Page 75 of Wings of Shadow
Even if it means confronting the ghosts of my past, the sins I’ve buried deep in the shadows.
Even if it means exposing the secrets I have long since locked away.
I will do it all. And more. For the chance to build a future with this woman.
As I run my fingers through the silk of her hair, as I commit every breath, every sigh, every moment to memory, I make a vow—one that is as eternal as the night sky above us.
I will be her strength. Her shelter.
I will love her with every breath in my body, with every beat of my blackened, brutal heart. And nothing in this world—or any other—will ever take her from me.
Nothing.
32
CLARISSA
Falling in love with a dangerous man is like learning to breathe underwater—exhilarating, until you realize you’re drowning. The days pass in a haze of stolen glances and secret smiles. Each clandestine meeting with Kaisner is a delicious risk that leaves me craving more. It’s not all grand gestures—some moments are quieter, like the late-night coffees he sends when I’m working, or the texts that make me laugh out loud in bed. In these simple, thoughtful acts, my affection grows stronger.
Our first real date is unexpectedly perfect. I’m sketching at the Jardin des Plantes, lost in the quiet hum of spring, when his shadow falls across my sketchbook. Kaisner stands there, a vision in light linen and tailored trousers, his playful gaze softening the sharpness of his presence. “Fancy meeting you here, Miss Draken,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate, stirring something dangerous beneath my skin.
We wander the gardens, our conversation rich with arcane knowledge only beings like us would understand.
“Beautiful,” Kaisner purrs as we stop by a patch of wolfsbane.
I glance at him, arching a brow. “But deadly.”
His gaze lingers on the plant before flicking back to me, the corner of his mouth lifting with a mischievous smile. “Like you.”
Heat flares low in my belly, and I hate how easily he affects me with just three syllables.
I hold his stare. “And like you.”
His slow, wolfish smile sets me alight. Danger, it seems, is a language we both speak fluently. The tension between us coils tighter with every glance, every brush of skin.
By the time we reach the labyrinth, it’s almost unbearable. Hidden by high hedges, he pulls me close, and when his lips find mine, it’s reckless, raw—inevitable.
From there, our secret rendezvous grow bolder. Secluded corners of the Jardin des Tuileries become our sanctuaries—whispered conversations and stolen kisses behind sculpted bushes. Late-night drives through Paris serve as our refuge, the glow of the city our silent witness as we explore each other with fevered touches in the shadowed back seat of his sleek car.
Days turn into weeks, and I find myself falling deeper. It’s not just physical attraction—though that’s certainly part of it. It’s the way Kaisner listens when I speak, his attention sharp and undivided. How he challenges me with questions that force me to think harder, to see beyond the mundane. It’s the vulnerability I glimpse in his eyes when he thinks I’m not looking, the tenderness in his touch that belies his tough exterior.
Yet, even as we revel in our private world, reality is never far away. Our responsibilities, the threat of discovery, always linger at the edges of our stolen moments. The upcoming gala looms—a reminder that our lives are public, political, dangerous—and any misstep could destroy everything.
And Kaisner? As the event draws near, he becomes a constant, exquisite torture. He’s at the gallery daily, dressed to perfection, flanked by his lawyers and efficient assistants, reviewing contracts, discussing logistics, negotiating every fine detail of the exhibition.
I sit across from him in meeting after meeting, knees brushing beneath the table. Every accidental touch is a shock to my system. His cologne haunts me, warm and dark, making it difficult to focus. Every glance he casts my way is heavy with unspoken desire. Every look, a silent promise of later.
It’s maddening, working so closely with him, pretending to be nothing more than cordial acquaintances. My entire being wants to stand up and shout to the world that I love him, that he’s mine and I’m his. But I can’t. We can’t. If Nik—or anyone—discovers our secret, it won’t just destroy us. It will fracture alliances, destabilize power, unravel the delicate balance of our supernatural community.
So we play our parts. We maintain the facade. We speak through glances, coded words, the barest brush of fingertips as we pass documents. Subtle touches that say I love you, that promise soon, that remind us we are not alone.
At night, alone in my bed, I replay each interaction. Every near-touch. Every almost-kiss. The anticipation builds, a steady crescendo of desire and frustration that threatens to overwhelm me. I see the strain in Kaisner too—in the way his jaw clenches, his hands fisting at his sides when we’re forced to maintain our distance. It’s a quiet, torturous longing that burns through every moment we have to pretend.
As the gala draws ever closer, the pressure intensifies. The success of this event is crucial for the gallery, for my family’s reputation, for the frail alliances in our world. And at the center of it all is Kaisner—our benefactor, our star attraction, my secret love.
I long for the night of the event, dread it too. It will be the ultimate test of our restraint. A night where we must perform our roles perfectly, flawlessly, while denying the fire smoldering between us.
But for now, we cling to what we can. Stolen glances. Brushed fingertips. A hidden world of subtle, defiant victories against the forces that would keep us apart.
