Page 20 of Claimed By Midnight

After breakfast, I duck outside. I need air. I need to think. I need to get away from Uriel for a minute.

The garden offers little refuge from my thoughts, but at least the sweet perfume of night-blooming flowers masks the lingering scent of citrus and metal. I sink onto a stone bench, trailing my fingers through the dark purple petals of flowers I don't know the names of.

"Running from him already?" Raven's voice cuts through my solitude. She emerges from behind a twisted tree, her midnighthair a stark contrast against her dove-gray wings. Despite her limp - the one she tries so hard to hide - she moves with deadly grace.

My cheeks burn. "I'm not running."

"No?" She drops onto the bench beside me, stretching her injured leg out. "Could've fooled me."

I watch her face, the sharp angles catching shadows in ways that make her look both beautiful and dangerous. Like everything in this realm. "Does it hurt? Your leg?"

Her violet eyes narrow. "We're not talking about me." She plucks one of the purple flowers, twirling it between her fingers. "You know, in xaphan culture, hiding from your host is considered deeply offensive."

"I'm not-" I stop myself, because maybe I am hiding. "I just needed some air."

"Hmm." She tucks the flower behind my ear, her movements surprisingly gentle for a warrior. "Did you know xaphan can sense emotions? The stronger the feeling, the easier it is to read."

My stomach drops. "They what?"

"Oh yes. Especially fear." Her lips curl into a smirk. "And attraction."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." She shifts, her wings rustling. "Look, Athena, you're in our world now. You need to understand how we work. For instance, when a xaphan's wings flare out? That's either aggression or interest. There's no in-between."

I think about breakfast, about the way Uriel's wings had stretched wide when our hands brushed. "Oh."

"And when we share food?" She raises an eyebrow. "That's not just hospitality. It's an offer of protection. Of claiming."

The bread from breakfast sits heavy in my stomach. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're walking blind in a predator's den." She leans back, her face softening. "And contrary to what you might think, not all of us want to see you fall."

I twist my hands in my lap, trying to process everything Raven's told me. The garden's shadows stretch longer now, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the clang of metal from Uriel's workshop. Each strike makes my heart jump.

"I just..." My voice cracks. "This isn't what I expected when I came here."

Raven shifts closer, her wing brushing against my arm. The feathers are softer than I imagined. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. To hate him? To be terrified?" I pluck another purple flower, crushing its petals between my fingers until they stain my skin. "To feel... used? Back home, I was always locked away. My father was so worried that something would happen to me that he kept me locked up for the last year." I sigh.

"He hasn't been the tormenting captor you anticipated." Her violet eyes catch mine, and for once there's no mockery in them. I shake my head. "That's because Uriel, for all his faults, is fiercely protective once he starts to let you in. And he's been letting you in since the second he saw you."

The admission hangs between us. I glance at her leg, the way she keeps it stretched out, and something in my chest aches. Not the healer's instinct to fix, but something deeper. Understanding.

"How do you do it?" I ask. "Live in a world that sees you as... less?"

Her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "Who says they see me as less?" She gestures to her weapons collection visible through the workshop window. "I turned my weakness into strength. Found my own way to matter."

"The question isn't what others see you as," Raven says, rising with fluid grace despite her injury. "It's what you seeyourself as." She tucks another flower behind my ear, this one blood-red. "And right now? You're seeing yourself all wrong."

She's right, but I can't tell her why as she walks away. Can't admit that every time Uriel looks at me, I feel less like prey and more like... something else. Something dangerous. Something that makes my skin burn and my heart race.

As I walk back toward the house, I hear a noise. I follow it, heading around the side of the house until I spot Koros's massive frame bent over something small in one of the private courtyards.

My breath catches. The xaphan who usually towers over everyone, whose black and gold eyes strike fear into merchants, cradles what looks like a broken-winged bird in hands that could crush stone. His dark red hair falls forward, obscuring most of his scarred face as he works.

I press closer to the window, fascinated by the contradiction before me. His fingers, thick as tree branches, move with the precision of a surgeon as he straightens the bird's wing. The creature doesn't struggle or cry out. Perhaps it senses the same thing I do - this gentleness that seems so at odds with his intimidating presence.

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