CHAPTER 29: PACT MARK

Seraphine pushed him further into her room, her finger lazily tracing along the edge of his shirt in a playful, teasing circle. Her lips curled into a wide smile, the kind that mixed charm with danger. With a sudden tug, she ripped open his shirt, buttons scattering across the wooden floor like dice cast in a gamble. Her nails pressed to his bare chest, dragging slowly as though painting invisible patterns there.

Edward’s breath caught, not from arousal, but from the gnawing suspicion that had lingered ever since he laid eyes on her mark.

But he didn’t have long to dwell on it as his heel clipped the bedframe, halting his backward steps. Their eyes locked—hers bright and mischievous, his steady and unreadable.

She leaned forward, lips parting ever so slightly, but before they could touch, Edward’s hand snapped forward, wrenching open her shirt. Cloth tore, fabric slackened, and for the briefest moment, Seraphine’s confident smirk faltered. But it wasn’t shame that overtook her—it was exhilaration. Her smile only widened, sharp and knowing.

There, spread across her chest, was exactly what he expected. A black, ink-like marking stretched over her skin, shifting faintly as though alive.

The Pact Mark.

He could only take a quick glance before her lips brushed against his, only a feather’s touch, before she shoved him backwards onto the bed. He landed with a muted thump against the cushions, the springs groaning beneath his weight. She stepped forward, knees brushing the edge of the bed, but the tension broke in an instant.

A short, black blade pressed against her throat.

Her body froze, muscles tightening like a cornered animal. Beside her, a shadowed figure materialised, its form rippling with dark mist. The Shadow Striker loomed silently, sword unwavering, its eyeless face locked on her.

Edward sat up, his expression cold, his gaze lingering on the inked marking as memory and warning aligned. He recalled Aeris’ words about the Pact Mark.

He hadn’t known exactly what it looked like, but seeing it now, he knew. This was it.

"What do you think you’re doing?!" Seraphine snapped, but the edge of her voice trembled.

"I’m going to ask you a few questions," Edward said evenly, his tone carrying no room for games. "Answer truthfully, and I’ll let you go. Lie..." His eyes flicked to the Striker’s blade.

Her face twisted, a dozen protests rising and dying in her throat before reality settled over her. She exhaled, shoulders loosening. "I understand."

Edward pointed at her chest. "That’s a Pact Mark, isn’t it?"

Seraphine hesitated only a breath, then nodded.

His tone sharpened. "Did you have anything to do with the recent murders?"

Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. "No, I—I just joined. I didn’t even know what it meant until it was too late. Before I knew it, I was part of some cult." Her voice cracked, genuine fear slipping through her charm.

Edward sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He couldn’t afford sympathy, not now. "How many of you are in town?"

"I don’t know," she whispered, shaking her head. "Ten at least. That’s all I’ve seen. They don’t tell me much. I’m new."

"Ten..." Edward muttered. That number was far too high for a single town. His stomach tightened. The Crimson Oath wasn’t just passing through. They were planning something bigger.

"Why are they here?" he pressed.

Her shoulders rose helplessly. "I don’t know."

"Who killed the tavern keeper in the eastern quarter?"

Her brows pinched, confused—then a sudden realisation lit her features. "Oh. I know!" she said, almost excited. "It was Alaric. One of the commanders. I only saw him once, but I overheard it—the killing spread through the church like wildfire."

Edward repeated the name silently, fixing it into memory. "What does he look like?"

"Bald, middle-aged. Scars up and down his arms. He’s about your height."

Edward went still, mulling over the image. A commander in the Crimson Oath, stationed here, personally killing tavern keepers? Something was festering beneath the surface of this quiet town.

Seraphine’s voice pulled him back. "Can I leave now? You said if I answered—"

"Not yet." His tone cut her short. "Where do you meet? Where are the members staying?"

She hesitated, but the Shadow Striker pressed its blade closer.

"Everyone lives apart," she said quickly. "To avoid suspicion. But we meet every Friday, outside the town, in a cave. That’s where I made the Pact. I only found it by accident."

Edward stood slowly, letting her words settle. The Striker lowered its blade at his command. Seraphine let out a shaky breath, clutching her torn shirt.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, relief flooding her face. "I swear, you won’t see me again—"

"Not quite."

Her eyes widened as the Striker lifted its sword again.

"You’re not free to leave," Edward said firmly. "You’ll have to show me the way to that cave."

Her panic flared instantly.

"What? No! I can’t! If they find out I told you, they’ll kill me!" She grabbed his arm desperately, tears streaking her cheeks. "Please—"

"You’ll be fine," Edward said, his voice calm, steady. He reached into his pocket and drew out the chief’s token, flashing it like a police badge. "I work with the chief. You’ll be under our protection."

Her lips parted, disbelief warring with hope.

Just as quickly, the token disappeared back into his coat.

"Stay here," Edward said, his tone brooking no argument. "I need to speak with someone about this."

"But—"

Before she could continue, another figure materialised from the shadows. The Shadow Soldier emerged silently, posture rigid, and its eyes hollow.

"They’ll keep you company," Edward said, glancing between the Striker and Soldier. "I suggest you sit. It may take a while."

Seraphine sank onto the bed, clutching her shirt closed with one hand.

Edward stepped to the door, his shadowed summons remaining in place. The last thing he saw before leaving was the wide-eyed woman staring at the blade pressed near her throat.

He shut the door behind him.

The hall felt colder and a lot quieter than before.

He exhaled, a long, steady breath.

The Crimson Oath wasn’t just whispering in shadows. They were here. Planning something bigger than he thought.

But now, thanks to Seraphine, he had a path that led straight to them.