Page 53 of Claimed By Stone
And me—delivered like an offering at the center of it all.
My gaze dropped to the smooth wood beneath my hands. I wasn’t even sure when they’d started trembling. I pressed my palms flat, willing the tremor to stop, willing the growing dread to be quiet.
But it wasn’t.
I remembered nothing of hurting anyone. No spells. No secret sabotage. No whispered incantations in the night.
But Iwasthere. And so much has happened since.
Maybe I'd already done what they made me for, but I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever it was, it was just lying dormant. Waiting. While nothing was certain, it seemed that with every new piece of evidence, the picture was getting clearer. Between the nightmares and the knowledge that I’d been a gift from the Westerly Clan, it was easy to see. I was a weapon, my purpose still unknown, but clearly not good.
I couldn’t breathe. The warmth of Thavros’s thigh beside mine grounded me for a moment, but even that couldn’t stop the twisting coil of fear in my gut.
I didn’t belong at that table.
And worse—I never would.
The meeting ended in a blur. I couldn't bring myself to meet the eye of any of the orcs at the table. In fact, the rest of the day, I went through the motions, pretending to be fine, pretending I wasn't drowning inside.
During dinner, Khuldruk had called over Thavros and whispered in a serious, hushed tone. I knew it was about me. It had to be, but in the end, Khuldruk just nodded and clasped him on the shoulder before he returned to me.
I'm not a fool. I know I'm a danger to them. To all of them.
When we retired to Thavros's chambers for the night, he busied himself getting ready for bed. We cleaned up, and he made us tea, all while checking on me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching one of the pillows like it could anchor me to the present. My voice trembled before I even spoke.
“Thavros?”
He turned immediately, eyes softening like they always did for me.
“I think…” I swallowed hard. “I think you need to lock me away.”
His entire body went still.
I rushed to explain. “I don’t know what I was meant to do—but if I was a gift from the Westerly Clan, if I’m tied to the deaths of your parents, to the fall of the crystal—then maybe I already did something horrible. Maybe I’m still meant to.”
He crossed the room in two long strides and knelt in front of me, taking my shaking hands in his.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I whispered. “But I’m scared I might. Please. If there’s even a chance—just lock me away before I do.”
Thavros's silence stretched, thick and thunderous. I couldn't look at him—couldn’t bear to see what I feared would be agreement, that he would lock me away. That he’d finally see me as the danger I was.
But instead of pulling away, he knelt in front of me and took my face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away tears I hadn’t realized had fallen.
“No.”
The word rang with quiet authority.
I blinked. “But?—”
“I won’t lose you,” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in it. “You’ve been alone long enough. You’ve been used and broken and left trapped in stone. But not anymore. Not while I draw breath.”
My mouth parted to argue, but he leaned in and kissed me softly, reverently.
“We’ll figure this out,” he murmured against my lips. “Together.”
“But what if I’m—what if I was sent to?—”
