Page 2 of Claimed In Darkness
2
ZEPHIRAN
S he stands before me, all sharp edges and defiance, a wild little thing trapped in the belly of a beast far greater than she can comprehend. Yet, she doesn’t kneel.
Most would.
Most would be trembling, pleading, begging for their worthless, insignificant lives. But this human—this thief—meets my gaze head-on, chin tilted up in open fucking defiance, like she hasn’t been caught with her hand buried deep in the wolf’s maw.
I should kill her for that alone.
I should crush her throat between my fingers and watch the light bleed from those too-clever eyes.
But she is still useful, so I don't.
“Do you know how many humans have tried to steal from me?” I ask, my voice a slow, measured blade.
She doesn’t answer.
I step closer, watching the tension ripple through her small, wiry frame. Her body is coiled, tight as a bowstring, ready to snap at the first sign of weakness. But she doesn’t retreat.
“None,” I answer for her. “Because none have been stupid enough to try.”
Her lips curl, baring teeth that should look weak but don’t. She tilts her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder in a mess of tangled waves. “Then I suppose I’m the first.”
She’s provoking me.
She needs to see how close she can dance to the flame before it devours her.
I let my amusement show, just a flicker of it—a slow, dark smirk curling at the edges of my mouth. “Yes,” I murmur. “You are.”
She doesn’t understand yet.
Doesn’t understand that I am choosing to let her live.
I glance down at the dagger she tried to drive into my throat. It still sits in my grip, the hilt warmed by her palm just moments ago. The steel is unimpressive—scratched, dull from use. A commoner’s weapon for a common little fox.
Yet, she aims to kill.
I step closer. Close enough that I can feel her breath against my throat. Close enough that if she were any stupider, she might think she had a chance to slit mine.
I drag the tip of her own blade along her jaw. Lightly. A feather’s touch. Her pulse jumps beneath the thin stretch of her throat. Not fear. Adrenaline.
Interesting.
“Tell me,” I murmur. “Do you wish to die tonight?”
Her lips part slightly, and I see the way she swallows. But her voice, when it comes, is steady.
“I think you’re too arrogant to kill me yet.”
She’s not wrong.
I chuckle, dragging the blade lower, tracing the line of her throat. “You broke into my home, little fox. What should I do with you?”
She stills, a calculation flickering in her gaze. Weighing her options.
She has none.
I tilt my head, watching her, watching the way her body betrays her even as her words remain sharp. “Most would beg,” I tell her.
She scoffs. “I’m not most.”
“No,” I agree. “You’re not.”
Which is why I won’t kill her.
Not yet.
I lift the dagger away, tossing it to the side like it’s nothing. She watches it clatter to the ground, and I see the moment her spine stiffens, the moment she realizes what I’ve done.
I’ve disarmed her.
She is mine now.
I take another step forward, closing the distance between us. She should move. She doesn’t.
“I have a proposition for you,” I say.
Her expression sharpens, wary. “What kind of proposition?”
The silence stretch, and I savor the anticipation—the way the tension between us crackles like a live wire. Then, I say, “You’re going to steal something for me.”
She exhales sharply, almost a laugh. “That’s what you want? You caught me breaking into your home, and instead of killing me, you want me to do more crime for you?”
“Yes.”
She shakes her head. “You must be even more arrogant than I thought.”
I step closer—so close now that she has to tilt her head back to hold my gaze. She doesn’t like that.
Good.
“You stole from the wrong house tonight,” I tell her softly. “And for that, you will either earn your life—or lose it.”
She should say yes.
She should be grasping at this chance like a drowning man grasping for air.
Instead, she narrows her eyes, gaze flickering with sharp, stubborn resistance.
“No,” she says.
No.
I stare at her. “No?”
She shrugs, lips curling. “Not interested.”
I laugh. Actually laugh.
This girl is fucking insane.
I grab her chin, fingers pressing just hard enough to demand her full attention. Her breath hitches—not in fear. No, not in fear at all.
I lean in, voice dropping into a slow, dangerous whisper. “You don’t have a choice.”
Her nails dig into her palms. Fighting her own instinct to shiver.
“I always have a choice,” she snarls.
Wrong.
I release her just as suddenly as I grabbed her, turning away, exhaling sharply. I should punish her for her defiance, should teach her what happens when humans forget their fucking place.
Instead, I say, “If you refuse, I’ll make sure every human in Orthani suffers for your disobedience.”
That hits its mark.
I don’t even need to look at her to know it. I hear it in the sharp inhale, in the way her breath stalls in her chest.
That’s her weakness.
Not herself.
The others.
The ones hiding in the ruins beneath this city, the ones she’s been stealing for, bleeding for, suffering for.
I turn back to face her, tilting my head. “Work for me,” I say, voice soft now, almost a purr. “And I will grant them protection. I will ensure that every human under my control is kept safe, untouched. You have my word.”
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
But I see it.
Her finger twitches, and she flicks her tongue over her lips in agitation; her breath quickens just slightly.
She’s breaking.
Slowly.
I take one last step forward, close enough to see the defiance warring against the inevitable fucking surrender.
She exhales, a sharp, furious breath. “Fine.”
The victory is delicious.
I grin. “Good girl.”
She snarls, stepping back like the words burn. “I hope you choke on your own pride, my lord.”
I chuckle, watching her, already anticipating the hell we’re about to unleash upon each other.
“Likewise, little fox.”