Page 50 of Claimed By Midnight

Uriel gives me a soft smile as he comes from his study to work at his forge, the flames casting a golden glow across his perfect features. His wings are folded tight against his back, the light gray feathers ruffled from the heat.

I reach for an empty vial just as Uriel's hand extends behind him. Without looking, I place it in his palm. He doesn't pause in his work, doesn't even glance back. The rhythm feels as natural as breathing.

"The purple powder." His deep voice carries over the forge's crackle.

My fingers find the correct jar before he finishes speaking. When I set it by his elbow, his lips quirk up at the corner. That cruel smile that used to make my skin crawl now sends warmth through my chest.

The workshop smells of metal and magic, undercut by that citrus scent that follows him everywhere. I breathe it in as I move to the shelf of finished weapons, organizing them by type. A sword needs cleaning – I grab the oil and cloth without him asking.

"Your form was sloppy today." He doesn't look up from the blade he's enchanting.

"You were watching?"

"Always." The word hangs in the air between us.

I focus on the sword in my hands, pretending the heat in my cheeks is from the forge. The blade's surface reflects my golden-green eyes back at me, distorted by the damascus patterns in the steel.

"Hand me the binding runes." He extends his hand again.

I select three stones from the collection, each etched with glowing symbols. Our fingers brush as I pass them over. His skin burns like the forge itself.

The magic builds as he works, making the air thick and heavy. My hair starts to curl more in the humidity, but I don't mind. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, the way power flows through his hands into the metal. He doesn't show off with flashy spells like other xaphan. His magic is precise, controlled – just like everything else about him.

I return to sorting vials, but my eyes keep drifting back to his hands, watching them shape metal and magic with equal skill. We move around each other in a dance we've perfected over months, anticipating, adjusting, never breaking stride.

I run the oiled cloth over another blade, watching the metal shine. The silence between us feels comfortable now, not suffocating like it did those first weeks. When did that change? When did his presence stop making my shoulders tense?

"You're distracted." His voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Just thinking." I set the sword aside, studying his profile as he works. The forge light catches his golden curls, turning them almost white-hot. His wings shift, feathers rustling with each precise movement of his hands.

"Dangerous habit." That cruel smile plays at his lips.

"Why did you take me that night?" The question spills out before I can stop it. My heart pounds against my ribs as his hands still over the forge.

For the first time since I've known him, Uriel hesitates. His golden eyes fix on the metal before him, avoiding my gaze. The workshop feels smaller suddenly, the air heavier with more than just magic.

"You were beautiful." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Standing there in your father's garden, moonlight in your hair. Iwanted you." His wings flex, casting shifting shadows across the workbench. "So I took you."

I should be horrified. Should hate him for his casual admission of theft, of treating me like something to be claimed. Instead, my lips curve up. Heat blooms through me that has nothing to do with the forge.

"You're smiling." He turns to face me fully now, those perfect features sharp with interest. "Most would call that response concerning."

"Most would call you concerning." The words come easily, playfully. When did that happen? When did our barbed exchanges lose their sting?

His laugh echoes off the workshop walls, dark and rich. The sound wraps around me like smoke, and I find myself leaning toward him without meaning to.

"Little demon." His eyes darken as they track the movement. "You're not afraid of me anymore."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "No. I'm not."

But I'm afraid of what he is doing to me and that is far, far more dangerous.

27

URIEL

Ipause mid-stride, my wings twitching with restless energy as I stare out the study window. The leather of my boots creaks against the polished wood floor. The courtyard is empty, but that is because Athena is in the workshop, sorting through the weapons I've asked her to catalog.

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