Page 23 of Midnight Star

I trail off, because whatcanI tell him? How can I make him want Victoria instead of me? How can I make him stop looking at me like I’m something he wants to claim?

He’s so fixated on me that trying to convince him to spend more time with her will just make things worse.

“Tell him what?” she challenges me.

I wrack my mind for something—anything.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, and she spins around to stomp to her room, Sophia giving me a sad smile before she follows at Victoria’s heels.

Zoey

I enter Aerix’s quarters,and my heart nearly stops.

Because there, on his polished ebony table, displayed like some kind of dark masterpiece, are my oil paints, brushes, and the unfinished painting I’d left in the courtyard.

But it isn’t the same. The blood flowing from the fountain, once a soft scarlet, is now a deep, menacing black. It’s thicker, more ominous, as if it could seep off the canvas and stain the wood.

He even had the nerve to sign it at the bottom right corner.

Prince Aerix Nightborne.

Cool currents of air swirl around my ankles, brushing against my skin like unseen tendrils.

“Do you like what I’ve done with it?” Aerix’s voice cuts through the silence as he steps out from the shadows,his midnight eyes gleaming. “I thought it needed a bit more… perspective.”

Perspective.

The word curls through me like a blade.

“It’s not yours to alter.” My hands ball into fists, but I keep my expression neutral.

“Isn’t it?” The air around him shifts, a breeze brushing my cheek. “I gave you the paints, the brushes, and the canvas. Every stroke you make with them—every color you mix, every line you paint—belongs to me.”

My throat tightens. Because his words are a reminder I can’t ignore.

Everything I have here, everything I do, is because of him. If he takes it away, I’m left with nothing.

I draw in a slow breath, somehow staying calm. “Is that why you called me here?” I ask. “To remind me of your generosity?”

“No. I called you here because I wanted to see how much you’ve enjoyed my gifts.” He gestures toward the painting, the blackened blood on the canvas seeming to darken further under his gaze. “And to remind you that the same hands that give can also take.”

The current of air around me grows colder, and I suppress a shiver.

But I force myself to keep my chin high, meeting hisgaze without faltering. “I’ve enjoyed them,” I say carefully, each word chosen like a fragile step across thin ice.

His eyes narrow, glinting with something between amusement and challenge. “You’re learning,” he says, and he begins to circle me, slow and deliberate. “But I wonder… how much of this is an act? You’ve been so distant lately, Zoey. Cold, even. It’s almost as if you’re trying to block me out.”

The breeze around me sharpens, brushing against my arms like cold fingers.

I need to tread carefully. If I keep stonewalling him, I risk pushing him too far. And if I want him to do anything for me, I need to make him think I care.

“I’m not blocking you out.” I swallow, allowing the vulnerability I feel here—every single bit of it—to seep through. If I want him to bend to me, then I need toshowhim the parts of me that even I struggle to face. “I’m scared.”

He stops circling, the current around us pausing as well. “Scared?” he repeats. “Of what?”

“Everything.” My voice trembles, but I lean into it, letting the vulnerability spill out. “I was thrown into this world without warning. I didn’t even know supernaturals existed until a few weeks ago. And now I’m here, surrounded by creatures more powerful than I could ever imagine, trying to survive in a place that doesn’t care if I live or die.”

His midnight eyes bore into mine, and for a moment, I think I see something shift in his expression. Understanding, maybe. Or curiosity. But then he smiles—a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that makes my stomach twist with the same fear I just shared with him.

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