SERAPHINA'S POV
I sit alone on Artemis's balcony, wrapped in my own arms, staring quietly at the full moon overhead.
My thoughts keep drifting back to that unsettling dream - was it even a dream? - wrestling with the impossibility of making sense of it all.
The only logical explanation I can muster is that I must have sleepwalked-trashed the room and nearly stabbed Artemis as he walked in.
I still can't piece together how that knife ended up in my hands; there are unnerving gaps in my memory.
"Here you go," Artemis says, reappearing to hand me a bowl of ice cream.
I take it, stirring the chocolate ice cream absentmindedly with my spoon as he sits beside me, digging into his own bowl.
"I'm sorry," I finally murmur, unable to meet his eyes.
"For what exactly? Trashing my room or nearly turning me into a cyclops?" he teases, chuckling to lighten the mood.
I offer a bitter laugh in return, biting my lip and looking away.
"Hey, you said it was an accident. So, it's okay."
"No, it's not okay. Can't you see? A moment slower, and I could have hurt you," I argue, my voice tinged with an urgency he seems to be overlooking.
"I think you're underestimating me now, darling."
"I attacked you."
"Okay, do you want me to be mad? Will that make you feel better?" he asks. Silence overtakes me; the fight in me starts to dissipate.
"No, I don't."
"Then I'm not mad. You can't imagine the weird situations I've been in or the worse things that have been thrown at me" He's quiet for a moment, then those blue eyes honestly seek mine. "Were you angry? Did I do something?"
I sigh. How do I tell him about the bizarre events plaguing my life? The dreams, the voices, the mysterious book from his room?
How do I say it without sounding insane?
"It's nothing," I finally opt to say, offering a tired smile as a cover. I look away, hoping he won't see through my lie.
But it's not okay. I'm losing my mind.
A moment of silence ensues.
I focus on taking my ice cream, trying to drown out the noise from my thoughts. Olivia is awake; the elections are won. I hold onto those positives.
Even if the plan to thank Artemis was a bust, he's not angry, so we can try again another time.
A crack and fizzle sound echo beside me, and I turn to see Artemis cracking open a beer. He sips it and then meets my eyes.
"You want one?" he offers.
Normally, I'd refuse to avoid poisoning my precious internal organs, but right now, I could use the calming effects. I nod vigorously, and he hands me one.
I crack it open and take a long sip until half is gone.
The bitterness hits first, assaulting my taste buds in an uncomfortable way, followed by a sweet, refreshing sensation.
I let out a sigh-and a burp-before looking up to see an intrigued smile on his lips.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says, turning his attention elsewhere.
Taking another sip, I prod, "You know, I've always wondered. How do you end up with all this stuff? Ice cream, beer, even pizza in your dorm room?"
He chuckles, sipping his beer.
"I have my ways," he responds, cryptically.
"Ooooh, mysterious," I tease.
"I heard girls like that."
"Yeah, well, you'll need to be more than just mysterious to keep a girl," I say, taking another drink.
"What does it take to keep you?" His eyes are curious now, holding a genuine spark of interest.
My heart skips a beat as our gaze collides and a bit of warmth hits me. Instantly, I avoid them.
"Who's asking? Because last time I checked, it shouldn't be you, Artemis - a fully mated wolf."
For a millisecond, his face falls apart - but that's immediately masked by a strained chuckle. Something about it is painful.
"Right, how careless of me."
We're both quiet now. And for some reason, it's heavier than before.
My body begins to feel heavy and tired. I assume it's the alcohol taking effect, but since it's my first time, how would I know?
I surrender to the dizziness, enjoying the light-headedness and the sensation that the air is spinning me around until I'm floating on wispy clouds.
I exhale a sigh of relief, letting go of everything that's been weighing me down.
"The stars are obnoxiously bright tonight. Just look at them, shining so intensely, making us look like a bunch of fleshy coal."
"Fleshy coal?" he laughs, repeating my quirky phrase while raising an eyebrow.
"That's right! Why don't we get to shine that brightly?" I argue.
He laughs again, but then he stops and looks at me more intently.
"You already shine, though. In my eyes," he says, his tone softening to a whisper.
Heat floods my cheeks, and a mix of embarrassment and nervousness overwhelms me, caught off guard by his unexpected compliment.
"I didn't realize you were such a poet," I look away, trying to hide the blush coloring my cheeks.
"You'd be surprised," his lips curl into a devious little smile as he winks. "Let's just say that you bring out the worst in me."
I laugh, a little too flustered to say another word, attempting to finish off my can of beer.
His hand shoots out, snatching the can from me and pulling it out of reach when I try to reclaim it.
"Okay, that's enough."
"Why?"
"You're clearly drunk already. Didn't realize you were such a lightweight," he says, tucking the can away with a note of concern.
My muscles are too weak to sustain a struggle, so I give in.
"What's that - a light weight?"
"Damn it," he mutters, standing and then helping me to my feet.
He crouches to my level and gazes into my eyes. His inquisitive blue eyes search mine, a serious expression overtaking his features.
For some reason, I find it funny, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight like they're part of the night sky.
"Let's get you some water," he finally says, steadying me when I wobble.
Before I can object, he takes my hand and leads me back into the room. I notice it's now somewhat tidier than before, despite the remaining disarray.
He sets me down gently on my bed, which, miraculously, is only slightly disheveled. He moves to another part of the room that's still in one piece and fills a cup from his personal water dispenser.
Kneeling in front of me, he offers the cup. "Here you go."
I take it without a second thought, gulping it down.
It's a telling sign of how far we've come, that I'd drink whatever he offers without fearing it's poisoned. My trust in him has grown, even though I most times choose not to admit it.
"Thank you. I mean it," I say, sincere in my gratitude. "I wanted to show my appreciation today, but instead, I ended up sleepwalking and wrecking your room." A pang of guilt tightens my chest as I think about my earlier behavior.
He smiles, instantly putting me at ease, and my eyes start to feel heavy.
"It's fine," he assures me. "Though, how often do you sleepwalk? You know, so I can be prepared in case you decide to stab me in my sleep or something."
I laugh, taking his joke as just that, before a yawn escapes me, covered by my hand.
"I promise I won't," I say, as if I could actually control my sleepwalking tendencies, let alone the urge to attack anything around him.
He retrieves the empty cup from my grip, placing it carefully on the floor.
"You should sleep now," he suggests.
I nod, too fatigued to form any more words, and let him help me lie down. He arranges my legs on the bed and pulls the covers over me with such precision, I can't help but feel like a prized possession he's afraid to scratch.
"Good night," I whisper.
"Goodnight," he echoes softly, and as if to punctuate the sentiment, his lips graze my cheek in a fleeting yet utterly sweet kiss. It's so unexpected that I barely have time to process it before he's pulling away.
My heart skips several beats at once, and I'm suddenly filled with the urge to ask him to stay with me, just like the other night he'd held me against his chest.
However, he's already leaving, and I'm too tongue-tied.
As I hear his retreating footsteps, I tell myself the little kiss meant nothing, probably a glitch on his own path, but the warmth that spreads through me begs to differ.
Ugh! This is all so frustrating and confusing.
Hating him was always easier, but this - all of this unplanned and crazy scenarios - keeps messing with my thoughts, and emotions, and sometimes, my body too.
Turning to get comfortable in my last seconds of consciousness, I feel a sudden twinge of pain from my wrist.
A thought nudges me to check it out.
I roll up my sleeve and find a scar-freshly cut and still oozing a bit of blood. The mark resembles claw slashes, three long, jagged cuts.
Memories of my battle with the wolf flash across my mind, and I suddenly recognize the origin of the wound.
But it makes no sense.
If I was just sleepwalking, how did I get this scar?