Chapter 13 Malice
MALICE
Play they do.
Whether it’s a game of predator versus prey or a game of chicken Malice can’t tell, but over the next two weeks he does his best to keep up with Aerin Tolvare.
In turn, Aerin does her best to shake him: sneaking out of the apartment, leaving events without warning, slipping into crowds at school.
Every time she evades him, Malice uses one of his many skills to find her.
And each time he does he feels a rogue sort of pride.
Of course, Aerin Tolvare is exceptional at turning this pride on its head.
She lashes out at him with snarky comments or painful come-ons meant to make him uncomfortable.
She becomes more precise in her escapes, leaving less clues, seen by fewer creatures in the streets.
There are a few times when Malice doesn’t find her, searching and searching only to head back to the apartment in defeat and find her there: smirking wildly, asking him if he enjoyed his afternoon.
Malice will admit, only to himself, that he’s enjoying their games. Aerin is a formidable opponent and though chasing her around Valtara isn’t what he expected to be doing with his time here, it’s certainly more entertaining.
When he woke this morning, Aerin was already gone, though a few minutes later, his phone alerts him that Aerin swiped her keycard at the Royal Village gym.
This part of Aerin’s routine is generally predictable, and Malice is not surprised to find Aerin lifting weights across the massive gym space when he arrives.
Her blonde hair hangs down her back in a braid, her bare shoulders already glistening with sweat.
Malice gives her a nod when she glances in his direction. Aerin gives him a mock smile before flipping him off and turning back to her machine. He bristles but grabs a band to warm up his muscles anyways.
As the morning passes, more creatures trickle into the space, chatter overlapping with the loud music. Aerin is running sled pushes, one of Malice’s own personal levels of hell, on the turf across the gym. Meanwhile, Malice has convinced a Lion Shifter in the Royal Guard to spar with him.
After landing flat on his ass for the fourth time in a row, the Lion laughs uncomfortably. “I think I should find someone closer to my level,” he says, rubbing his ribs where Malice landed a hard blow.
Malice barely grunts in acknowledgement, shuffling off the mats. Aerin should be done soon, so instead of searching for another partner he chugs water and starts stretching.
“Hey, Dragon!” A voice calls across the gym.
It comes from Bryer, or perhaps Kallan. The fire-Fae twins stand on either side of the bench where Bruin Tolvare is doing chest press. They are identical in almost every way: bronze-colored eyes, brown hair with a slight red tint in the sunlight, lean with muscles, and wide, white smiles.
Bruin racks the weight as Malice approaches, standing up from the bench. One of the twins, the one Malice thinks is Bryer, drops down onto it, starting his own reps.
“Hey,” Bruin greets him, hand slapping Malice’s shoulder. “How’s it going?” Bruin’s smile is big and friendly, his demeanor kind.
“Fine,” Malice answers in the same brusque manner he always addresses the Prince.
“She’s not giving you much trouble, is she?” Kallan asks from where he spots Bryer, his hands hovering around the bar as Bryer rhythmically brings it down to his chest then up into the air again.
“Aerin. Is. Heaps. Of. Trouble,” Bryer says on the up of every rep. Finally, Kallan guides the weight back to the rack and Bryer sits up.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Malice assures Bruin.
“Oh, come on, you can tell us,” Kallan says, coming around the bench to take his turn.
Bryer cracks a large smile. “Yeah, we’re well versed in Aerin’s brand of trouble.”
Something pinches in Malice’s gut. Anger? Jealousy? Protectiveness?
Bruin flashes the twins a glare. “That’s enough.” His voice is cold. Both twins go sheepish, focusing back on the workout. Bruin once again claps a hand to Malice’s shoulder, steering him away from the other two Fae.
In a low voice he says, “But really, is she giving you any trouble? I know she can be a lot to handle.” Bruin glances over at his sister, who is running another round of sled pushes. Her toned arms are braced against the sled, her legs driving hard into the ground beneath her.
Sometimes it’s hard not to marvel at Aerin.
Malice looks away, clears his throat.
“She’s having a hard time accepting that I’m assigned to her,” Malice admits as vaguely as possible.
Bruin turns, also looking at his sister. She stands near the sled now, at the end of the line of turf, breathing heavily. As if feeling their eyes on her, Aerin flips them off over her shoulder, without glancing away from her phone. Bruin swallows hard before letting out an unconvincing chuckle.
“She can be stubborn. Try to find some way to relate to her,” Bruin offers.
Malice almost scoffs. Nothing about the Party Princess is relatable to Malice. They have no common ground to stand on, and even if they did, is it the best idea to let himself relate to Aerin Tolvare?
She’s selfish, vapid, and reckless. Malice repeats the mantra over and over in his mind.
Bruin lowers his voice further, leaning in close to Malice, as if conspiring with him. “I need someone looking out for her, you understand?”
Malice nods in response. “Of course.”
“Great!” Bruin beams, standing up straight and clapping his hand to Malice’s shoulder again.
“Are you two done gossiping? Because I’m leaving now.” Aerin’s voice so close is like ice water over Malice’s head. Bruin opens his mouth to speak but the glare Aerin shoots him is deadly enough that he snaps it closed again.
Malice is surprised Aerin bothered to inform him, though the way she grabs his wrist and drags him away from Bruin tells Malice why.
“We are not talking to my brother,” Aerin snarls as they exit the gym.
“Since when are ‘we’ a ‘we’?” Malice asks.
Aerin whirls on him, dropping his wrist and narrowing her eyes. They are extra golden in the warm morning light. In fact, all of Aerin is extra golden. Her hair shines. Her skin is luminous, pink coloring her cheeks from the exertion of her workout.
“If you ever want to know how I sneak past you, then I’m going to have to trust you,” Aerin informs him.
The temptation is heavy. He’s seen Aerin’s late-night exploits in the tabloids more than once—though she never passed his post in the living room, where he sat awake waiting. Not knowing drives Malice wild.
“And how would I earn your trust?” Malice’s question is dripping in sarcasm.
“You prove that you’re on my side.” Malice doesn’t think things are really that black and white, but maybe to Aerin, they are. “Easy first step: don’t speak to my brother.”
Malice doesn’t get the opportunity to agree or disagree, because Aerin turns on her heel, and starts running. Malice has no choice but to jog after her.
Malice’s feet pound on the pavement after Aerin. She’s up to a sprint now, her long legs striding gracefully as she races towards the southern-most plaza. She doesn’t always run this route, but whenever she does, it ends in a flat-out sprint that has Malice cursing under his breath.
His weight, wings, and general muscle mass do not lend well to speed, at least not on the ground. Not to mention after completing an entire lifting workout and sparring session, his legs are tired.
[Why are you torturing us with this again?]
[Shut. Up.] Malice snarls, fortifying the doors in his mind. The beast inside of him seems to only grumble in annoyance before re-entering a slumber.
Aerin reaches the plaza, pounds past the fountain, and skids to a stop just at the top of the wooden stairs that lead down to the beach. She holds her hand up with her palm out in front of her as if pressing it against something while her chest heaves.
Malice allows himself to slow much earlier, closing the space between them with a few strides on shaky legs.
He looks out to the endless expanse of blue water.
He swears he sees a Mer off in the distance, but in a blink, the smudge on the horizon is gone, and Aerin is tearing his attention from the ocean by spinning to face him.
“You’re slow,” Aerin comments.
“Not all of us are masochists,” Malice snaps back. Her eyes light up in delight, and Malice immediately regrets his choice of words.
“Don’t tease me now, Dragon,” Aerin coos, batting her lashes at him in an obvious ploy.
Grinding his teeth, Malice keeps himself perfectly still as Aerin’s manicured red nails trail over his sweaty chest. At his silence Aerin snickers, gripping his shirt in her fist she gives it a tug as she turns. She releases him once he’s in motion, forcing him to fall into step with her.
“Don’t worry, Malice, I’ll let you keep your virtue intact, for now.”
If only Aerin Tolvare knew just how much Malice wanted to throw her over his shoulder, fly her back to her apartment, and make her scream under his touch.
But it would be a supremely bad idea for him to get involved with Aerin Tolvare.
Selfish. Vapid. Reckless. He repeats his mantra. She is not someone he can allow himself to desire.