Page 33 of Claimed By Midnight

Even if I still want her. But I've managed to hold back.

I pretend to focus on my wine, but my eyes keep drifting to Athena as she stands. She's reaching for one book a few shelves up, stretching up on her toes. Her leathers pull tight across her curves, and the movement causes her honey-blonde curls to cascade down her back like liquid gold.

"Need help?" I keep my voice neutral, though my wings spread slightly of their own accord.

"I can manage." There's that defiance again. She grabs a lower shelf for leverage, determination etched in every line of her body.

The sight of her struggling stirs something primal in me. I could easily grab what she needs - or better yet, wrap my wings around her and lift her myself. But there's something captivating about watching her refuse to ask for help. I like to edge it out.

I'd rather hear her beg.

She shifts her weight, and the movement draws my attention to the gentle sway of her hips. The forge's heat has brought a flush to her skin, making her glow in the lamplight. When she finally grasps the book, a triumphant smile lights up her face.

"See?" She turns, brandishing her prize, and catches me staring. "What?"

I quirk a brow as I lean against the front of my desk. "Just wondering how many shelves you'll climb before admitting you need assistance."

She crosses her arms. "I managed just fine."

"So you did." My eyes track a bead of sweat as it trails down her neck, disappearing beneath her collar. The scent of her - herbs and sunshine - grows stronger as she moves closer, and my wings twitch with the urge to enclose her.

She leans over to examine a blade on my desk, one I shout be sharpening, and her curls brush against my arm. The contact sends electricity through my skin, and I have to resist the urge to catch one of those golden ringlets between my fingers.

"Your edge is uneven," she points out, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the tension crackling between us.

I force myself to focus on the weapon, not on how close she's standing or how her presence makes my workshop feel smaller, warmer, more dangerous than any forge fire.

But then a knock sounds on my workshop, and Koros' voice carries in. "Uriel?" I fight the urge to groan when I want to pull her to me. "You in here?"

Athena follows me back into the workshop, and I nod to Koros. "I got it."

The merchant enters the room, his wings a dull gray that marks his common status. The moment his gaze lands on Athena, lingering too long on the curve of her hip as she goes to her workbench, something dark and possessive claws at my chest.

"The sword." My voice comes out as a growl as I turn and pick up his covered weapon. I step between them, wings spreading to block his view. "You're here for the sword."

"Ah, yes." He tears his eyes away, but they keep drifting back to her. "Though I didn't expect such... pleasant company in a weapon forge."

The metal handle of the blade creaks under my grip. Heat builds in my palms - magic responding to the urge to strike. To claim. To make it clear that she's not for his eyes to feast on.

"Your business is with me." I tower over him, letting my wings cast shadows across his face. The temperature in the workshop rises with my temper.

Athena moves behind me, the sound of her clearing away instruments making my skin prickle. The merchant's gaze follows the sound, and a snarl builds in my throat.

"The price has doubled." The words slip out before I can stop them.

"What?" His wings ruffle in indignation. "But we agreed-"

"Triple, if you keep staring at what isn't yours."

The threat in my voice finally registers. His wings fold tight against his back - a submissive gesture that does little to calm the possessive rage burning through my veins.

I want to wrap Athena in my wings, to hide her from every other set of eyes in this cursed city. The need to possess her, to make her submit only to me, burns hotter than my forge. I like that she fights me, that she makes me work for every inch of this relationship.

Butonly me.

The merchant leaves with his overpriced sword, and I'm left wrestling with this overwhelming desire to keep her caged in my workshop, safe from prying eyes and wandering hands.

The rational part of me knows I have no right to these feelings, but the darker part - the part that's pure xaphan warrior - wants to mark her as mine in ways that would make even demons shocked.

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