Page 45 of Wings of Shadow
Four simple words, and they unravel me. In them, I hear everything unspoken, every promise yet to be made.
I seize her in a desperate kiss, raw and consuming, pouring into it everything I can’t bring myself to say. Her lips are a perfect fit, her scent—jasmine and rain—searing itself into my memory. The taste of her, the feel of her, will haunt me long after this night is over.
When we finally part, she surprises me. Her delicate hands cup my face with a tenderness that threatens to undo me completely. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, locking onto mine with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
“Stay safe,” she murmurs, tracing the curve of my cheek with her thumb. “Whatever happens, promise me you’ll stay safe.”
I press a kiss to her palm, knowing I cannot promise what she asks. In my world, promises are sacred, binding. To vow safety would be foolish. So I say nothing.
My stare locks with hers, trying to convey everything I cannot say. The depth of my feelings, the fierce protectiveness that burns within me, the regret at having drawn her into this dangerous world of mine.
I turn to Janik. “Escort Lady Clarissa back to Draken Manor. Take Marcus with you.” My voice is harsher than I intend, but I can’t afford weakness now. “Double the guard. No one lays a hand on her. Verstanden?”
Clarissa flinches, caught off guard by the shift in me. She hasn’t yet seen this side—the cold, ruthless king. The man forged by blood and war. Being constantly on high alert would be the life to expect should she choose to accept me as her mate. Oh, but she would have nothing to fear then. Not while I’m around to care for her and make her the happiest woman alive.
Janik bows his head. “Your Majesty.”
“Marcus,” he calls over his shoulder, gesturing to the man standing near the doorway. “Stay with Miss Draken while I bring the car around. Too many eyes on this street.”
Marcus steps forward, his expression unreadable. “My lady.” He extends his arm to Clarissa.
For the briefest moment, she hesitates before placing her hand in his.
I watch as she walks away, her midnight-blue gown shimmering under the chandeliers, burning the image into my memory. My jaw tightens as possessiveness surges through me. Another man escorts her from my sight, but it is my name that lingers on her lips.
I force myself to remain still, to resist the urge to rush after her, to take her in my arms one last time. Instead, I linger, my eyes never leaving her.
Only when she’s gone do I move, turning to face the storm that’s brewing.
23
CLARISSA
Dawn bleeds through the curtains like a wound, painting my bedroom in shades of amber and regret. Another sleepless night. Another eight hours spent haunted by the ghost of his touch, the echo of promises whispered against my skin. The city wakes below my window, just another Saturday morning, but I remain trapped in the liminal space between dreams and nightmares.
I drag myself to the mirror, wincing at the shadows under my eyes. Sophie noticed them yesterday, her voice laced with concern as she blamed the upcoming gala. If only she knew. The meetings, the deadlines, the meticulous seating charts—they’ve been my escape. Structure and schedules are easier to face than the thoughts that keep me awake.
The woman in the mirror looks distant. Pale. Eyes too bright, too tired. My fingers drift to the diamond pendant resting in the hollow of my throat—Kaisner’s gift. Its cool weight against my skin sends a shiver through me. A silent echo of that night at the opera.
Three weeks. Three long, tormenting weeks of silence. Of questioning whether that night was real. Whether I meant anything at all. Was I just another conquest, another notch in Kaisner Drachenstein’s belt?
A sudden buzz shatters the stillness—my phone.
My body tenses on instinct.
For a single, breathless moment, I think it’s him. But no—Nik’s name flashes across the screen. Relief and disappointment collide, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.
“Hey,” I answer, forcing a brightness I don’t feel.
“Clarissa.” His voice is tight. Controlled. “Why am I hearing about you attending a gala in our family’s name—alone? And leaving the opera early?”
There it is.
My stomach drops. Of course, the rumor mill would churn this out. Truthfully, I’m surprised the call didn’t come sooner.
I close my eyes, already picturing his expression. The furrowed brow, the clenched jaw, the impatient pacing in whatever hotel room he’s holed up in this time. “It’s not what you think,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I wasn’t feeling well. And I wasn’t alone. Some of our people were there.”
“Not what I think?” Nik’s voice rises. “Clarissa, do you have any idea what this looks like? The whispers it’s started?”
