Chapter 4 The Pull

​The next time Seraphyne found him, it wasn't by accident.

​He was in a park, the kind of place where the city's noise was muffled by the heavy dampness of ancient oaks. He was sitting on a bench, a book closed in his lap, staring at nothing.

​She didn't hide. She walked directly into his line of sight, her heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement.

​"You're following me now," Elias said without looking up.

​"I'm exploring the neighborhood," Seraphyne countered, stopping a few feet away. "It's a free world, isn't it?"

​"For some." He finally looked at her, his eyes tracing the line of her throat before settling on her face. "You changed your hair."

​"I felt like a change of pace." She stepped closer, invading his personal space with the practiced ease of a predator. "You look tired, Elias."

​"I didn't sleep well," he admitted. He shifted, patting the space on the bench beside him. "The storm I mentioned... it felt closer last night."

​Seraphyne sat. The proximity made her skin itch with a strange, magnetic static. "Maybe you're just sensitive to the weather."

​"Maybe."

​He turned toward her, his shoulder nearly touching hers. The air between them crackled, a visible tension that made the dry leaves at their feet stir. Seraphyne felt the familiar hum of her power rising to the surface, the instinct to reach out and take what she needed.

​She allowed her hand to drift across the back of the bench, her fingers grazing the fabric of his coat before finally brushing against the bare skin of his hand.

​She waited for the rush. The sharp, cold intake of energy that came from a mortal's spark.

​She fed. Just a tiny, delicate sip.

​But instead of the cool, metallic satisfaction of a soul, a wave of liquid heat crashed through her. It was heavy, gold, and frighteningly sweet. It didn't feel like a theft; it felt like a gift she wasn't prepared to receive.

​She gasped, her fingers twitching against his.

​"Seren?" Elias's voice was low, concerned. He didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his hand over, catching her fingers in his. "Your hand is freezing."

​"I... it's the wind," she lied, her voice breathy.

​She tried to pull back, but his grip was firm. Not aggressive, but grounding. The warmth from his palm was spreading up her arm, settling in her chest in a way that made her feel dangerously heavy.

​"You're shaking," he noted, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle over her knuckles.

​"I'm fine."

​"You're not." He leaned in, his face inches from hers. The scent of him-cedar, old paper, and something uniquely him-overwhelmed her senses. "You look like you've just seen something you didn't expect to exist."

​Seraphyne stared at his lips, her hunger shifting from a biological necessity to a desperate, confusing ache. "That's not supposed to happen," she whispered, more to herself than him.

​"What isn't?"

​"The warmth," she said, her eyes wide. "It's supposed to be... different."

​Elias didn't ask what she meant. He only watched her, his gaze intense enough to burn. He reached up with his free hand, his fingers hovering just a fraction of an inch from her cheek, hesitating.

​"I feel it too," he whispered. "The pull. It's like gravity just stopped working for everything except you."

​Seraphyne's heart kicked. She was the one who was supposed to exert the pull. She was the star; he was the satellite. But in this moment, looking into the dark depths of his eyes, she felt like she was the one being dragged into an orbit she couldn't escape.

​She leaned into his hand, her eyes closing as his skin finally made contact with her face. It wasn't just desire. It was a terrifying sense of recognition.

​She pulled away suddenly, standing up so fast she stumbled.

​"I have to go," she said, her voice cracking.

​"Seren, wait-"

​She didn't wait. She vanished into the shadows of the trees, her heart thudding a frantic, uneven rhythm against her ribs. She reached the edge of the park, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

​She looked at her hand-the one he had held. It was still glowing with a faint, residual light that only she could see.

​That warmth. It wasn't hunger. It wasn't power.

​It was something she had been told didn't exist for her kind.

​