Page 49 of Claimed By Midnight

The afternoon sun beats down as I dodge another swing from Raven's practice sword. Sweat drips down my back, making my tunic cling to my skin. The courtyard's stone floor radiates heat, and my feet ache from hours of footwork.

"You're getting better." Raven's violet eyes narrow as she circles me, her midnight hair pulled back in a severe braid. Despite her damaged leg, she moves like liquid shadow. "But you're still telegraphing your strikes."

I grip the wooden sword tighter, my muscles burning. "I'm trying?—"

"Don't try. Do." She lunges forward, her dove-gray wings flaring for balance. I barely block her attack, the impact jarring my arms. "You've got good instincts. Trust them."

My chest heaves as I reset my stance. Three hours of training, and she hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Speaking of instincts..." Raven's lips curl into a knowing smirk. "Have you talked to Uriel lately?"

The question catches me off guard. My sword dips. "Not since the other night." When he fucked me ruthlessly and has since avoided me. "Why?"

She attacks again, forcing me to focus. "No reason."

"Raven—"

"Your guard's dropping." She taps my ribs with the practice sword. "Again."

I growl in frustration, but she just laughs. The sound echoes off the courtyard walls.

"Are you happy here?" Her tone shifts, becomes gentler.

The question makes me pause. Beyond the training yard, Uriel's mansion sprawls across the countryside, its gray stone walls and elegant spires a stark contrast to the wild meadows surrounding it. The workshop's chimney puffs steady streams of smoke into the crystal-blue sky.

"I am." The answer comes easily. "It's different from home, but... I don't feel trapped here." Then I add with a smirk, "Even with all the training."

"Good." Raven's expression gives nothing away, but there's something in her eyes I can't read. She shifts her weight, favoring her left leg slightly – a tell she'd never show in real combat. "Now, show me that defensive sequence again. And this time, keep your elbows in."

I flow through the defensive sequence, but my mind wanders at her question. When was the last time I plotted an escape? The realization hits harder than Raven's practice sword – I can't remember.

My feet falter on the hot stones. Three months ago, I would've been cataloging every guard rotation, testing window latches, measuring distances between balconies. Which is what I always did at home.

Now? I know which floorboards creak in the east wing. I can read all three xaphan like a book. I can navigate the workshop's maze of shelves blindfolded.

"Focus!" Raven's sword whistles past my ear.

I duck, muscle memory taking over where my scattered thoughts fail. The movement sends my honey-blonde curls tumbling free of their tie, ringlets sticking to my sweat-dampened neck.

This isn't what Father or Astrid ever wanted for me. I'm supposed to be the gentle one, the healer, safely tucked away in our family's compound. Not sparring with a xaphan warrior or living under the same roof as...

The thought of Uriel makes my chest tight. I see flashes of golden curls, cruel smiles that somehow don't seem so cruel anymore. The way his massive wings cast shadows across the workshop floor. The citrus-and-metal scent that lingers in rooms long after he's gone.

And I remember Raven asking me what I want, something my family never did. It has made all the difference for me to finally be able to answer that.

Raven's practice sword catches me in the ribs again. "Your head's in the clouds."

I rub my side, knowing it'll bruise. Another mark to add to my collection, proof that I'm not the sheltered innocent everyone thinks I am. Or am I? Here I am, playing at being a warrior, while my magic-wielding captors humor my attempts at strength.

But that's not fair. Raven's been teaching me real skills, not just humoring me. And Uriel... he looks at me like he sees something more than just a fragile human to protect.

When did these demons start feeling less like jailers and more like...

I can't finish the thought. Won't. Instead, I raise my sword again, ignoring the tremor in my arms. "One more time."

Once Raven finally lets me go, I wash up and head to the place that I feel most at home - the workshop. It's funny tome how much I've come to love being in here, even if it's just lounging in Uriel's office.

The workshop's heat wraps around me like a blanket as soon as I step through the door. I spot vials that need sorting, and I head to them. Each one catches the afternoon light, sending rainbow fractals dancing across the wooden workbench.

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