Page 3 of Claimed In Darkness

3

NAIRA

I should have let him kill me.

That would have been the easier choice.

But no—I had to open my mouth, had to fucking agree to whatever twisted game Zephiran Zacria is playing. And now, I’m bound to him by a deal I barely understand, a leash made of silk and steel.

He knows it.

He walks ahead of me, leading me through the estate like a king guiding his newest, most unruly pet. His stride is lazy, effortless, like he’s never had to run for anything in his privileged, blood-soaked life. He moves like the world owes him space, and it does.

I hate that I notice how he moves. Hate the way my body is still vibrating from his presence.

Fucking bastard.

The halls are silent except for the distant crackle of torches and the echo of our footsteps. Gilded statues of long-dead Dark Elves loom from their pedestals, faces carved into expressions of eternal arrogance. The entire estate reeks of power. Of centuries of cruelty stitched into its very bones.

I clench my fists to keep from touching the walls. I don’t want any part of this place on my skin.

On me.

“You’re brooding,” Zephiran says without looking back.

I roll my eyes. “And you’re talking.”

A low, amused hum. Like he enjoys the fight.

I grit my teeth. “So? Where are you taking me?”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone with no leverage.”

I scoff. “You want me to steal for you, don’t you? Maybe don’t treat me like a dog you dragged in from the street.”

He stops.

Too fast. Too sharp.

I barely register the movement before I’m slammed against the cold stone wall.

The impact steals my breath, my head snapping back, a sharp sting cutting through my scalp. His body is all heat, all shadow, pressing me into unyielding stone, his scent crawling into my lungs—dark spice, steel, something ruinous.

I should be scared.

I should be fighting.

Instead, I’m burning.

“You think this is mistreatment?” he murmurs, his voice a slow drag of silk over a blade.

I glare at him, trying to ignore how fucking big he is. He’s not like the Dark Elf lords who lounge on velvet cushions and sip wine while their guards do their dirty work. No—Zephiran is a predator. And right now, I am cornered.

“Get the fuck off me,” I snap.

He smirks. “No.”

I growl, trying to shove him, but he doesn’t budge. His fingers slide down, slow and deliberate, grazing over the curve of my hip. Not a caress. Not quite.

A warning.

I hate that I shiver.

He leans in, his breath ghosting against my ear. “You’re mine now, little fox. If you want to survive, you’re going to learn exactly what that means.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “You wish I was yours.”

His grip tightens. Just a fraction. Just enough to send a shudder licking down my spine.

I don’t know if I hate him or if I just hate myself for reacting.

His eyes flicker to my mouth . “ Careful, Naira,” he murmurs. “You might start to enjoy it.”

Bastard.

He steps back, releasing me like he wasn’t just holding me like a fucking possession. Like he wasn’t just branding me with his body.

I refuse to show weakness. I push off the wall and meet his gaze with as much venom as I can summon. “If you ever touch me like that again, I’ll slit your throat in your sleep.”

A slow, lazy smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

I will.

The tension still claws at my skin as I follow him down another corridor, my pulse uneven, my rage simmering beneath the surface.

I need to focus. I need to figure out what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into before it’s too late.

There’s one undeniable truth hanging between us, thick and suffocating.

I’m not afraid of him.

I’m afraid of the way I want to see how far I can push him.

And worse?

I think he wants the same fucking thing.

He leads me into a war room.

Maps are sprawled across a massive obsidian table, marked with locations I don’t recognize. Strange artifacts rest on the shelves, each one humming with dark energy. I don’t want to know what they do.

He gestures to a chair. “Sit.”

I remain standing.

His lips twitch. “Already disobeying?”

I fold my arms. “You didn’t say ‘please.’”

“Do you think this is a fucking game?”

I do now.

“Tell me what you want me to steal,” I say instead. “ I’m not staying in this palace of yours any longer than I have to.”

He studies me for a moment. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he unrolls a parchment.

I step closer. And the second I see what’s sketched onto it, my stomach drops.

The High Council’s Vault.

I go very, very still.

“No,” I say immediately.

Zephiran voice is soft. “Yes.”

I snap my gaze to him. “You want me to break into the most secure fucking vault in all of Orthani? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

He leans forward, resting his hands on the table. His rings glint in the candlelight, dark jewels dripping with wealth and blood.

“Why else would I need you?” he murmurs.

Fuck.

I exhale sharply, my mind racing. The High Council’s Vault is legendary. Impenetrable. It doesn’t hold just gold and treasures. It holds secrets. Forbidden magic.

And now this Dark Elf bastard wants me to walk into the maw of death itself and pluck a relic from its jaws?

“I won’t do it,” I say.

Zephiran smirks. “Yes, you will.”

I shake my head. “Find another thief.”

He steps around the table, closing the gap between us again.

“There are no other thieves,” he says. “There is only you.”

His voice wraps around me like silk and chains, and I fucking hate how true it is.

He’s right.

No one else could do this.

He knows it.

But I don’t look away. I won’t.

I lift my chin. “You better pray I don’t betray you, my lord.”

His smirk deepens. “Oh, little fox.”

He leans in, close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath against my mouth.

“I’m counting on it.”