Page 50 of Claimed In Darkness

With freedom just a few feet away.

And yet?—

I remain standing in his territory as if I’ve lost my ability to run.

18

ZEPHIRAN

She hasn’t run.

Not even with the door standing wide open behind her, the night air beckoning, the promise of escape curling through the corridor like a whispered temptation.

Instead, she stands in the dimly lit hall, breathing too fast, eyes too sharp, hands clenched at her sides as if she’s fighting a war inside herself.

I exhale slowly, my own exhaustion pressing against my ribs, the curse sinking claws into my spine.

I should leave her standing there.

I should walk away, let her simmer in her own indecision, let her wrestle with the realization that it was never me binding her here?—

It was always herself.

But I don’t leave.

I am too curious. There’s this part of me wanting to witness her struggle.

I want to know?—

What stopped her?

I turn back toward her, taking my time, enjoying the way her breath stutters when I close the space between us again.

The hall is quiet, too quiet, the only sounds between us the sharp inhale she tries to smother, the whisper of silk brushing against the stone floors, the slow, deliberate press of my boots as I trap her against the cold marble wall.

Her jaw tightens, her body rigid, but she does not retreat.

She does not cower.

The torches lining the corridor flicker, casting gold across her skin, painting her in defiance and fury, in something dark and intoxicating.

I brace one hand beside her head, letting the other trail too lightly, too deliberately down her arm.

"Why did you stop?"

The question is quiet, but sharp, sliding beneath her skin like a knife dipped in honey.

She remains silent, holding it in.

Her chest rises too fast, her lips press into a thin, furious line, her shoulders stiff with something not quite anger.

I could tear the words from her. Press harder, squeeze, force her to say it aloud.

But I want her to give it to me.

I want her to willingly admit it.

Her nostrils flare, chin lifting in the way it always does when she’s readying for a fight.

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