Page 12 of Claimed In Darkness

12

ZEPHIRAN

S he 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.

"Maybe if you cut this fucking chain, I’d be more relaxed," she bites out.

The hall quietly erupts around us. Not in open shock—no, these creatures do not gasp, do not show surprise so easily.

But they hear her.

They watch.

They are waiting for something to happen.

My pet does not know the game she is playing.

I set the goblet down without drinking, tilting my head as I regard her. "You are mistaken if you think that chain is there to hold you back," I say, amusement curling through every syllable.

Naira scoffs. "Then what the hell is it for?"

I lean in, slow, calculated. My fingers ghost over the delicate silver collar encircling her throat.

She stiffens.

She abhors that I do not have to touch her skin to own her.

"It is a warning," I say smoothly. "To everyone else in this room."

Her breath catches.

There it is—the realization.

She doesn’t belong to herself anymore. She belongs to me.

The collar shines beneath the candlelight, its metal sleek and cool against her flushed skin. Unlike the branding, this is not magic. This is not something seared into her flesh.

This is a choice I have made for her.

I watch the battle rage in her eyes. The flicker of hatred, the curling edge of helplessness, the way she breathes through her nose as if that alone will keep her from shattering.

I want to see her fall apart.

But not here. It will be for my eyes only.

"Why?" she asks, voice sharp as a dagger.

I trace the edge of the chain, letting it clink softly against my knuckles. "There are men in this room who would dare to covet what is mine."

Her pulse thrashes beneath my fingertips, and she feels it, making her hate herself for her reaction.

A shadow looms behind us before she can snap back with another insult.

"Lord Zacria," a smooth, familiar voice murmurs. "I see you’ve acquired something quite… fascinating."

I do not turn immediately. I let the words hang, let them sink into Nairaskin like poisoned silk.

Lazily, I lift my gaze to Lord Orvian.

The filthy dark elf spawn of the devil.

Tall, silver-haired, eyes the color of deep-water graves. He smiles as if he already knows how this will end.

I’m aware of what he wants but I am not in the habit of sharing.

Naira sits too still beside me, her body humming with the tension she does not know how to wield.

Orvian’s gaze drags over her, slow, indulgent. Disgusting.

He turns to me. "I did not take you for the type to collar a pet, Zephiran."

I tilt my head, letting my fingers tighten just slightly around the chain in my palm.

"She is not a pet," I say smoothly. "She is an investment."

Naira bristles.

Orvian’s smirk deepens. "Then perhaps you would consider selling her to me."

The room shifts.

The air turns lethal as if there are invisible swords already drawn.

My grip tightens just a fraction more—enough for Naira to feel it, the promise in the silent crack of the chain between my fingers.

She does not understand.

She does not yet know what I will do for her.

"Not for sale," I say, my voice even.

Orvian hums. "Pity. I could offer quite the price for something as rare as this."

I smile, slow, deadly. "You are mistaken if you think you could ever afford her."

Something flickers in Orvian’s gaze—curiosity, interest, something more dangerous.

I release the chain, shifting my grip from steel to flesh. My fingers slide to the back of Nairaneck, pressing, claiming, holding.

A final fucking warning.

"She stays with me," I murmur, dragging my thumb along the line of her throat. "As long as I wish it."

Orvian knows.

He knows this is not about price.

This is about power.

About possession.

He nods once, stepping back with a smirk. "Of course."

He does not push further. He values his life too much for that.

But I will remember this moment.

I will remember the way he looked at her.

If he dares again, I will rip his fucking heart from his chest and feed it to the crows.

I do not move until Orvian disappears into the crowd.

Only then do I release Nairathroat, feeling the way she shudders beneath my touch.

She turns to me, her eyes ablaze, furious, sharp as a dagger against my ribs.

"You think you own me?" she hisses.

I smile.

"You wore the collar without protest."

She opens her mouth?—

Then closes it.

She knows I’m right.

She is playing the game now, too.

I lean in, my lips just a breath away from her pulse point, from the heat thrumming beneath her skin.

"Stay close tonight," I murmur, feeling her body tremble beneath the command.

She doesn’t answer.

But she doesn’t pull away, either.

That—that means I won this round.