Page 85 of Wings of Shadow
But nothing could prepare me for the sight that awaits.
Clarissa. Drenched, her midnight gown clinging to her body, golden hair plastered to her face. Her eyes—precious sapphires that haunt my every thought—are wide, red-rimmed, glassy with emotion. Vulnerability. Desperation. Fear.
“Baby…” The word escapes me, unbidden, raw. I take her in fully, concern slicing through me. She trembles, fragile beneath the chill.
I reach out, cupping her face, fingers cool against the warmth of her flushed cheeks. She leans into me, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her skin is ice, but she melts against me all the same.
“Come inside,” I murmur, voice low, urgent. Protective.
I draw her in, shutting the door against the howling wind. She stands in my foyer, dripping onto the black marble. Her dampness soaks into my shirt as I gather her close. She doesn’t resist. Instead, she folds into me, silent, as though her usual resilience has drained entirely. It stirs something dangerous in me—a dark, primal urge to destroy whoever has made her like this. To raze it to ash.
But first, I will comfort her. First, I will give her my strength.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper into her rain-scented hair. My arms tighten around her. “You’re safe now.”
She looks up, her gaze a maelstrom of emotions. And then, she rises on tiptoes, and without a word, her lips find mine.
The kiss is desperate, fevered. A plea and a promise. Any thoughts of restraint crumble as I answer with the same urgency. My hands seize her waist, holding her like something precious. Mine.
Her body trembles beneath my touch, wet silk clinging to her skin as I scoop her into my arms. She buries her face in my chest, and I sense the rapid, uneven beat of her heart.
Past marble and glass, I carry her upstairs, shadows chasing us into my sanctuary—my bedroom.
I ease her into the warmth by the hearth, the flames licking the air, wrapping us in their heat. Kneeling beside her, I steady her with my hands at her waist, reluctant to let any distance grow between us. She’s trembling, and I pull her closer, my fingers lingering on her soft skin as I study her features for any sign of what’s tormenting her.
I brush a damp strand of hair from her cheek, my thumb tracing the delicate curve of her face, soft but possessive. The hurt I see in her eyes slices deep, tugging at something primal. Her presence, usually a balm to the darkness within me, now fuels it. The mere thought of someone causing her pain sets my blood ablaze.
She averts her gaze, a delicate hand covering her lips.
Her vulnerability cuts me open. Whatever brought her here, whatever demons she’s fighting, I silently vow to keep them at bay. Tonight, she needs me, and I’ll be damned if I let her down.
“What is it, Liebes?” I ask, my voice sheer velvet, betraying the rage buried beneath. My fingers trace her jaw, the curve of her neck, cataloging every tension, every flicker of pain. “Tell me.”
Her lips part, but her gaze wavers. She shivers, and I drape a throw over her shoulders. She clutches it tight, and I draw her closer, my body instinctively curving around her to shield her from the world itself. The dragon in me stirs, answering her pain with an urge to possess.
Mine, it growls. Mine to protect. Mine to avenge.
Clarissa takes a shaky breath. “It’s… everything,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “The gala, the secrecy… It’s all too much.” She pauses. “And then, there’s Nik.”
The mention of Nikolaas sets my teeth on edge. I tamp down the heat of my anger.
“He called and…” she adds, fresh tears brimming.
“What did he say?” I press, crouching before her, reading every flicker of emotion in her expression.
She hesitates. “Nik found out you were involved in the gala. He’s... not pleased.” Her voice carries careful understatement. “And now he says you’ve offered your art collection to our foundation?” Her brow furrows, confused.
I nod sternly. “I signed the contract this morning, lending my full art collection for an exhibition later this year.”
It seems Nikolaas keeps a close eye on me too.
Clarissa’s eyes widen, surprise flashing across her face. For a moment, a flicker of excitement dances on her features, but it quickly fades. Her lips press into a thin line, gaze darkening again.
“Kaisner,” she whispers, “Nik also mentioned you’ve officially refused to support his claim as Dragon King.”
I inhale sharply, my shoulders tensing. “I have,” I admit, the words heavy on my tongue.
Her breath hitches, fingers twisting the throw. “Why?” she asks, her voice cracking.
