CHAPTER 3: THE FIRST CLAIM – THE FALLEN ANGEL

Sleep had never come.

Even in the quiet of her chambers, with the weight of the night pressing in, Seraphina had lain awake—body tense, mind restless, the heat of their presence still lingering on her skin like a phantom touch.

She had spent hours replaying the encounter, every word, every look, every breath stolen between battle and something darker. She hated that it lived under her skin. Hated that she could still feel Kier's grip at her throat, Orin's quiet hunger, Rael's amused challenge.

By the time the first sliver of light crept through the cracks in the stone, she had buried it deep. Sealed it away behind steel and resolve.

Today, she would prove herself. Today, she would remind them all that she did not bend.

The air shifted. It thickened—became something electric, something alive.

Seraphina barely had time to brace herself before the shadows cracked apart—ripped open—and he descended.

Not stepped. Not walked. Descended.

Like a fallen god. Like the storm before the slaughter.

The void spat him out, darkness curling around his towering frame before slithering back like it knew better than to linger. Kier emerged, his wings unfurling behind him—massive, black, a stretch of obsidian death. Every step he took shook the chamber.

Seraphina hated that her body reacted first.

Heat surged through her—unbidden, unwanted—but fuck, his presence was too much. A force of nature wrapped in golden skin and sin.

His eyes pinned her in place—molten gold, burning and assessing.

She swallowed, refusing to be the first to speak.

But Kier didn't need words to command attention. He knew it. She knew it. And still, he dragged it out.

His body—all carved muscle and barely leashed power—moved with lethal grace, his long black coat swaying with each slow, deliberate step. A predator, toying with his prey.

Finally—

"You are not fit to rule."

Seraphina's lips curled, sharp as a blade.

"And you're not fit to breathe near me, but here we fucking are."

Kier's smirk was slow, indulgent.

"Sharp tongue," he murmured, eyes darkening with something dangerous.

He reached up, shrugging off the long black coat. It hit the floor in a whisper of fabric, revealing more of him.

More dark ink curling over golden skin. More scars—testaments to battles won, to power earned in blood.

Seraphina should not have been looking.

But he was built for war. Built to ruin. And he was looking at her like he already had.

"You think your defiance impresses me?" Kier asked, voice dipping into something richer, something that dragged heat down her spine.

Seraphina arched a brow. "I think it annoys the shit out of you."

His wings twitched. His smirk deepened.

"You wish to sit on the throne?" His voice was silk wrapped around steel, deliberate and damning.

"You wish to command legions?"

Seraphina's chin lifted, but she did not answer. She did not need to.

Kier already knew. He felt the hunger burning in her bones. And that was why he smiled when he said—

"Then you will prove it." The world exploded. Kier lunged. Seraphina barely moved in time.

The chamber shook, stone splintering where she had stood seconds before.

She twisted—fast, lethal, a blur of dark energy—her claws unsheathing as she lashed toward him.

Kier caught her by the throat. Slammed her back against the obsidian wall.

Her head snapped back, stars bursting behind her eyes, but fuck if she would let him have the satisfaction of seeing her weaken.

Seraphina snarled, the darkness inside her surging—writhing, desperate to be set free.

But Kier's grip tightened. Not cutting off her air. Not completely. Just enough to make her feel it. The pressure. The control.

His golden eyes burned into hers.

"You are strong," he admitted, voice like distant thunder. "But you are not stronger than me."

Seraphina bared her teeth, eyes flashing. "That," she hissed, "remains to be seen." She drove her knee up—aiming for his ribs.

Kier let her. But instead of reeling back, he caught her thigh, pushing her higher against the wall, locking her between his body and cold stone.

His breath ghosted over her throat. Seraphina stilled. For a split second. One agonizing, heated second.

His fingers flexed around her throat, not choking, just holding. A reminder. A warning.

A claim.

"You fight like a queen."

Her pulse betrayed her. Her body burned beneath his grip. And Kier felt it. Knew.

His smirk was pure sin. "But do you fuck like one?"

Seraphina's breath hitched. Her nails dug into his wrist, not pulling him away—just holding on.

He felt too close. Smelled too good. Like war and night and something wicked.

Her lips parted—to curse, to snarl, to say something—but Kier was faster.

"You want to prove yourself?" he murmured, his thumb sweeping over the rapid beat of her pulse. "Then show me."

Seraphina growled, twisting sharply, breaking his grip—but only because he let her. She lunged, this time aiming for his throat.

Kier dodged, but just barely. Her claws grazed his skin, drawing a thin line of red.

He laughed. Fucking laughed.

"You call that an attack, little queen?"

His wings snapped open, a gust of wind rushing through the chamber as he moved—too fast.

Before she could react, his hand was on her hip, turning her, pinning her to the wall again. This time, his lips brushed her ear.

"You want the throne?" His voice was a growl now, lower, rougher. "Then take it."

Seraphina's body reacted first. Heat pooled low in her stomach, unwanted but undeniable.

His scent, his grip, his fucking presence swallowed her whole.

She hated it. She craved it.

"You arrogant prick," she whispered, her lips grazing his jaw.

Kier's fingers tightened on her hip. "And you," he murmured, "are playing a dangerous game."

Seraphina turned her head, their mouths a breath apart. "Then maybe you should stop underestimating me."

Kier smirked. "Maybe I like seeing you struggle."

She bared her teeth. "And maybe I like making you bleed."

His golden eyes darkened. "Then do it."

The challenge coiled between them. Hot. Addictive.

Their lips nearly touched, breaths mingling, the air thick with something neither of them wanted to name.

Seraphina knew if she moved—just an inch—she'd taste him. And fuck, she wanted to. Just to ruin him. Just to make him lose control first.

Kier knew it too.

That was why he pulled back before she could. The bastard.

His wings curled around them, shielding them from everything but each other.

And then, with a wicked grin, he whispered—

"Don't disappoint me, little queen."

The darkness swallowed them whole, the shadows closing in like a suffocating embrace, a promise of dark pleasures and forbidden desires.

END OF CHAPTER 3