Seraphina's Point Of View
I had no retort.
None.
For once, my mouth, usually so sharp, so quick, failed me completely. The truth sat heavy in my chest, ugly and undeniable, because he was right. Because they all were.
I had thrown myself at them.
Not drunk. Not confused. Not pressured.
I'd walked up to them with my head high and my pulse racing, knowing exactly who they were, knowing exactly what it meant.
I still remembered the way they'd looked at one another before looking back at me… slow, assessing, dangerous.
If you want one, they'd warned me, voices low, eyes dark, you want all three.
And I had agreed.
God help me, I hadn't even hesitated.
The memory burned now, crawling under my skin like it had been waiting for this moment to resurface. The way my voice hadn't shaken when I said yes. The way my body had leaned toward them instead of away.
Azriel's fingers lifted, dragging me back to the present before I could drown in it.
