Page 24 of Claimed

‘Excellent. Love a motivational update.’

‘Enough,’ Malachi snaps at her.

I look at him. Despite his lowered gaze, anger bleeds through the bond between us. As does fear and hurt. He’s still furious that I told Eira about the mark before him.

Now they have seen me fall. Worse, protected by a woman whose body and blood calls to me in ways I cannot explain.

‘There will be time for your resentment later,’ I tell him.

His jaw tightens. ‘I have no resentment, sire.’

‘You are a terrible liar, which is fortunate, since you cannot lie.’

A faint sound escapes Iskander.

I look to Aaron. ‘Status.’

‘The Tower systems are restored. The blackout lasted ninety-four seconds. External grid disruptions were masked as a localised relay fault. No mortal authorities have flagged the incident.’

I’m not sure why I look to Eira when I ask, ‘Heartshard Glass?’

She exhales. ‘It fractured. Screamed a few times, but it doesn’t look dead.’

I close my eyes for half a second. I remember the Glass shrieking when my mark answered Eira’s blood. Witnessed it. Perhaps amplified the danger.

Another complication.

‘Seal the bedroom,’ I say. ‘No one touches the Glass.’

‘Already done,’ Gideon says.

My gaze remains on Eira.

She is too pale beneath the sharp line of her expression. And still withholding something that may be the hinge upon which all of this turns.

Still, the need to cross the space and touch her is immediate, brutal and inconvenient.

I remember my weight dropping onto her. Her breath and body trapped beneath mine, a creature built to break stone.

‘I collapsed on top of you, little hunter. Are you hurt?’ I ask, dragging my thumbs down her soft cheek.

Eira’s mouth parts, sarcasm clearly loading, but it fails before launch. Her throat works. ‘No,’ she says, softer than either of us can afford. ‘You didn’t hurt me. But maybe don’t do it again?’

Relief moves through me too violently to hide. ‘Understood. You discussed calling a witch?’ I say.

Her mouth compresses. ‘If you’re about to suggest that again, I would rather lick the floor.’

‘I am not calling any witch you know.’

Relief flickers across her face.

‘Yet.’

It vanishes. ‘Fantastic.’

‘First, I will call Ciaran O’Rourke.’

Aaron clears his throat. ‘You just woke, sire. Perhaps you should conserve your strength?’