11. Athena

11

ATHENA

T he morning sun streams through the dining room's tall windows, catching dust motes that dance in the air. I push the eggs around my plate, my appetite lost somewhere between last night's dreams and the electricity that shoots through my skin every time I catch a glimpse of Uriel's massive wings folded behind him.

My fork scrapes against the fine china. The sound makes me wince.

"Not hungry, little demon?" Uriel's deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.

I keep my eyes fixed on my plate, watching the way the yolk bleeds across the white plate. "Just tired."

But tired doesn't explain the way that I dreamed of him taking me, of how I'm still aching for him despite being able to feel his mouth on my pussy. Tired doesn't explain why I can still smell citrus and metal, or why my heart races every time his wings rustle.

"You should eat." He pushes a plate of bread closer, and I swear there is a flash of concern in his eyes.

My fingers tremble as I reach for a slice, and I hate myself for it. This isn't me - this fumbling, nervous creature who can't meet someone's eyes. I'm fierce. I'm independent. I've set out to prove I don't need to be coddled as I always have - though that hasn't gone according to plan. But one touch from this xaphan warrior has reduced me to...this.

A servant refills Uriel's cup with steaming tea, and I catch his reflection in the polished silver pitcher. His golden curls catch the light, making him look much kinder than a xaphan should be. It's a lie. I've seen the cruel twist of his smile, the way his perfect features sharpen when he talks about humans. About my kind.

My stomach clenches. I force myself to take a bite of bread, but it turns to ash in my mouth. What would Astrid say if she could see me now? My fierce older sister would probably tell me to get my head straight. To remember what I am - and what he is.

"You don't even have to come to the workshop today," Uriel says, and I make the mistake of looking up. His golden eyes lock with mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. "If you're too…tired."

I drop my gaze back to my plate, hating the heat that creeps up my neck. I know that he's wondering if he pushed me too far, but what I don't understand is why he cares .

After breakfast, I duck outside. I need air. I need to think. I need to get away from Uriel for a minute.

The garden offers little refuge from my thoughts, but at least the sweet perfume of night-blooming flowers masks the lingering scent of citrus and metal. I sink onto a stone bench, trailing my fingers through the dark purple petals of flowers I don't know the names of.

"Running from him already?" Raven's voice cuts through my solitude. She emerges from behind a twisted tree, her midnight hair a stark contrast against her dove-gray wings. Despite her limp - the one she tries so hard to hide - she moves with deadly grace.

My cheeks burn. "I'm not running."

"No?" She drops onto the bench beside me, stretching her injured leg out. "Could've fooled me."

I watch her face, the sharp angles catching shadows in ways that make her look both beautiful and dangerous. Like everything in this realm. "Does it hurt? Your leg?"

Her violet eyes narrow. "We're not talking about me." She plucks one of the purple flowers, twirling it between her fingers. "You know, in xaphan culture, hiding from your host is considered deeply offensive."

"I'm not-" I stop myself, because maybe I am hiding. "I just needed some air."

"Hmm." She tucks the flower behind my ear, her movements surprisingly gentle for a warrior. "Did you know xaphan can sense emotions? The stronger the feeling, the easier it is to read."

My stomach drops. "They what?"

"Oh yes. Especially fear." Her lips curl into a smirk. "And attraction."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." She shifts, her wings rustling. "Look, Athena, you're in our world now. You need to understand how we work. For instance, when a xaphan's wings flare out? That's either aggression or interest. There's no in-between."

I think about breakfast, about the way Uriel's wings had stretched wide when our hands brushed. "Oh."

"And when we share food?" She raises an eyebrow. "That's not just hospitality. It's an offer of protection. Of claiming."

The bread from breakfast sits heavy in my stomach. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're walking blind in a predator's den." She leans back, her face softening. "And contrary to what you might think, not all of us want to see you fall."

I twist my hands in my lap, trying to process everything Raven's told me. The garden's shadows stretch longer now, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the clang of metal from Uriel's workshop. Each strike makes my heart jump.

"I just..." My voice cracks. "This isn't what I expected when I came here."

Raven shifts closer, her wing brushing against my arm. The feathers are softer than I imagined. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. To hate him? To be terrified?" I pluck another purple flower, crushing its petals between my fingers until they stain my skin. "To feel... used? Back home, I was always locked away. My father was so worried that something would happen to me that he kept me locked up for the last year." I sigh.

"He hasn't been the tormenting captor you anticipated." Her violet eyes catch mine, and for once there's no mockery in them. I shake my head. "That's because Uriel, for all his faults, is fiercely protective once he starts to let you in. And he's been letting you in since the second he saw you."

The admission hangs between us. I glance at her leg, the way she keeps it stretched out, and something in my chest aches. Not the healer's instinct to fix, but something deeper. Understanding.

"How do you do it?" I ask. "Live in a world that sees you as... less?"

Her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "Who says they see me as less?" She gestures to her weapons collection visible through the workshop window. "I turned my weakness into strength. Found my own way to matter."

"The question isn't what others see you as," Raven says, rising with fluid grace despite her injury. "It's what you see yourself as." She tucks another flower behind my ear, this one blood-red. "And right now? You're seeing yourself all wrong."

She's right, but I can't tell her why as she walks away. Can't admit that every time Uriel looks at me, I feel less like prey and more like... something else. Something dangerous. Something that makes my skin burn and my heart race.

As I walk back toward the house, I hear a noise. I follow it, heading around the side of the house until I spot Koros's massive frame bent over something small in one of the private courtyards.

My breath catches. The xaphan who usually towers over everyone, whose black and gold eyes strike fear into merchants, cradles what looks like a broken-winged bird in hands that could crush stone. His dark red hair falls forward, obscuring most of his scarred face as he works.

I press closer to the window, fascinated by the contradiction before me. His fingers, thick as tree branches, move with the precision of a surgeon as he straightens the bird's wing. The creature doesn't struggle or cry out. Perhaps it senses the same thing I do - this gentleness that seems so at odds with his intimidating presence.

"Look at you," his deep voice rumbles through the glass, barely audible. "Picked a fight with something bigger, didn't you?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like dried herbs, crushing them between his fingers before sprinkling them over the wing.

The bird's feathers ripple with a soft golden light - healing magic. My fingers itch to help, to learn, but I stay rooted in place. This feels private, like stumbling upon a secret that would shatter if discovered.

Koros smooths down the bird's feathers with a single finger, his touch impossibly delicate. His wings, nearly as black as the shadows around him, curl forward like a protective shield around his work. For a moment, the fearsome weapons dealer vanishes, replaced by something else entirely.

The bird gives an experimental flutter, and Koros's face transforms. His usual stern expression cracks into a smile that softens the brutal scars crossing his features. It's like watching a mountain crack open to reveal gems inside.

I turn away before I get caught staring, but the moment stays with me. Are any of the xaphan as I expected them to be? And why am I so thrown off by it?

Maybe it's because it's easier to handle hating them. To want to escape and go home. But last night and all day today has left me feeling…conflicted.

The workshop door creaks as I push it open. Heat rolls out in waves, carrying that familiar scent of citrus and metal that makes my pulse quicken. The setting sun streams through tall windows, painting the walls in shades of blood and gold.

Uriel stands at his workbench, his massive wings spread wide as he leans over something that pulses with blue light. Magic crackles in the air, raising the fine hairs on my arms. His golden curls catch the dying sunlight, creating a halo effect that feels like a cruel joke given the predatory grace of his movements.

I hover in the doorway, caught between fascination and fear. The dagger he's working on seems to sing, its blade drinking in the enchantments he weaves through careful gestures. Blue sparks dance along its edge, and I find myself drawn closer despite my better judgment.

"Come to watch, little demon?" He doesn't look up, but his wings shift, adjusting their span. Raven's words echo in my mind - aggression or interest. My mouth goes dry.

"I'm ready to help," I manage, moving closer to the workbench. "If you need it."

"You can just watch for now." His hands pause over the blade. "If you want."

I nod, moving closer to him and taking a seat. I watch the artistry in the way the magic flows, how it settles into the metal like frost patterns on glass. Each gesture of his hands weaves another layer of deadly intent, yet there's something almost hypnotic about the precision, the control.

"Show me?" The words slip out before I can stop them. He's had me organizing and cleaning, but I want to do more. Gods know he needs the help.

His golden eyes lock onto mine, and that cruel smile curves his lips. "Dangerous request." He steps aside, wing brushing against my shoulder as he makes space at the workbench. "But then, you're not as fragile as you look, are you?"

The heat from the forge burns my cheeks, but I lean closer to him. The magic pulses around us like a living thing, and despite everything - despite knowing what he is, what he thinks of humans - I can't make myself step away. Can't make myself stop this.

Gods, what am I doing?