Page 56 of Claimed In Darkness

Not as the knife glides through flesh, parting muscle and tendon, slipping past the resistance of bone. Not as the surroundings fills with the wet, choking gasp of a dying man, his body convulsing against the floor before stilling into silence.

Naira stands above him, the dagger still clutched tight in her fist, knuckles white with the force of it.

The blood drips slow, thick, obscene, sliding over her fingers, pooling in the delicate creases of her palm. Some of it clings to her mouth, a single streak curling over the bow of her lips, stark against the smooth heat of her skin.

It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

And the most dangerous.

She does not shake, not even blinking.

It’s either she’s very clam, or in shock.

She breathes, deep, steady, controlled. As if she was meant for this.

As if she has stopped pretending otherwise.

The chamber is silent.

The High Council watches with rapt amusement, their sharp gazes drinking in the sight of their newest executioner, their newest pawn.

They expected her to hesitate.

They thought they would need to coax the monster out of her.

Fools.

Naira has always been a monster.

She just needed the right moment to prove it.

A slow, deliberate clap echoes through the chamber, snapping the tension into something razor-thin.

I know the sound before I turn.

Lord Zareth, the council’s eldest snake, lounging in his throne, his smirk a wicked curve against the dim glow of candlelight.

"Spectacular," he purrs. "She does not disappoint, Zephiran."

The amusement in his voice makes my fingers twitch.

I know this game.

I know what they see when they look at her.

Not a human.

Not a person.

A weapon.

Something they could wield. Something they could use against me, against my father, against whatever dark fate they are scheming in the bowels of this city.

Bringing her here was stupid choice.

I should have known this would happen.

But as I look at her, standing in the pool of her victim’s blood, head high, shoulders squared, eyes burning with something that looks an awful lot like victory?—

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