Page 48 of Claimed In Darkness

48

NAIRA

I keep moving.

Not when the blood on my hands has dried. The chaos of the battle still rings in my ears.

Every step away from him feels like a blade driving deeper into my spine.

If I dare to stop, I will have to face it.

What I did.

What I lost.

What I left behind, bleeding in the dirt.

And I can’t afford that with the war still raging.

Now when Zephiran is coming for me.

The rain has turned the dirt to mud, thick and clinging, dragging at my boots as I push forward through the ruined city.

Relife should overwhelm me.

I should feel victory.

I walked away. I chose this. I made my choice.

So why does my chest feel like it is still in his fucking hands?

Why does every breath burn?

Why does my skin still remember his touch, his heat, his blade against my throat?

Why does my mouth still taste like him—like the last time, like the end of something I should have buried long ago?

I shake my head. I keep walking.

This is the path I chose. A war I’m fighting.

The High Council is aware as they are waiting for me.

Silent. Watchful. Hungry.

The old man tilts his head, examining me as if I am something shaped from their hands, as if they are the ones who pulled me from the ashes and turned me into something new.

As if they fucking own me.

And maybe—maybe they do.

Perhaps this was always meant to happen.

Maybe I was always meant to be theirs.

But then why does it feel like my heart is still nailed to the battlefield I left behind?

Why do I still feel like I am his, even now?

His breath. His rage. His ruin.

I should have let Zephiran kill me.

I should have never let him live.

Becausef there is one thing I know?—

Zephiran never stops fighting.

And I have just declared a war I am not ready to win.

The old man steps closer, his voice low, measured, like he already knows what’s coming.

"You did well."

I should feel pride.

Satisfaction should swell inside me.

Instead—I feel nothing.

Not even when he smiles, not even when the others bow their heads, not even when they look at me the way a beast looks at the first drop of blood in the water.

They think I have given myself over completely.

That I am a weapon they can wield.

That I have let go of the past, of him.

That I have severed the last thread still tying me to the world I used to belong to.

I almost believe it too.

Until I hear his name.

Until the words fall from the old man’s lips like they mean nothing.

Until he speaks like Zephiran is already dead.

"He will not survive this war."

The breath leaves my lungs.

And suddenly—I know.

I made a mistake.

That this was never about myself.

That I never stopped being his, no matter how hard I tried.

Because no matter what I did?—

No matter how many times I walked away?—

I would rather burn this world to the ground than let them take hurt him.

This makes me afraid.

I am beginning to wonder…

If I never really left him at all.