Page 40 of Claimed By Midnight

No sharp retort. No biting comment about my supposedly lacking book collection or my nosy tendencies. Just three quiet words before she steps outside, the door closing behind her.

I drum my fingers against my desk, the perfect stillness of my features marred by a frown. I'd wanted her tamed, not broken. This ghost wearing Athena's face leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

The door opens again, and I catch Raven's scent - steel and leather - before I see her. She leans against the doorframe, her violet eyes narrowed as she watches me with an expression I can't read.

"Your little human's lost her spark." Raven's midnight hair falls across her face as she tilts her head. "What did you do?"

"Nothing." I spread my wings, the light gray feathers catching the morning sun. "I don't know why she's acting like that."

"That's zarryn shit." Raven limps into my study, dropping into the leather chair across from me. "You've got that look."

"What look?"

"Like you want to hunt down whatever's hurting her and tear it apart." She props her boots on my desk, ignoring my glare. "But you can't, because you don't know what it is. And that's eating you alive."

My fingers curl into fists. "I pushed her. Tested her limits. But I never-" The words stick in my throat. "She fought back before. Called me every creative curse she could think of. Now she won't even look at me."

"Maybe she finally realized she's trapped here with a possessive xaphan who treats her like a particularly interesting pet." Raven's voice cuts like a blade.

"She's mine to protect." Heat floods my veins. "To keep safe."

"To control?" Raven's violet eyes flash. "You're practically radiating jealousy right now. Whatever's got her attention isn't you, and it's driving you mad."

"I don't-"

"Save it." She stands, favoring her good leg. "Cool it with the territorial shit before you make things worse. She's not some weapon you can forge and shape to your will."

The truth in her words burns worse than poison. I've never cared what humans thought before. Never wanted one's attention, their fire, their fight. But watching Athena retreat into herself feels like watching the sun go dark.

I try to give her time, but when I walk in for dinner, I know it hasn't helped. Athena occupies the seat to my right - close enough to watch, far enough to maintain the illusion of proper distance. The table stretches empty beyond us, a wasteland of polished mahogany and untouched place settings.

Of course Raven would force me alone with her after our conversation earlier.

My own plate sits forgotten as I observe her delicate hands push a piece of roasted meat from one side to the other. The silverware scrapes against fine porcelain, the sound grating against my nerves. She hasn't taken a single bite.

"The cook will be insulted." I reach for my wine glass, the deep red liquid catching the light. "He spent hours preparing this feast."

Her fingers tighten around the fork. "I'm not hungry."

The words lack their usual fire. No cutting remarks about being force-fed like a prized pet. No clever observations about poison being an effective appetite suppressant. Just quiet defeat.

My wings shift against the high-backed chair, feathers rustling with irritation. I've never seen her yield, not once, yet here she sits, diminished. The golden-green eyes that once sparked with defiance stare listlessly at her plate, as if the answers to her freedom might be found in the arrangement of vegetables.

Something twists inside me, sharp and unexpected. It's the same sensation I get when I find a flaw in a newly forged blade - the knowledge that something perfect has been marred.

"Eat," I command, my voice harder than intended. The word echoes in the cavernous dining room.

She flinches. Actually flinches. The reaction hits me like a physical blow, and that thing in me twists tighter.

Her fork moves mechanically to her lips, taking the smallest possible bite. She chews without tasting, swallows without enjoyment. It's a hollow victory that leaves an ashen taste in my mouth.

The flames flicker, casting strange shadows across her face. For a moment, she looks like a broken toy - beautiful, fragile, and utterly lifeless. I grip my wine glass tighter, the stem threatening to snap under the pressure of my fingers.

The rest of dinner is silent. And after, when she leaves, I sit staring at her still full plate for too long. That feeling I’ve been trying to ignore worsens and twists until I am up out of my seat and following her.

I won't keep letting this go on.

I catch her in the darkened hallway before she can retreat to her room. My wings spread, blocking her path, feathers brushingagainst the stone walls. The shadows cast by the magical torches dance across her face, highlighting the hollowness in her cheeks.

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