Page 141 of Claimed

‘How?’

‘You made me want to stay.’ My chest contracts as she smiles faintly, and the attempt almost breaks me. ‘Which, honestly, very rude of you.’

My lips curve against my will. ‘Unforgivable.’

‘Deeply.’

Her eyes search mine, and through the bond comes something shy, fierce, unwilling to kneel even before tenderness.

‘I think I’m falling in love with you, Valentin,’ she says.

The room disappears around the words.

No, that is too small.

The Tower disappears. The curse, the Glass, the Five Blood, the ancient mother clawing at the edge of the world, all of it recedes before the mortal woman in my arms with blood on her mouth, fear in her eyes, handing me a truth no spell has forced from her.

I am old enough to know that love can be another word for ruin. But I am ruined already and welcome it. With my whole, undead heart. ‘Good,’ I say, voice rough.

Her eyes narrow, offended through tears. ‘That’s what you’re going with?’

My mouth finds her temple. ‘Indeed. It means I am not suffering alone.’

When her laugh turns into a sob, I hold her through it. And when she calms, she lies against me, exhausted beyond pride. I feel sleep pulling at her again, natural this time. Healing. Needed.

‘Say it,’ she whispers.

I know what she asks. The thing I have wanted and dreaded since she spoke it. My mouth lowers to her ear. ‘Lyra. My beautiful, brave Lyra.’

Her whole body shivers as if the name hurts her. Even as it frees her.

Then I tighten my arms around her, letting the hunter feel it too. ‘My little hunter.’

And that is what finally makes her cry.

Eira

The spell falls away like a house burning from the inside.

I feel it in layers.

Heat under my skin and under my tongue. A thousand tiny hooks releasing from places I didn’t know had been hooked. My throat throbs in raw, pulsing waves, but the brutal fist that has held my name for six years is gone.

Gone.

The word is too enormous to fit inside my head.

Valentin holds me against him while I shake, and I don’t have the strength to pretend I hate how badly I need the anchor of his body. His arms are iron and restraint. His blood moves through me, heavy and bright, trying to knit damage the spell left behind when it tore itself apart. My mouth tastes of him, my own blood, and freedom so sharp I almost gag on it.

I should feel triumphant. Mostly I feel hollow, like a room after furniture has been dragged out and the dust outlines show where everything used to be.

My face prickles. That’s the strangest part.

A subtle crawling beneath the skin, along my cheekbones, around my mouth, down the bridge of my nose. I lift a hand weakly, but Valentin catches my wrist before I touch myself.

‘Careful.’

‘I’m not made of glass.’