CHAPTER 5 — THE SPACE BETWEEN TWO HEARTBEATS
1469 Words
Seraphine did not sleep.
Not truly.
The bed assigned to her was wide, layered with furs and silver-threaded sheets that smelled faintly of pine and moonstone. It should have been warm enough to lull her into rest.
Instead, every time she closed her eyes—
She felt them.
Not their bodies.
Their presence.
Like two gravitational pulls orbiting too close to her core.
The Citadel breathed around her.
Stone walls hummed with lunar energy, low and constant, like a heartbeat beneath the earth. Her magic stirred uneasily, shadows rippling along the edges of the room, reacting to something it had never encountered before.
Resonance.
She hated the word.
She turned on her side, clutching the obsidian pendant at her throat. Her mother’s last gift. Her anchor.
“Focus,” she whispered to herself.
The moment the word left her lips—
A pressure bloomed in her chest.
Not pain.
Awareness.
She sat up sharply.
The fire in the hearth flickered brighter.
And she knew.
Someone was near.
Not outside the Citadel.
Inside her radius.
She swung her legs over the bed, bare feet touching the cold stone floor. Shadows crept instinctively toward her ankles, curling protectively.
She took two steps—
And the door opened.
Damian stood there.
Not armored.
Not crowned.
Just dark trousers, an open shirt, bare forearms marked with faintly glowing Moonbrand sigils. His hair was loose, falling slightly into his eyes.
He looked… human.
And that unsettled her more than the Alpha.
“I didn’t call for you,” she said quietly.
“I felt you wake,” he replied.
Her breath stilled.
“That’s not possible.”
“It is,” he said simply. “Tonight.”
He did not move closer.
But the space between them shifted.
Her magic reacted first—shadows tightening, then hesitating, as if uncertain whether to defend or… listen.
Damian’s gaze dropped briefly to the movement.
“You’re restraining yourself,” he observed.
“So are you,” she shot back.
A corner of his mouth twitched.
“Yes.”
Silence stretched.
It wasn’t awkward.
It was loaded.
“Why are you here?” she asked finally.
His jaw tightened.
“Because when you woke,” he said, voice low, “the Citadel spiked.”
Her pulse jumped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he replied, “your emotions ripple outward.”
“That’s impossible. I’m contained.”
“You’re contained alone,” he corrected. “Not here.”
She crossed her arms defensively.
“So now my sleep is a threat?”
“No.” He held her gaze. “But your fear is.”
That landed too close.
She turned away, moving toward the window overlooking the frozen cliffs. Moonlight bathed the snowfields beyond, painting the world silver and unforgiving.
“I won’t be watched every time I breathe,” she said.
“I’m not watching,” Damian replied quietly.
She scoffed. “You’re standing in my room.”
“Because if I wasn’t,” he said, “someone else would be.”
She looked back at him sharply.
“What do you mean?”
Before he could answer—
Another presence entered the room.
Lighter.
Sharper.
Darius leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with unmistakable interest.
“Well,” he drawled, “this explains the spike.”
Seraphine stiffened. “Did you make a habit of walking into rooms uninvited?”
“Only when the walls start humming,” he replied smoothly. “You should hear them when you’re annoyed.”
Damian’s gaze flicked to him—warning, silent, heavy.
Darius ignored it.
Instead, his attention stayed on Seraphine.
“You’re not afraid,” he observed. “Not really.”
She lifted her chin. “Should I be?”
His smile sharpened.
“Depends,” he said. “On who you trust.”
The tension between the twins thickened.
Seraphine felt it like a tightening wire.
Damian spoke first.
“You’re crowding her.”
Darius laughed softly. “I’m standing.”
“You’re provoking.”
“I’m assessing.”
Seraphine exhaled sharply.
“Enough,” she snapped.
Both Alphas turned to her instantly.
The effect startled her.
The room stilled.
Moonlight flared brighter along the sigils etched into the walls.
Her shadows recoiled, then surged.
Damian stepped closer without thinking, one hand lifting instinctively—not touching her, but close enough she could feel his heat.
Darius’ jaw tightened.
“Careful,” he warned his brother. “You’re doing it again.”
Damian didn’t look at him.
“She’s destabilizing,” he said. “You’re not helping.”
Seraphine’s voice came out quieter.
“I’m not a bomb.”
“No,” Damian agreed. “You’re a catalyst.”
That word.
Again.
She stepped back, putting distance between them both.
“I won’t be fought over,” she said flatly.
Darius’ expression softened—just a fraction.
“That’s the problem,” he said. “You already are.”
Her breath caught.
Outside, the Citadel let out a low, distant howl.
Not a call.
A warning.
Seraphine’s magic flared instinctively, shadows lashing outward—then—
They stopped.
Held in place.
Damian’s eyes darkened.
Darius’ breath hitched.
They both felt it.
The pull.
The alignment.
Seraphine swayed.
Damian was there instantly, gripping her wrist—this time firmly.
The contact sent a shock through all three of them.
Her shadows wrapped around his forearm.
His sigils flared silver-white.
Darius sucked in a sharp breath.
“Don’t—” he snapped. “Don’t anchor her alone.”
Too late.
Seraphine gasped, the world tilting.
Damian steadied her, voice low and urgent.
“Look at me.”
She did.
Her magic settled—fast.
Too fast.
Darius stared at their joined hands.
Something dark crossed his expression.
Jealousy.
Not petty.
Primal.
“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
Damian didn’t release her immediately.
“I didn’t plan it.”
“You never do.”
Seraphine pulled her hand free, heart racing.
“What just happened?”
Damian answered carefully.
“You aligned with me.”
Her stomach dropped.
“And him?” she asked.
Darius’ gaze met hers—intense, unreadable.
“You haven’t yet,” he said.
The words should have meant nothing.
They didn’t.
Silence pressed down again, heavier now.
Finally, Damian stepped back, visibly forcing control.
“This can’t continue like this,” he said.
Darius nodded reluctantly.
“She needs boundaries.”
Seraphine let out a humorless laugh.
“I need information.”
They both looked at her.
She straightened.
“If my presence destabilizes your Citadel,” she said, “then I deserve to know why.”
Damian hesitated.
Darius answered.
“Because the Citadel was built around our bloodline,” he said. “And your magic… mirrors it.”
Her fingers tightened around her pendant.
“Mirrors how?”
Damian spoke softly.
“The Pulse didn’t just create us,” he said. “It echoed.”
Seraphine felt cold creep into her bones.
“You’re saying—”
“That you’re not an anomaly,” Darius finished. “You’re a counterpart.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.”
“It is,” Damian said. “And it’s dangerous.”
Her mind raced.
Prophecies.
Red Moon.
Twin Alpha.
Triad.
She stepped back again, putting the bed between them.
“This changes nothing,” she said firmly. “I won’t be bound.”
Darius watched her closely.
“No,” he agreed. “But it explains why your shadows listen to us.”
Her throat tightened.
“And why,” Damian added quietly, “we can feel when you’re afraid.”
The fire cracked loudly, breaking the moment.
Seraphine turned away.
“I need air,” she said.
Darius moved instinctively to follow.
Damian caught his arm.
“Give her space.”
Darius hesitated.
Then nodded once.
Seraphine paused at the door, hand on the frame.
Without turning, she spoke.
“This doesn’t make me yours.”
Damian’s voice was steady.
“No.”
Darius’ was softer.
“But it means,” he said, “you’re not alone in this.”
She left without replying.
Behind her, the twins stood in silence.
The space between them—once seamless—now held tension of its own.
Darius exhaled slowly.
“You felt it,” he said.
Damian nodded.
“Yes.”
“And you liked it.”
Damian didn’t answer immediately.
Then—
“Yes.”
Darius’ jaw tightened.
“That’s a problem.”
Damian met his gaze.
“So is the fact that you did too.”
The Citadel howled again.
Long.
Low.
Hungry.
And far below, something ancient stirred—aware that the balance had shifted.
Three heartbeats.
One rhythm.
And no way back.
- Writer
