Page 148 of Claimed

‘Don’t hold back because you’re afraid,’ I whisper.

His eyes lift to mine. ‘I am always afraid with you now.’

I kiss him before that can undo me completely.

He groans into my mouth, drives deeper, and I break quickly, too raw for distance, too open for pride. The orgasm tears through me, and I cry his name loud enough that some poor vampire three floors down probably has a spiritual crisis.

Valentin follows, arms locking around me, his voice in my mind and my ear at once.

Mine. Beloved. Mate. Lyra. Eira. My little hunter.

I cling to him as the room steadies.

For the first time since my confession, I let myself believe we might have more than one breath before the world comes for us again.

Which is, of course, when the world comes.

The Heartshard Glass shrieks.

Valentin goes rigid inside me as the windows blacken from the outside, every pane filling with swamp-gold light. The wards in the Tower flare, then bend.

My blood turns cold a second before magnolia fills the room.

Valentin pulls out of me and sets me on my feet in the same fluid motion, body blocking mine, fangs already down.

Selphine appears near the Glass.

Marek Volkov stands beside her.

He’s taller than I expected, broad and pale-eyed, with power moving under his skin like something trapped in ice. His hair is dark, threaded silver at the temples, his face too beautiful in the way old vampires become beautiful when humanity has been polished off them by time. His hand rests at Selphine’s lower back.

The intimacy of it makes my stomach twist.

Selphine looks at my face. At the glamour gone. At Lyra and Eira standing together at last.

Her smile is almost sad. ‘So,’ she says. ‘You chose confession.’

Valentin’s voice is lethal. ‘And you chose death.’

Marek’s mouth curves. ‘Bold words from a king with a blackening mark.’

Valentin lunges. Marek meets him. The impact of two powerful vampires colliding cracks the floor.

I barely have time to register the blur of black and silver before pain detonates in my throat.

I drop. And Valentin’s roar shakes the room.

Selphine stands with one hand raised, fingers curled as if she has hooked them into something inside my blood.

‘I would not if I were you, Moretti,’ she says calmly.

Valentin freezes with Marek’s throat half-crushed in his hand as I claw at my neck, choking.

Rowan’s voice slices through the panic from the doorway. ‘I’ve got this. Trust me, Valentin.’

I hadn’t heard her arrive. Probably because she’s barefoot, hair loose, runes blazing over both arms.

Selphine’s eyes flick to her. ‘Still meddling.’