Page 63 of Claimed

I stand in the quiet with the phone in my hand, staring at the door as if the Tower might offer permission.

Then I do the reckless thing anyway.

Sneaking out of the Tower isn’t hard when you know how predators think.

Malachi expects me to test boundaries openly. He doesn’t expect quiet compliance followed by a slip through the blind spot of routine.

I wait until the lobby shift rotates, then move like I belong.

Because apparently I do, in the sick, twisted logic of this place.

A sidestep into a shadowed alcove, a service corridor, then a small exit that spits me onto a side street where the Tower lights do not reach as sharply.

The night air bites my face as my breath fogs.

Sucking in a breath, I reach for Widow’s Fang, my hand steady when I draw it just far enough to expose the edge.

‘Careless,’ I whisper, setting the excuse in place. ‘Careless, little hunter.’

My imitation of Valentin’s voice is terrible.

I press the blade to my thumb and cut deep.

Pain flares. Blood wells dark and hot, sliding down my skin. The scent hits me immediately, stronger than it should be, metallic and rich enough to make my stomach twist because I can imagine how it will hit Valentin.

I fill the empty Bride’s Mercy vial quickly. Then I summon a private teleporter, the kind who doesn’t ask questions as long as the payment clears. He arrives in a blink, young, nervous, eyes darting because he’s right to be wary of the location and the Tier Seven hunter now publicly tangled with Valentin Moretti.

I hand him the locked box. ‘Deliver to Selphine Rousseau. New Orleans. No detours.’

He nods once, then vanishes.

The moment I step back into the alcove, the hair on the back of my neck rises as the air changes behind me.

I turn and Valentin is there. Close enough that I smell cold heat, dark elegance and hunger pulled tight as wire before my mind catches up.

His gaze locks on my bleeding thumb, then his face goes feral. ‘What did you do, little hunter?’ he rumbles, low and dangerous.

Nope.

My imitation was shit indeed.

My throat tightens. ‘I was clumsy.’

His eyes flash silver as his nostrils flare. ‘Clumsy.’

‘With Widow’s Fang,’ I add quickly, holding up the blade. ‘It nicked me.’

He moves so fast my breath catches, one hand closing around my wrist, lifting my thumb between us like evidence.

Then it disappears into his mouth.

I expect the wound to close. But Valentin sucks at my blood, tongue flicking into the cut, eyes fixed on mine, while his voice slides into my head colder than his spoken words.

Do not lie to me, Eira.

My pulse jumps.

I try to pull back but he doesn’t let me. So I do the only thing my panic offers. I lean up and press my mouth to the corner of his.