes and sleep for a hundred years, like if she stopped concentrating on standing, she would collapse.

‘Seraphine, this isn’t normal.’

‘When have I ever been normal?’ She managed a weak smile. ‘And isn’t that the point of magic, anyway?’

Brushing her hair from her shoulder, he bowed his head to place a kiss there. Her eyes fluttered shut. For a fleeting moment, it was the only part of her body that didn’t ache. ‘Please don’t do it again,’ he murmured against her skin.

Winding her fingers in the ends of his hair, she turned her back to the ghost of her reflection. ‘It worked, Ransom. I saw her eyes this time. They were gold.’

‘Promise me,’ he said, as if he hadn’t heard her.

Frustration nipped at her. Couldn’t he share in this triumph? Couldn’t he see the bigger picture? ‘Are you listening to me?’

His frown deepened. ‘I’m looking at you, and I’m not about to celebrate what I’m seeing.’

For hell’s sake.

‘It’ll get easier.’

He gave her a flat look.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she snapped. ‘You’re the one wringing out your soul night after night. Filling this whole place with demons just for the hell of it.’

‘I’m trying to protect us.’

‘And what is it that you think I’m doing?’ She couldn’t tell whether it was his bad mood or her own, but the tension between them was rising, and it was not the heady, delicious kind that made her want to rip his clothes off.

‘Maybe I’d know better if you told me what you were up to. Don’t leave me in the dark, Seraphine.’

‘You are the dark, Ransom.’

He recoiled from her.

She leaned against the sink, gripping the marble to keep from slumping. ‘I don’t need your permission to use what Saint Oriel gave me.’

‘I never said you did.’

‘And if you’re going to skulk around and do whatever you feel like, then so will I.’

‘So mature.’

‘How’s this for mature?’ She swatted him with a towel.

He grabbed it and wound it around his wrist, pulling her in. ‘Spitfire,’ he said, in that lethal honeyed voice. ‘Every minute with you is more precious than gold. I won’t waste them fighting with you.’

She splayed her hands against his chest. ‘Then stop being so difficult.’

‘Stop being stubborn.’

‘Stop being all dark and broody.’

‘I love you, Sera.’