Page 154 of The Rebel and the Rose
He opened his eyes.
They were a bright, burning gold.
Saint.
A gasp stuck in her throat.
All around them, the darkness rippled. Shadows swarmed the riverbank, creating a canopy of starless night.
And from within, monsters came.
Chapter 40Ransom
Ransom had been dead. He was sure of it. One moment, he was as cold as ice on the riverbank, breathing in the scent of lemon blossoms that clung to Seraphine’s skin for the final time. Feeling that tug in his chest growing weaker. Then his heart had stopped, the world dimming to the cracked whisper of her voice:
I love you.
Come back to me.
He would have given anything.Everything. But there was nothing left to offer. No air to breathe, no blood to pump. No spark of life.
And then—
Deep in the blackness of oblivion, the sun rose over the waters of his soul. It was a gift this light. A second chance at life.
I love you.
Come back to me.
And something more. Something ancient and powerful waking in the deepest part of him – magic bloomed in the dark reaches of his soul. And it whispered,Live.
He woke to a wash of bright light, and the face of the woman he loved. Seraphine was more beautiful now than she had ever been, her face like a painting on the canvas of his heart. He hated the tears that marred her cheeks, the pain breaking her voice.
The strange power inside him grew, yawning through his blood and bones.
Saint, said the old voice.
Welcome to the game.
Shadows crawled over them, dimming the light of her handprint on his chest. Seraphine’s eyes were wide in the sudden dark, the whites of them glowing like moons. She clutched his shoulders, pulling him upright. He wrapped his arms around her waist, anchoring her to him. He was surprised at his strength, at how easily he could pull her into his lap.
She trembled against him, some new fear stealing the colour from her cheeks. Her gaze shifted to something over his shoulder, her mouth forming a soundless word:monsters.
Yes, purred that voice inside Ransom.
The darkness rippled, the shadows dividing into forms. Beasts. Each one, huge and strange and snarling. The largest of them prowled back and forth like a panther, with long, pointed ears and sharp, slender fangs. In the water, a serpent made of dark mist raised its dragon-like head to watch them. Wolvesmoved along the strand, stretching their wide shadowy backs, and overhead a shadow-falcon with razor talons circled lower.
Seraphine buried her face in his chest.
Ransom held her tighter, whispering, ‘It’s all right. They won’t hurt us.’
‘They look just like your drawings,’ she said, half muffled. ‘Your nightmares.’
Ransom felt himself smile. ‘Theyaremy nightmares.’
Only he was not afraid of them now. Unnerving as they were, the shadow beasts bore no threat to him. They were woven from his own imagination. Their forms born from this new power in his soul.
Not light, like Seraphine.
