Page 3 of Claimed In Darkness

She stands before me, all sharp edges and defiance, a wild little thing trapped in the belly of a beast far greater than she can comprehend. Yet, she doesn’t kneel.

Most would.

Most would be trembling, pleading, begging for their worthless, insignificant lives. But this human—this thief—meets my gaze head-on, chin tilted up in open fucking defiance, like she hasn’t been caught with her hand buried deep in the wolf’s maw.

I should kill her for that alone.

I should crush her throat between my fingers and watch the light bleed from those too-clever eyes.

But she is still useful, so I don't.

“Do you know how many humans have tried to steal from me?” I ask, my voice a slow, measured blade.

She doesn’t answer.

I step closer, watching the tension ripple through her small, wiry frame. Her body is coiled, tight as a bowstring, ready to snap at the first sign of weakness. But she doesn’t retreat.

“None,” I answer for her. “Because none have been stupid enough to try.”

Her lips curl, baring teeth that should look weak but don’t. She tilts her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder in a mess of tangled waves. “Then I suppose I’m the first.”

She’s provoking me.

She needs to see how close she can dance to the flame before it devours her.

I let my amusement show, just a flicker of it—a slow, dark smirk curling at the edges of my mouth. “Yes,” I murmur. “You are.”

She doesn’t understand yet.

Doesn’t understand that I am choosing to let her live.

I glance down at the dagger she tried to drive into my throat. It still sits in my grip, the hilt warmed by her palm just moments ago. The steel is unimpressive—scratched, dull from use. A commoner’s weapon for a common little fox.

Yet, she aims to kill.

I step closer. Close enough that I can feel her breath against my throat. Close enough that if she were any stupider, she might think she had a chance to slit mine.

I drag the tip of her own blade along her jaw. Lightly. A feather’s touch. Her pulse jumps beneath the thin stretch of her throat. Not fear. Adrenaline.

Interesting.

“Tell me,” I murmur. “Do you wish to die tonight?”

Her lips part slightly, and I see the way she swallows. But her voice, when it comes, is steady.

“I think you’re too arrogant to kill me yet.”

She’s not wrong.

I chuckle, dragging the blade lower, tracing the line of her throat. “You broke into my home, little fox. What should I do with you?”

She stills, a calculation flickering in her gaze. Weighing her options.

She has none.

I tilt my head, watching her, watching the way her body betrays her even as her words remain sharp. “Most would beg,” I tell her.

She scoffs. “I’m not most.”

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