Page 66 of Claimed In Darkness

We stop at the end of the hall.

The final door looms before us.

The relic is inside.

The moment the attendant reaches for the lock, a wave of heat lances down my spine, sharp, unnatural—wrong.

Something is happening. It’s definitely not part of the plan.

The hairs along my arms rise as I turn slightly, my breath catching.

My pulse stutters.

Because I know that presence.

I have felt it before.

In the dead of night.

In the silence of his chambers.

When he thought I wasn’t looking.

I turn my head.

And Zephiran is there.

He stands at the far end of the corridor, half-shrouded in shadow, the torchlight flickering over the sharp lines of his face.

His tunic is loose at the throat, his black hair a mess, as if he’s just woken from something he couldn’t control.

His eyes are wrong.

Too bright. Too unfocused.

He shouldn’t be here.

He wasn’t supposed to follow me.

Why is he risking this?

The attendant at my side frowns, following my gaze. "Lord Zacria?"

Zephiran doesn’t answer.

Not at first.

Too slowly, he lifts his head, the movement unnatural, like a man waking from a nightmare.

His hands shake at his sides, his breath too ragged.

He looks like a man drowning.

He is staring at me.

My stomach knots.

"Leave us," Zephiran says, his voice just slightly off.

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