Page 54 of Claimed In Darkness

The pet standing beside one of their own, unbowed, unbroken, unafraid.

They do not like it.

I feel their disdain overflow, the tension crawling over my skin like an infestation of spiders.

But I refuse to lower my head.

The leader among them, a Dark Elf draped in robes the color of dried blood, leans forward, his mouth curling at the edges in a way that makes me want to carve it off his face.

"So," he muses, his voice a slow, slithering thing. "This is the one you hold so dear, Zephiran?"

The words are deliberate, poison wrapped in silk.

They are watching him now, just as much as they are watching me.

Zephiran does not react, at least not outwardly. His expression remains a mask of bored indifference, as if he is already tiring of this conversation.

But his fingers twitch again.

I doubt anyone else notices. Only me.

"You have brought her before us for a reason," another council member speaks, this one female, her voice soft yet cruel, a blade dipped in honey. "Tell us, Zephiran. Why?"

Silence follows. A heartbeat of silence too thick, too heavy.

Then—he does something that makes my breath stop.

He turns to me and I see the risk written in his eyes.

He should not have brought me here. But even if he didn’t bring me, they will seek him out to ‘take care of me.’

We both know it.

"She is useful," Zephiran says smoothly, turning his gaze back to the council. "You question her worth, and yet, she has already proven herself. She fights. She kills. And she does so without hesitation."

A lie.

I hesitated.

But they don’t need to know that.

The leader hums, tapping a ringed finger against the arm of his chair. "Is that so?" His eyes flick back to me, interest sharp as a sword. "Then perhaps… she would not be opposed to proving it again."

A chill slithers down my spine.

Zephiran posture goes rigid.

"Choose a target," the councilman continues, voice rich with amusement. "Let us see for ourselves how… useful she truly is."

I feel the shift in Zephiran before I see it.

A split second of hesitation. A flicker of tension in his jaw.

It is not fear.

No, Zephiran does not fear for me.

He fears for what this means.

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