Page 53 of Vervain

His nose butterfly kisses mine, enticing me to tip my head and for our mouths to softly tease each other. “And if I could strip you of your skin and kiss the scars within, I would.”

My nipples harden at his declaration, but before I can lean in for another kiss, smudges of red come into focus. My eyes crinkle as I smile, and my hands lower from his hair to touch his cheeks. My thumbs run across the lipstick stains. “Sorry,” I say, showing him the waxy red that comes away. Serun doesn’t respond. His eyes never leave mine as I sit up, forcing him to lean back into the bed of flowers. “I’ve stained your face.”

Lifting to my knees, I lean close to Serun. His ears pull back, but his face turns to stone as I swipe my thumbs across the red lipstick. I want to at least fade it, knowing he can’t see it in the mirror to do it himself.

“You’re being motherly again,” he murmurs.

I smile. “I hear that a lot. But hold—” I gasp as Serun crushes his mouth to mine, before I quickly squirm away. “I’m trying to clean you up in case you go somewhere.”

“Saya Claymore, I never leave without my shadows,” he says, using my full name and claiming it. “But if I ever did, I would roam the streets with this smeared across my mouth so everyone knows the only lips I am tasting are yours.”

Now, why did he have to say that?

Serun’s fingers slip through my hair while my hands move to his shoulders, gripping flesh as I melt into him. Our mouths consume, and our tongues become lovers, flicking across fangs. I whimper a moan at how easily he can make me love myself.

While one hand keeps me in this moment, firm in my hair, the other strokes across the skin of my exposed chest, slipping beneath the fabric to cup the tender flesh. I gasp at the fleeting pinch of pain across a pierced nipple before he shrugs the fabric to the side to expose my shoulder and breast.

He breaks away from the kiss, our eyes locking together. He explores more of my body, and I squirm when fingers brush over my moonflower tattoo. Then, my breath sharpens like a blade when his fingers delicately stroke where the bullet hit. A nasty scar that won’t go away.

Serun’s eyes are still on mine, unwavering. He doesn’t sexualise what’s happening. He doesn’t seem to care.

All he wants is to see me.

And I see him.

My hand moves over his, and I lean in for another greedy kiss, when an earth-shattering sound pulls me away. The moonflower valley floats away on the wind. Petals and blades of grass whip through the air, and the silver night warms.

I blink, returning to the couch.

Serun slips my dress back up and over my shoulder, cupping my breast for a heartbeat to conceal my erect nipple before the door bursts open. Maeve enters with her head held high, wearing a plum-coloured dress that hugs her curves.

“Brother and Lady Consort,” she says casually, sitting on the couch opposite us and crossing her legs. “Lucifer wants a weapon from the smithy’s apprentice. He says he’s good, and his oak holds.”

Serun touches the corner of his mouth, smiling at the lipstick he finds smeared across his thumb. Heat flushes down my cheeks and neck, and I look away, unable to hold his gaze. Instead, I face the door and spot the Death Spirit.

Oh, fuck me. I probably have lipstick staining my entire face.

“Was I interrupting something?” Maeve asks coolly with a lifted brow.

“Yes—” Serun starts, only to pause when I stand. “Kamai?”

“No, it’s fine! I should…get some air. And maybe a bucket of water…and…practice what you taught me!”

I’ve never been so flustered before. Even when Dan overheard me sucking off Jax, I kept going. Well, I hate the taste of cock, and I only kept going because Jax wanted me to, and…damn it. I need to get out of here and cool off, fast.

Serun tilts his head to the side, an amused smirk settling on the corner of his mouth. He raises his hand, as if wanting to keep me from escaping, but I effortlessly sidestep and scurry towards the door.

“Hello,” I say quickly to the Death Spirit.

He inclines his head, but his face is stone. I squeeze past him, my heart shattering its cage at the idea we almost had an audience. As I reach the steps, I stop, my ear twitching at Maeve’s voice. “Are you bargaining with death again, brother?”

“It has become a hobby,” he chuckles, but there’s a bitterness there I cannot place.

I lean closer, curious about what they are saying, but the Death Spirit looks at me knowingly. A mouse caught with the cheese among cats that know this house better than I do.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DIABOLUS MAJESTUS