Page 53 of Claimed In Darkness

53

ZEPHIRAN

S he’s mine, but she’s dying.

And I was too blind to see it.

She’s still in my arms, body loose, breath warm against my skin.

But something is wrong.

At first, I think she’s just exhausted, just coming down from the war between us.

She sways. Just slightly.

And my stomach drops.

I hold her waist, on her wrists, on every part of her that doesn’t feel like it’s slipping through my fingers.

"Naira."

She exhales slowly, a soft smile on her lips.

Like she’s trying to hide it from me.

"I’m fine,” she whispers, her fingers tracing my nose.

She’s lying.

She never says that unless she’s not.

She never sounds like that unless something is wrong.

She’s not just tired.

She’s weak.

Too weak.

And I should have seen this sooner. This is all my fault.

I drag her closer.

I press a hand to her cheek, her throat, the fragile flutter of her pulse—too faint.

"What did you do?" I demand, voice sharp, cutting.

She doesn’t answer. I gasp, a hand clutching my heart. Silence is her admission.

The relic took something from her.

It’s been taking something from her this whole time. I thought it was only changing her.

But it’s feeding off her. Draining her. Sinking its fucking claws into her soul piece by fucking piece.

And I let it happen.

This is all on me.

I was too focused on the war.

Too focused on chasing her.

Too focused on getting her back.

Now, she’s slipping away, and no one can stop it, even her.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" I ask with a shaky voice.

She’s dying in my arms, and she didn’t even tell me.

She closes her eyes.

"because I didn’t want you to stop me."

All I see is red.

"You thought I wouldn’t notice?"

She swallows hard, a flicker of something too close to regret flashing across her face.

"I hoped you wouldn’t."

My jaw locks. My fucking chest aches.

"So you planned on dying for this? For them?"

A small, broken laugh slips past her lips.

"No," she whispers. "I planned on dying for you.”

It’s a confession.

A death sentence.

I don’t want it. I won’t take it.

She is not dying for me.

She is not giving herself up for me.

She belongs to me.

She always has. And I will not lose her to this.

I cup her face, forcing her eyes on mine. Forcing her to see what she just said.

I want her to understand that I will not let this happen.

"You think I’d let you do this?"

Her lips press together.

"You think I’d let you fucking die for me?" I ask again, gazing into her eyes, trying to speak to what remains of her soul.

She flinches.

I will burn this world to keep her.

She knows I would rather die myself than let her pay this fucking price.

Even if it’s already too late, I will still fight for us.

The fire between us turns to desperation, an inferno that threatens to scorch us both until nothing remains.

I crush my mouth against hers, needing her to stay.

I need her to remember what this feels like.

I need her to know I will kill anything, anyone, even myself to keep her breathing.

She kisses me back.

Not like she’s giving up.

Like she’s memorizing me.

Like she’s saying goodbye.

But no, I will never allow it.

When I pull away, my breath is ragged, my grip on her unshakable.

"You are not dying for me,” I declare.

She exhales. "You don’t get to decide that."

I laugh.

Dark. Low. Lethal.

"Yes, I do."

She stiffens.

“I will rip this curse out of you,” I vow.

I will shatter that relic into dust.

I will burn this entire world down if it means keeping her alive.

I am not losing her.

Not to the relic.

Not to the curse.

Not to anyone.

And if death wants to take her?—

It’ll have to take me first.