Page 50 of Claimed

‘Valentin,’ he says, voice like expensive silk over rot. ‘I hear you attended a gala tonight. How charmingly human.’

‘You sent creatures into my territory.’

A faint sigh. ‘Sent is such a feeble word. I prefer tested the waters.’

‘You used a mortal politician as bait. Pathetic.’

‘I used a mortal politician as a mirror,’ Dorian replies. ‘Men like that always show you what they are when you give them the illusion of power.’

‘I killed your mercenaries. All of them.’

‘I assumed you would. Did any of them at least make you sweat?’

The phone cracks under my grip at the reminder of the demon’s poison in Eira’s veins. ‘Why?’

He pauses, brief and deliberate. ‘Because time is moving. And you’ve been… secretive,’ Dorian says softly.

‘Am I not always?’

‘Not like this.’ His amusement thins. ‘New York trembled last night, brother. Do you imagine the rest of us did not feel it?’

Eira goes utterly still, and through the fragile tether between us, her fear spikes sharp enough to taste.

Dorian continues idly, ‘Perhaps Morrighan’s patience is finally thinning.’

The name poisons the air and my mark pulses harder in resonance. Eira’s hand lifts to the healed place on her arm, fingers pressing over the skin my blood closed.

‘Do not speak her name to me.’

He laughs softly. ‘You can cocoon her in blood and iron, yet still you flinch when she’s mentioned. How delicious.’

‘You will never set foot in New York for the remainder of your life. However long or short that may be.’

‘Will I not?’ he replies lightly. ‘Or am I ensuring you remember that none of us are finished with anything she started?’

I end the call, barely feeling the phone disintegrate beneath my furious grip.

Eira steps closer instead of away. ‘For fuck’s sake, stop hurting yourself,’ she says, voice rough. ‘It makes me dangerously sympathetic, and I hate character growth.’

I give in to the craving and yank her close as I stare at the glittering skyline and feel the urge to tear something apart purely to quiet the pressure building in my blood.

Eira breathes once. Careful and measured.

Afraid, perhaps. But still here.

Despite everything, despite the savage threat that hangs in the air, my hunter is not running. And Gods, I don’t want her to. Even knowing every secret in her blood may be the blade that finally reaches my heart.

And that is the most unnerving thing of all.

8

EIRA

It’s been twenty-four hours since the Tower went dark.

Or maybe twelve.

Or thirty-six.