Page 73 of Claimed In Darkness

I see it in his hands, the way his fingers shake, the way his grip on the relic is too tight, too unrelenting.

He doesn’t let go. He can’t.

The relic is in him now.

Or maybe—he is in it.

The realization is a slow, insidious thing, curling in my gut, a whisper of something worse than death.

Is it consuming him?

I move without thinking, reaching for his wrist, prying his fingers apart.

"Drop it."

His body jerks. A tremor runs through him, but he doesn’t let go.

His breathing is too shallow, his pulse a violent staccato beneath his skin.

"It won’t let me," he grits out.

I press harder, digging my nails into his flesh.

"Then fight it."

He tilts his head just slightly, as if hearing something I can’t.

His lips curl—slow, dangerous, wrong.

"That’s the problem," he murmurs.

"I don’t think I want to."

My pulse stutters. I see it now.

The hunger beneath his skin.

Not just his usual, cruel amusement.

It’s something not his own. I hear it now.

His father’s voice whispers through the chamber, an echo of a man who isn’t here but still holds the leash.

"You were never destined to be free, boy."

Zephiran flinches, eyes squeezing shut, teeth gritted in something dangerously close to agony.

I slap him across the face, hard enough to snap his head to the side.

A sharp breath drags through his teeth.

His shoulders tense, muscles locked, the relic still gripped tight.

His chest heaves, his control fraying, his body a warzone between two forces that will not let him go.

And still—he fucking smirks.

"Was that supposed to help?"

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