Page 31 of Claimed In Darkness

Before I even see him, I already feel him.

Zephiran stands in the doorway, silent, watching.

His presence smothers the room, oppressive and thick, wrapping around me like chains made of shadow and silk.

I should tell him to leave.

I should demand my fucking privacy.

Instead, I just stare.

His eyes are glowing, blood-red and hungry, dragging over the surface of the water, over the sheen of damp skin peeking above the rose-scented steam.

I don’t cover myself.

I refuse to give him that satisfaction.

"Enjoying the view?" I murmur, my voice hoarse, empty.

A slow, amused hum.

He leans against the doorframe, his silhouette dark and fucking beautiful, framed by the dim glow of candlelight.

"Very much," he says smoothly.

His voice is softer than usual.

That’s dangerous.

It means he’s watching me too closely. Seeing too much.

My hands clench beneath the water.

"Get out," I say, sharper now.

Zephiran doesn’t move and continues to lock gazes with me.

Just moves his head, watching me with that infuriating smirk.

"If you wanted privacy, little fox," he murmurs, "you shouldn’t have let me break you in front of an audience."

Fucking asshole.

I lunge at him without a car, sloshing water over the tip of the bath as I reach for the nearest thing—a porcelain bottle of bath oil.

I throw it at his smug, infuriating face.

He catches it midair. Of course he fucking does.

Zephiran chuckles, tossing the bottle aside like it’s nothing. Like every struggle I muster is nothing.

"You’re still full of fire, even after all that," he muses, stepping further into the room.

I stiffen as he closes the gap between him and me.

As he kneels at the corner of the bath.

As he reaches for me, slow and deliberate, fingers ghosting over the water, over the ripples dancing against my skin.

---