A Debt of Skin

On the eve of our wedding, my fiancée’s childhood sweetheart—a mercenary who’d been off the grid for five years—was brought to her doorstep, clinging to life, the victim of a volatile bio-toxin administered during a mission.

He was covered in blood, barely breathing.

My fiancée, Seraphina, who was always the picture of calm composure, saw him and her eyes went red. Ignoring my protests, she locked herself in the bedroom with him.

She was in there all night.

And I stood outside that door all night, listening.