Page 22 of Claimed In Darkness

22

ZEPHIRAN

S he walked away.

That should amuse me. Should even make me admire her, the way she turned with her head high, her back straight, leaving me standing in the doorway of my own damn room.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.

I should have taken her. Should have broken the last of her resistance, dragged her to her knees and reminded her exactly who owns her, who made her, who turned her into this.

Instead, I let her slip through my fingers.

Again.

Now, I sit in my war room, my fingers pressing into the wood of the table, tension crawling over my skin in slow, methodical waves.

The heist is set.

The relic is within reach.

Everything I’ve planned, every move I’ve made, every piece I’ve maneuvered into place—it’s all coming together.

My mind is nowhere near the fucking plan.

Because I can still feel her breath on my throat, the slow, deliberate retreat of her body, the way she turned away and left me standing there, needy, wanting.

She is a distraction.

A dangerous, fucking deadly distraction.

I can’t afford this luxury.

Not when the High Council is watching my every move, waiting for me to slip, waiting for me to make a mistake they can use against me.

I exhale slowly, letting the tension settle in my bones before I lift my head.

"Status," I command, my voice cutting through the thick, candle-lit chamber.

Across the table, my second-in-command, Varik, leans forward, the dim glow catching against his silvered hair, his violet eyes sharp with interest.

"The vault has been secured," he murmurs. "Double the expected number of guards. And rumor is, the High Council’s personal enforcer has been sent to oversee its safety."

I suppress the flicker of irritation curling at the edges of my mind.

Of course.

They knew I would come for it.

They knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away.

My father probably had a hand in this. I grit my teeth.

"Doesn’t matter," I say, my tone bored, despite the rage simmering just beneath the surface. "We go as planned. They can guard it all they want. It won’t make a difference."

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of Varik’s mouth. "Confident, as always."

I don’t humor him with a response. Instead, I turn my gaze to the far side of the room—where she stands.

Naira is pressed against the stone wall, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. The torchlight flickers against her skin, dancing over the sharp planes of her collarbones, the exposed line of her throat, the silver glint of the collar still locked around it.

She doesn’t belong in this room.

Another piece in the game I’m playing.

Her gaze flicks to mine, and something dark shifts in the space, something sharp and unforgiving.

She knows I want her. How she left me craving her like a need settling in my gut.

She leans her head slightly, just enough to be insubordinate, to make me think of how her throat would feel beneath my teeth.

"I assume you’re not keeping me here just for decoration," she drawls.

The others at the table fall silent.

She’s testing me.

Pushing.

Trying to see where my control snaps.

I exhale, slow and deliberate, before turning fully toward her.

"The vault is impenetrable," I say. "Except by you."

Her lips part slightly, brows furrowing in the first real flicker of surprise I’ve seen from her in days.

"Their security measures are meant for me," I continue. "For my men. For thieves trained in the dark arts, trained to move unseen. But you?"

I tilt my head, letting my gaze rake over her, making sure she feels every bit of it.

"They see you as nothing more than a tool," I murmur. "A weapon at my disposal. The perfect little pet, trained to obey."

Her jaw clenches.

I almost smirk.

"That," I say, leaning in just slightly, "is how we get in."

Silence coils between us, thick and suffocating.

"You want me to walk into the vault like a good little slave," she murmurs. "Pretend I’m there on your orders. And then what? Kill everyone inside?"

"If necessary."

Her lips press into a tight line.

"You’ve already proven yourself to them," I remind her. "They trust you now, in their own twisted way. They think you belong to them just as much as you belong to me."

Something flickers in her expression—something she doesn’t like.

"I don’t belong to anyone."

The words shouldn’t make my blood heat the way they do.

Shouldn’t make something dark and possessive curl at the base of my spine.

"Then prove it," I murmur. "Play the game. Use their own arrogance against them."

She hesitates as she knows I’m speaking the truth.

She knows she’s capable of it.

She’s aware this is the only way.

Finally, she exhales through her nose, her posture relaxing as her decision settle into place.

But then—her lips curve.

It’s not a smile.

It’s a warning.

"You think you know me," she says, voice low, amused, fucking venomous.

I arch a brow. "I do know you."

Her chin tilts, her mouth still holding that dangerous, dangerous smirk.

"Then you should know," she purrs, "I don’t follow orders."

Something sharp punches through my gut straight to my core, a flare of heat and frustration, something bordering on obsession.

The woman is bold, she doesn’t wait for my response.

She simply turns, her fingers brushing against the corner of the table as she passes, her body far too close, her scent still lingering on my skin.

Then she’s gone.

Leaving me with a war brewing in my chest, a plan hanging on the razor’s edge of her rebellion.

The final piece has fallen into place.

But I don’t know if it’s the one that will save us.

Or the one that will tear us apart.