Page 16 of Claimed By Midnight

The fire in her eyes when she argues... it draws me like a moth to flame. I catch myself making deliberate mistakes in my notes just to hear her corrections. The way her voice rises with indignation, how her fingers tap against the pages in frustration - it stirs something dark and hungry in my chest.

"You're hovering again," she says without looking up.

"It's my workshop."

"Then work." Those golden-green eyes flick to mine. "Unless you don't trust me with your precious journals?"

I do trust her, I realize. That's what unsettles me most of all.

9

ATHENA

Ipolish the last of the tools, carefully arranging them by size in their leather wrap. The workshop's familiar scents of metal and herbs wrap around me as I work, finding comfort in the routine.

Behind me, the door hinges creak, and my breath catches as I turn. A xaphan woman fills the entrance, her dove-gray wings brushing the doorframe. She moves with a predator's grace despite a slight hesitation in her left leg - the kind of injury I've seen warriors carry. Her midnight hair falls in a sharp curtain past angular cheekbones, and violet eyes lock onto mine with unsettling intensity.

My fingers fumble with the cloth in my hands. She towers over me, radiating the kind of presence that makes my skin prickle. A warrior, without question - but there's something else about her, something in the way her mouth curves into a knowing smirk that speaks of secrets and sharp wit.

"Well, what do we have here?" Her voice carries an edge of amusement. "You must be the human Uriel's been keeping tucked away."

I straighten my spine, fighting the urge to step back as she prowls closer. Her wings flex, casting rippling shadows across the workshop floor. A wicked-looking dagger hangs at her hip, its jeweled hilt worn smooth from use.

"I'm Athena." I'm proud my voice doesn't waver. "And I'm not 'kept.' I'm organizing his supplies."

She laughs, a sound like steel striking steel. "Oh, you've got fire. I like that." She picks up one of my freshly polished blades, testing its edge with her thumb. "I'm Raven. And trust me - everyone in this city is kept by someone."

Her words give me pause, and I refuse to look away from those violet eyes. They remind me of poisonous flowers - beautiful, but deadly if you get too close.

Her eyes sweep around the room and then with a wicked smile, she tips her head toward the back of the workshop. I know there's two studies back there but I've never been. "Come with me."

Raven leads me through to the larger of Uriel's two studies, her wings brushing against tapestries with each graceful step. The room wraps us in dark wood and leather, shelves stretching toward the ceiling. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting dancing light across rows of ancient tomes.

"Sit." She gestures to a plush armchair. "You look like you need something stronger than tea, but we'll start there."

My lips twitch. "That obvious?"

"Please. Your shoulders are so tight they might snap." She pours amber liquid from an ornate pot, steam curling between us. "Here. It's spiced with bloodroot. Helps calm the nerves."

I wrap my fingers around the delicate cup, warmth seeping into my palms. "Bloodroot? Isn't that-"

"Poisonous if prepared wrong? Absolutely." Her violet eyes spark with mischief. "But I promise this batch won't kill you. Probably."

A surprised laugh escapes me. "You're terrible."

"So I've been told." She sprawls in the chair opposite mine, one leg draped over the armrest. Her wings settle against the leather, dove-gray feathers catching firelight. "Now, tell me how a human ended up playing in Uriel's workshop. That grumpy bastard usually can't stand anyone touching his things." Her eyes glitter like she knows the answer so I don't bother to give her my sob story.

I sip the tea - it tastes of cinnamon and something darker, earthy. "I organize better than he does. And I actually label things properly instead of just grunting and pointing."

Raven throws her head back and laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "Oh, I know exactly what grunt you mean. The one that sounds like an angry rono?"

"That's the one." I find myself grinning. "Yesterday he spent twenty minutes looking for a specific whetstone, muttering under his breath, only to find I'd put it exactly where it belonged - in the drawer clearly marked 'whetstones.'"

"Sounds like Uriel." She leans forward, midnight hair sliding over one shoulder. "Though I've never seen him let anyone else organize his precious workshop before. You must be special."

Heat creeps into my cheeks. "I'm just thorough."

"Mhmm." Her knowing smirk makes me squirm. "And I'm just a simple soldier who happens to collect rare weapons."

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