Page 43 of Claimed In Darkness

43

ZEPHIRAN

S he is still asleep when I realize I love her.

That I always have.

And I have already lost her.

That there is nothing I can do to stop it.

The fire has burned low, the embers casting dull orange light across her skin.

She sleeps too still.

No tossing. No turning.

No shifting like she used to when she was human.

It pains me that she’s not anymore.

And I have been lying to myself, pretending I don’t fucking see it.

But I can’t deny it no longer. Her pulse barely flutters beneath her throat.

It’s in the way she didn’t hesitate when she stopped me from killing that High Council bastard.

It’s not because she wanted to spare him.

She has already taken their side.

She just hasn’t told me yet.

Even in sleep, she feels different. Not my Naira.

I reach for her.

My fingers trail down her arm, pressing against her skin, searching.

For warmth.

For a heartbeat.

For some sign of the woman I love beneath the thing she is becoming.

And for a second—just a fleeting, desperate moment—I convince myself she is still there.

That she will wake and smile.

That she will roll over and murmur some sharp, wicked thing that will make me want to ruin her all over again.

I imagine she will let me pull her against me and pretend that none of this is happening.

That I am not losing her.

That I am not about to wake up to a world without her in it.

But then—her lashes flicker.

And when she opens her eyes—it guts me to the core.

That the woman I have loved, the woman I have bled for, the woman I would burn this entire fucking world down for?—

She is already gone and she knows it.

Her gaze finds mine, unfocused, hazy with sleep, her lips parting slightly.

A flicker of confusion.

A second of recognition.

But then—distance.

A slow, creeping nothingness that makes my stomach uncomfortable.

She blinks.

Tilts her head slightly.

A movement too slow.

Too unnatural.

And she sees it now too.

That I know.

There is no more pretending.

She exhales slowly, lifting a hand to my face, her fingers too cool, too controlled, too much like something that no longer belongs to this world.

"You’re gazing at me like you love me," she murmurs.

I close my eyes.

I can’t bear to stare at her anymore.

How can I tell her that I love her when she is slipping away from me.

I want to drag her back, but she is already too far gone.

She is leaving me.

Nair already has. She kisses me first.

Soft. Sweet.

Like she wants to memorize the way I feel beneath her lips.

Tomorrow—she will be my enemy.

That tomorrow—I will have to choose between her and myself.

That tomorrow—she will no longer be mine.

I kiss her back because I am a coward.

There’s no stopping this kiss. I want to savor this moment as much as she does.

I want to keep her, even as she is ripping herself away from me.

I want to make sure she remembers.

Even when she is standing against me.

Even when she is looking at me with empty, hollow eyes.

Even when she is holding a weapon to my throat.

I want her to fucking remember that I was the one who loved her first.

And I will be the last.

Her fingers slide into my hair, pulling me closer, her breath mingling with mine.

And I almost tell her.

I almost say it.

The words that have been caged in my throat for so long.

The words that will not save us, but will ruin me for the rest of my life.

"I love you."

But the words refuse to form.

If I say it, she will leave me faster.

If I say it, she will know that I cannot stop her.

If I utter these words, I will never recover from what happens next.

She will know that she has won.

That she has fucking destroyed me.

So instead, I hold her tighter.

I kiss her harder.

I let her pull me into the lie that we’re still together.

And I let myself believe it.

I am a fool.

I am already lost because I love her too much to let go.

Even when I know she is already gone.

And I might die for it.

Gladly.