Page 52 of Claimed By Night

“We aren’t invisible,” Dragan grumbles as his gaze moves to Cambion and grows angry again. “What happened to keeping watch?”

The Seelie King shrugs from where he’s reclining against a tree, appearing as comfortable as possible given our situation. He’s incredibly handsome, but I don’t trust him. And he doesn’t trust me. So, I guess we’re at an impasse.

“Do none of you understand the position we’re in?” Dragan rails as he glares first at Cambion and then at Flumph. When his gaze rests on me, it softens.

“Doyou?” asks Cambion icily. “Last I checked, you were the one who brought us here.”

“This was the safest place I could think of.”

“The Raven Forest?!” Cambion yells at him.

Dragan’s eyebrows arch in an expression of defensiveness. “Right now, our only concern should be guarding the angel.”

“Alleged,” clarifies Cambion, and then glances past me as if he’s looking for a sign of my wings.

The topic of my wings has come up so frequently and yet there’s still no sign of them; I begin to wonder if the spritedidn’tjust imagine seeing them. Maybe I wasn’t the only one onAtacomite? Then I start to consider what will become of me if the sprite is wrong. If I really don’t possess my wings and I’m the same as all the other angels, what then? I figure Dragan will just turn me over to Variant, as his edict orders.

“If she didn’t have her wings, then why would something have been chasing her in the first place?” asks Dragan, glaring at Cambion.

“Chasing her?” Cambion repeats and seems at a loss.

“When she arrived at Anona’s,” Dragan begins but the sprite interrupts.

“She was outta her damn mind onAtacomitean’ was goin’ on ‘bout somethin’ followin’ her. She was, like… convinced o’ it an’ scared outta her skin.”

“As you said, she was high,” Cambion responds with little interest.

“Somethingwasfollowing me,” I insist.

Cambion faces me, frowning, but then centers his attention on Dragan. “The angel possesses plenty of value without her wings.” He speaks the words slowly, as if spitting out each one. “Maybe it was Variant’s men trying to arrest her, according to his edict. Maybe it was a lonely group of gypsy men.” He shrugs. “Your fair angel seems like quite the tasty snack after a hard day laboring in Precinct Five. Or maybe… maybe she imagined the whole thing,” his voice is deep, tinted with his natural authority.

I wish I could show them my wings just to end the constant fighting. I can only hope that I truly possess them.

Not yet, Eilish. You’re not safe.The voice in my head, quiet through most of the night, has returned.Tell them they must have faith, it instructs.

Straining to speak, my voice lifts out of my chest; its edges are hoarse and cracking. “I need… you to trust me,” I manage.

Looking at me, Dragan and Thoradin appear to soften. Cambion, not so much. His expression remains hard.

“We don’t even know who you are,” he points out and glares at me.

“She don’t even know who she is,” Flumph adds.

Silence falls on us once again. Cambion seems revived, at least. The exhaustion’s left his face somewhat and now, he just looks angry. Although, on him, the emotion is somehow flattering. His sharp features are brought into focus all the more by his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. When his eyes meet mine, he holds my gaze in a way that makes me feel more naked than I already am beneath the thin fabric that poorly conceals me.

Cambion’s eyes trail down my body, to the place where the sheet wraps around my shoulders and plunges between my breasts. He stands up and approaches me, then takes an edge of the fabric in his hand. Unsure of what he’s going to do, I simply watch.

Dragan stands up and takes a few steps closer to us, watching Cambion intensely, his jaw fixed. He looks like he’s ready to spring to action any moment.

“What are you doing?” Dragan growls.

Cambion ignores him and stares at me unabashedly. His eyes are beautiful pools of amber, but they’re cold. No longer able to look him in the eyes, I glance down and watch as what appears to be yellow embers dance between his fingers and the thin sheet I’m wrapped in. But instead of the embers lighting the fabric on fire, the sheet begins to fold back on itself then forward, like invisible hands creating origami. I watch, amazed, as the sheet arranges itself until I’m no longer wearing a sheet at all. Instead, I’m wrapped in a white, sleeveless dress that ends at my knees. Above me is a cloak, also crafted from the sheet. Its hood is large and it covers most of my hair, reaching down past my ankles. For the first time since I can remember, I’m dressed.

“Fancy!” Flumph announces, then laughs goofily.

“How did you do that?” I ask the Fae King as I look up at him in wonder.

His eyes linger on mine for a few seconds before he answers. “Transmutation,” he says quietly.

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