Page 14 of Claimed In Darkness

14

ZEPHIRAN

T he road stretches before us, a vein of stone cutting through the blackened wilderness of Protheka.

The Capital waits at the end of it, its towers of obsidian and bone piercing the sky like a god’s broken teeth.

Beside me, riding on horseback, is the most beautiful, infuriating creature I have ever owned.

Naira sits too straight, too tense, her hands tight on the reins, her jaw locked in silent rebellion.

She hasn’t spoken a word to me since the night she tried to kill me in my sleep.

I think she’s still pissed that she failed.

Good.

I want her seething.

Every time she stares at me with murder in her eyes, I see something else beneath it.

Something deeper, volatile, and dark.

Something she doesn’t want to admit.

I keep my gaze on her as we travel, watching the way the wind tugs at her hair, the way her thighs tighten around the saddle.

She is not built for submission.

She is built for violence. For defiance.

But she wears my mark.

She wears my collar.

And now, she rides at my side.

I should not enjoy that as much as I do.

But fuck.

I am living for this, every moment of this.

Silence stretches between us, letting her stew in it, letting her believe she can ignore me forever.

But she can’t.

She never could.

"You look like you’re plotting something," I say, breaking the quiet.

Naira doesn’t even glance at me. "Oh, I am."

I smile, relaxing even more. "Do tell."

She exhales sharply, her grip tightening on the reins. "It involves your slow and painful death."

I chuckle, shifting in the saddle, deliberately invading her space as I lean in.

"You had your chance, little fox," I murmur. "And you wasted it."

She turns then, her gaze a promise.

"You won’t always be lucky."

I grin. "And yet, here I am. Still breathing. Still owning you."

She hates every reminder of her slavery.

I see it when her lips part, just barely, like she’s about to spit something sharp and unforgivable.

But she doesn’t.

She just faces forward again.

Ignoring me.

Again.

As the capital looms closer, a familiar ache creeps into my bones, slow and insidious, like teeth biting into my flesh from the inside.

The curse is waking.

Too soon. Too fast.

I school my expression into something unreadable, but Naira is watching me.

Her gaze feels like a living entity hellbent on discovering every nook and cranny of myself.

She is too fucking observant for her own good.

"You’re quiet," she says. "I don’t like it."

I exhale slowly, shifting in the saddle, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tightening pain.

"Maybe I’m thinking about all the ways I could punish you once we arrive."

She snorts. "As if you need a reason."

My vision blurs for a second.

The pain spikes, sharp, cracking through my ribs like lightning.

Shit.

Not here. Preferably later.

I sink my nails into my palm, focusing on the heat of the road, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath me.

Nairaeyes narrow.

She’s aware that something’s wrong. Or different with me.

She fucking knows.

"Something wrong?" she asks, her voice smooth, but there’s something else in it.

Something like curiosity. Suspicion.

I glance at her, my lips curling into something sharp.

"Not at all," I lie.

She doesn’t believe me.

She doesn’t say anything but I feel it.

The shift in our surroundings.

The way she watches me now—not like she’s ending me, but like she craves to understand me.

Like she wants to unravel me.

That is more dangerous than anything.

Because if she digs too deep, she will find the truth.

And the truth is, I am already losing this war between us despite winning some of our battles.