Page 125 of Claimed

The thought arrives so quietly I almost miss it inside myself. Then the first tear falls. I don’t notice it until Valentin’s hand lifts.

When his thumb brushes my cheek, I go utterly still because his touch is so gentle it hurts worse than the betrayal.

Another tear follows. Then another. I stare at him, horrified. ‘Don’t.’

His face changes. There’s no mockery, anger or triumph over softness. Only something raw enough to make my chest ache. ‘Everyone out,’ he says.

The command is quiet and absolute.

The Twelve file out, battered and grim. Rowan is last.

She picks up the small vial she brought earlier, the one filled with pale liquid that glows faintly silver, and sets it on the table beside me.

‘This will quiet the gag for a short window and stop the bleeding response from triggering at the smallest pressure,’ she says. ‘It won’t free the curse, but it will make the lock less eager to kill you for touching it.’

Valentin’s jaw tightens. ‘How long?’

‘A few hours. Perhaps less. It depends how deeply Selphine anchored the work.’

‘And the cost?’

Rowan’s gaze flicks to me. ‘Pain. Nausea. But it won’t harm her too badly. Try to use that wisely.’

‘Comforting,’ I mutter.

Rowan’s mouth softens by a fraction. ‘It’s all I have for now.’

‘Thanks.’

She nods, and when the door closes behind her, the room seems larger without witnesses and smaller because it’s only us.

I stare at the vial, my hands shaking when I pick it up.

Valentin watches, silent. The bond between us remains open, not demanding, but there. Dark, steady, waiting.

‘You trust her?’ I ask.

‘More than I trust Selphine.’

‘Low bar.’

‘Yes.’

I almost laugh. It comes out broken. Then I drink the potion before I can think too hard.

It tastes like snow, salt and something bitter enough to make my whole body recoil. The effect is immediate. Cold slides under my tongue, down my throat, through the places Bride’s Mercy has kept locked. I grip the table, gasping, as pain flickers, sharp and bright, then eases.

The gag remains but it loosens, enough for me to feel the edges of it; for terror to rise because I now understand how much of me has been held behind a witch-made door.

Valentin is there before I sway.

This time I don’t pretend I don’t need him. Another sob rising in my loosened throat, I rush into his arms.

He catches me with a sound that tears out of him, low and broken, his arms locking around me so tightly I feel the tremors in his body. My face presses into his chest and his hand cups the back of my head. The other spreads across my spine, holding me like the Tower might split open and try to take me.

Maybe it will. Maybe everything is opening now.

The bond fills with him and I feel warmth beneath rage. Fear under control. A grief he would never name aloud. Relief so fierce it frightens me.