Chapter 3 The First Conversation

"You're still standing there, Seren."

Elias hadn't moved. He remained leaning against the cool stone of the building, watching her with a patience that felt predatory in its stillness.

"I was deciding if you were worth the effort of a second sentence," Seraphyne replied, her voice regaining its jagged edge.

"And?"

"The jury is still out."

He chuckled, a low vibration that seemed to travel through the pavement and into the soles of her boots. "Then let's move. Standing in the middle of a sidewalk makes us targets for tourists and rain."

"I don't mind the rain."

"I mind the wet coat," Elias said, gesturing toward a small, dimly lit café tucked into the corner of the block. "Walk with me."

Seraphyne hesitated. Her instincts-honed over centuries of feeding-screamed that the power dynamic was skewed. She was the hunter. She was the one who dictated the pace. Yet, as she fell into step beside him, she felt a strange, magnetic pull that had nothing to do with her glamour.

Inside, the café smelled of roasted beans and old paper. He led her to a booth in the far back, away from the windows.

"You chose the shadows," she observed, sliding into the velvet seat. "Most people want to be seen with someone like me."

"I told you, I'm not most people."

He didn't order for her. He waited until she shook her head at the waiter before ordering a black coffee for himself.

"So," Elias leaned forward, resting his chin on a hand. "Why the mystery?"

"I'm not a mystery. I'm a stranger. There's a difference."

"Is there? A stranger is someone I don't know. A mystery is someone who is actively hiding the facts."

Seraphyne tilted her head, a lock of dark hair falling over her shoulder. "And what facts do you think I'm hiding, Elias Crowe?"

He didn't flinch at the use of his full name, even though he hadn't given it to her yet. He only smiled. "For starters, why you're looking at me like you're trying to solve a puzzle you didn't ask to play."

"Maybe I just find your face... interesting."

"You're a liar," he said simply.

The word hung between them, sharp and cold. Seraphyne felt a flare of heat in her chest. "You're very bold for a man who knows nothing about the world he lives in."

"I know enough. I know when I'm being hunted."

She laughed, the sound silk and steel. "Hunted? You think quite highly of yourself."

"I think highly of my intuition," Elias countered. He reached across the table, not to touch her, but to trace a pattern on the wood between them. "You have this energy, Seren. It's like a storm held behind a very thin glass. It's captivating. It's also terrifying."

"Are you terrified?"

"No." He met her eyes, his gaze unflinching. "I've spent my life waiting for the storm to break. Why would I run from it now?"

Seraphyne felt a prickle of genuine unease. This was the witty banter she was used to, the dominance games she played better than anyone in the pits of Hell-but he wasn't playing. He was studying her with a clinical, almost mournful intensity.

"You're different," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could catch them.

"Different how?"

"You don't pulse like the others. Your soul... it doesn't scream."

Elias paused, his fingers stopping their movement on the table. "And do you usually hear souls scream?"

Seraphyne caught herself, masking the slip with a sharp grin. "I'm a poet. We deal in metaphors."

"I don't think you've ever read a poem in your life," Elias said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "I think you prefer the visceral over the written."

He shifted, his knee accidentally brushing hers under the small table.

The contact was electric. It wasn't the usual rush of a successful harvest; it was a warm, suffocating heat that made her vision blur for a fraction of a second. She didn't pull away immediately. She couldn't.

"You're doing it again," he murmured.

"Doing what?"

"Studying me. Like you're trying to figure out where to bite."

Seraphyne pulled her leg back, her heart hammering a rhythm that felt entirely too human. She stood up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor.

"I've had enough 'observation' for one night," she said, her voice tighter than she liked.

Elias remained seated, looking up at her with that same, unnerving calm. "Running so soon? We were just getting to the honesty part."

"We're nowhere near it."

She turned and walked out of the café, her wings-invisible to the mortal eye-tugging at her shoulder blades with a restless, frustrated energy.

She reached the street and leaned against a cold brick wall, breathing in the damp night air. Her skin was buzzing. Her hunger was there, but it was overshadowed by a deep, gnawing sense of confusion.

Succubi were never unsettled. They were the ones who did the unsettling.

She looked back at the glowing window of the café, seeing the silhouette of Elias Crowe as he sat alone, staring at the empty seat across from him.

"Something is wrong," she whispered t shadows.

Chapter 3 – The First Conversation

"You're still standing there, Seren."

Elias hadn't moved. He remained leaning against the cool stone of the building, watching her with a patience that felt predatory in its stillness.

"I was deciding if you were worth the effort of a second sentence," Seraphyne replied, her voice regaining its jagged edge.

"And?"

"The jury is still out."

He chuckled, a low vibration that seemed to travel through the pavement and into the soles of her boots. "Then let's move. Standing in the middle of a sidewalk makes us targets for tourists and rain."

"I don't mind the rain."

"I mind the wet coat," Elias said, gesturing toward a small, dimly lit café tucked into the corner of the block. "Walk with me."

Seraphyne hesitated. Her instincts-honed over centuries of feeding-screamed that the power dynamic was skewed. She was the hunter. She was the one who dictated the pace. Yet, as she fell into step beside him, she felt a strange, magnetic pull that had nothing to do with her glamour.

Inside, the café smelled of roasted beans and old paper. He led her to a booth in the far back, away from the windows.

"You chose the shadows," she observed, sliding into the velvet seat. "Most people want to be seen with someone like me."

"I told you, I'm not most people."

He didn't order for her. He waited until she shook her head at the waiter before ordering a black coffee for himself.

"So," Elias leaned forward, resting his chin on a hand. "Why the mystery?"

"I'm not a mystery. I'm a stranger. There's a difference."

"Is there? A stranger is someone I don't know. A mystery is someone who is actively hiding the facts."

Seraphyne tilted her head, a lock of dark hair falling over her shoulder. "And what facts do you think I'm hiding, Elias Crowe?"

He didn't flinch at the use of his full name, even though he hadn't given it to her yet. He only smiled. "For starters, why you're looking at me like you're trying to solve a puzzle you didn't ask to play."

"Maybe I just find your face... interesting."

"You're a liar," he said simply.

The word hung between them, sharp and cold. Seraphyne felt a flare of heat in her chest. "You're very bold for a man who knows nothing about the world he lives in."

"I know enough. I know when I'm being hunted."

She laughed, the sound silk and steel. "Hunted? You think quite highly of yourself."

"I think highly of my intuition," Elias countered. He reached across the table, not to touch her, but to trace a pattern on the wood between them. "You have this energy, Seren. It's like a storm held behind a very thin glass. It's captivating. It's also terrifying."

"Are you terrified?"

"No." He met her eyes, his gaze unflinching. "I've spent my life waiting for the storm to break. Why would I run from it now?"

Seraphyne felt a prickle of genuine unease. This was the witty banter she was used to, the dominance games she played better than anyone in the pits of Hell-but he wasn't playing. He was studying her with a clinical, almost mournful intensity.

"You're different," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could catch them.

"Different how?"

"You don't pulse like the others. Your soul... it doesn't scream."

Elias paused, his fingers stopping their movement on the table. "And do you usually hear souls scream?"

Seraphyne caught herself, masking the slip with a sharp grin. "I'm a poet. We deal in metaphors."

"I don't think you've ever read a poem in your life," Elias said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "I think you prefer the visceral over the written."

He shifted, his knee accidentally brushing hers under the small table.

The contact was electric. It wasn't the usual rush of a successful harvest; it was a warm, suffocating heat that made her vision blur for a fraction of a second. She didn't pull away immediately. She couldn't.

"You're doing it again," he murmured.

"Doing what?"

"Studying me. Like you're trying to figure out where to bite."

Seraphyne pulled her leg back, her heart hammering a rhythm that felt entirely too human. She stood up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor.

"I've had enough 'observation' for one night," she said, her voice tighter than she liked.

Elias remained seated, looking up at her with that same, unnerving calm. "Running so soon? We were just getting to the honesty part."

"We're nowhere near it."

She turned and walked out of the café, her wings-invisible to the mortal eye-tugging at her shoulder blades with a restless, frustrated energy.

She reached the street and leaned against a cold brick wall, breathing in the damp night air. Her skin was buzzing. Her hunger was there, but it was overshadowed by a deep, gnawing sense of confusion.

Succubi were never unsettled. They were the ones who did the unsettling.

She looked back at the glowing window of the café, seeing the silhouette of Elias Crowe as he sat alone, staring at the empty seat across from him.

"Something is wrong," she whispered to the shadows.