18. Uriel

18

URIEL

I lean against my workbench, watching Athena move through my workshop like she owns the place. The past few weeks, something's shifted. The rigid set of her shoulders has loosened, and that perpetual scowl she wore when I first brought her here has softened into something else entirely.

She's still got plenty of fire, but that anger… She seems to have lost it. She seems to have lost her hate, her need to escape. Or maybe I'm just seeing what I want to.

She reaches for one of my newly forged daggers, her honey-blonde curls catching the lamplight. "You're doing it wrong." Her fingers trace the ornate handle, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Am I now, little demon?" I spread my wings, letting them cast shadows across the floor as I move closer. "Please, enlighten me on the proper way to forge weapons I've been making longer than you've been alive."

"The grip's too wide." She holds it up, those golden-green eyes sparking with challenge. "Unless you're making these for giants."

I snatch the blade from her hand, my fingers brushing against hers. "You're lucky I find your ignorance entertaining."

"And you're lucky I put up with your arrogance." She doesn't flinch or back away. But she also doesn't glare up at me like she used to. Instead, she steps closer, tilting her head back to meet my gaze.

I always loved her fire. And it's still there, still fun to coax out of. I've found it amusing and - as it became more and more of a turn on for me - I found it annoying. But this… Seeing her both at ease and still arguing with me, it does something different to me.

Something that hits the way it shouldn't.

The scent of her - herbs and sunshine - mingles with the metallic air of my forge. My wings twitch with the urge to wrap around her, to see if she'd still maintain that defiant spark if I pulled her against me.

"Put up with me?" I arch an eyebrow. "Last I checked, you're the one who keeps finding excuses to be in my workshop." She spends all her time in here now, even though I only need her help some of the time. And I never send her away.

A flush creeps across her cheeks, but her chin lifts higher. "Someone has to make sure you don't hurt yourself with all these sharp objects."

"How thoughtful." I tap the dagger against my palm. "And here I thought you just enjoyed our little debates."

"Debates?" She laughs, the sound warming the cold space between us. "Is that what we're calling your daily attempts to prove you're right about everything?"

The fire in her hasn't dimmed - it's evolved, burning brighter but steadier. Where once she would have spat those words with venom, now they dance between us like sparks from my forge, dangerous but beautiful.

It's starting to really fuck with me. I've never been one to smile, and yet, I'm doing it every damn day. I swear this woman has cast a spell on me.

When I head to my study, I'm all too eager to notice how she follows me. I drop into my chair, my attention drawn to her movements as she crosses to the small sitting area where I keep decanters of wine.

There's something different in her stride now - a fluid confidence that wasn't there before. She's no longer out to break everything or avoiding the workshop - and me. I try not to think too hard about it.

"The red tonight?" She doesn't wait for my answer, already reaching for the crystal decanter. Her fingers wrap around the neck with surprising delicacy, and she pours with the precision of someone who's learned the exact measure needed.

The lamplight catches in her honey-blonde curls as she turns, transforming them into a molten halo. Even the way she holds the wine glasses has changed - one in each hand, balanced perfectly as she navigates between the scattered weapons and half-finished projects that litter my workspace.

"You're staring." She hands me my glass, those golden-green eyes meeting mine without hesitation.

"Just noting how you've stopped treating my forge like it might bite you." I take a deliberate sip, watching as she settles onto my leather couch like she belongs there. Her legs curl under her, and she leans back against the cushions with an ease that makes my wings twitch.

"Maybe I've learned which parts actually might." She traces the rim of her glass with one finger. The gesture is oddly mesmerizing - controlled, almost teasing.

"Getting comfortable here, little demon?" I tilt my head, studying how she's transformed my cold study into something warmer just by occupying it.

Her lips curve into a smile that holds none of her old uncertainty. "Should I not be?"

I can't help the smile that pulls at me. "I don't think it would matter what I say. You do what you want."

But deep down, the real answer is…I like seeing her comfortable here.

I like arguing with her and then seeing her smile after. I like the way she'll seek me out and not to snarl demands at me. I honestly like the dynamic between us.

Even if I still want her. But I've managed to hold back.

I pretend to focus on my wine, but my eyes keep drifting to Athena as she stands. She's reaching for one book a few shelves up, stretching up on her toes. Her leathers pull tight across her curves, and the movement causes her honey-blonde curls to cascade down her back like liquid gold.

"Need help?" I keep my voice neutral, though my wings spread slightly of their own accord.

"I can manage." There's that defiance again. She grabs a lower shelf for leverage, determination etched in every line of her body.

The sight of her struggling stirs something primal in me. I could easily grab what she needs - or better yet, wrap my wings around her and lift her myself. But there's something captivating about watching her refuse to ask for help. I like to edge it out.

I'd rather hear her beg.

She shifts her weight, and the movement draws my attention to the gentle sway of her hips. The forge's heat has brought a flush to her skin, making her glow in the lamplight. When she finally grasps the book, a triumphant smile lights up her face.

"See?" She turns, brandishing her prize, and catches me staring. "What?"

I quirk a brow as I lean against the front of my desk. "Just wondering how many shelves you'll climb before admitting you need assistance."

She crosses her arms. "I managed just fine."

"So you did." My eyes track a bead of sweat as it trails down her neck, disappearing beneath her collar. The scent of her - herbs and sunshine - grows stronger as she moves closer, and my wings twitch with the urge to enclose her.

She leans over to examine a blade on my desk, one I shout be sharpening, and her curls brush against my arm. The contact sends electricity through my skin, and I have to resist the urge to catch one of those golden ringlets between my fingers.

"Your edge is uneven," she points out, either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the tension crackling between us.

I force myself to focus on the weapon, not on how close she's standing or how her presence makes my workshop feel smaller, warmer, more dangerous than any forge fire.

But then a knock sounds on my workshop, and Koros' voice carries in. "Uriel?" I fight the urge to groan when I want to pull her to me. "You in here?"

Athena follows me back into the workshop, and I nod to Koros. "I got it."

The merchant enters the room, his wings a dull gray that marks his common status. The moment his gaze lands on Athena, lingering too long on the curve of her hip as she goes to her workbench, something dark and possessive claws at my chest.

"The sword." My voice comes out as a growl as I turn and pick up his covered weapon. I step between them, wings spreading to block his view. "You're here for the sword."

"Ah, yes." He tears his eyes away, but they keep drifting back to her. "Though I didn't expect such... pleasant company in a weapon forge."

The metal handle of the blade creaks under my grip. Heat builds in my palms - magic responding to the urge to strike. To claim. To make it clear that she's not for his eyes to feast on.

"Your business is with me." I tower over him, letting my wings cast shadows across his face. The temperature in the workshop rises with my temper.

Athena moves behind me, the sound of her clearing away instruments making my skin prickle. The merchant's gaze follows the sound, and a snarl builds in my throat.

"The price has doubled." The words slip out before I can stop them.

"What?" His wings ruffle in indignation. "But we agreed-"

"Triple, if you keep staring at what isn't yours."

The threat in my voice finally registers. His wings fold tight against his back - a submissive gesture that does little to calm the possessive rage burning through my veins.

I want to wrap Athena in my wings, to hide her from every other set of eyes in this cursed city. The need to possess her, to make her submit only to me, burns hotter than my forge. I like that she fights me, that she makes me work for every inch of this relationship.

But only me .

The merchant leaves with his overpriced sword, and I'm left wrestling with this overwhelming desire to keep her caged in my workshop, safe from prying eyes and wandering hands.

The rational part of me knows I have no right to these feelings, but the darker part - the part that's pure xaphan warrior - wants to mark her as mine in ways that would make even demons shocked.