Page 33 of Claimed In Darkness

He pulls away, standing, his composure back in an instant.

I fucking saw it.

That means he is not untouchable.

He is not unshakable.

I can shatter him, too.

"You’ll sleep in my chambers tonight," he says, his voice tight, controlled.

I tilt my head. "Afraid I’ll run?"

His grin is back, but there’s something sharper beneath it now.

"No," he murmurs, turning for the door. "I just like watching you squirm."

Then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and I finally let myself breathe.

The blood is gone now.

But I still feel it.

I still smell it.

I know—no amount of hot water will ever wash it away.

12

ZEPHIRAN

She wears the rage like a second skin.

Every movement, every breath, every sharp flick of her gaze is wrapped in defiance. She sits beside me—no, perches like a caged predator, poised for the moment she can sink her teeth into the hand that dares to feed her.

I wonder if she realizes just how much I enjoy it.

The House of Zacria is alive tonight, the grand hall humming with murmured conversations, the clinking of glass, the soft laughter of courtiers tangled in silken pleasure. The surroundings is thick with smoke and sin, and the aroma of spiced wine lingers between us like a whispered promise.

I do not drink tonight.

There’s no need.

I am already drunk on something else—the heat of her beside me, the tension between us, the unspoken war she is losing one battle at a time.

I reach for my goblet, tilting it between my fingers, watching the way her jaw tightens when she sees my hand move.

She expects a touch.

She expects another lesson.

That, in itself, is enough to make me chuckle.

"You’re wound too tight, little fox," I murmur, voice lazy, soft—a dagger hidden in velvet.

Nairafingers curl into fists in the folds of her dress, but she keeps her chin high.

---