Chapter 2 #3
Her weapon easily cuts through it, so I follow up with a containment spell for her wings.
They shoot back into her shoulder blades with enough force to make her face contort in pain.
She becomes enraged once she realizes she can’t bring her wings out.
A single moment of distraction is all I need to hit her with a magically charged fist, followed by another spell to make her skin rip open and bleed as if cut by a blade.
I wonder again if she can even die. Naturally, I decide I need to find out.
The bounty hunter recovers quickly, and though she’s a bloody mess, she charges at me again. I miss how she feints to the left and then shifts to the right. With a swish of her short sword, she slices my hip and upper leg.
My face twists in agony, and I groan, barely keeping myself from collapsing.
My knees wobble as I reach out to heal the wound, but I’m not given the time.
The only way to parry her next attack is to catch it with my right arm.
She pushes through, her target changed but her attack remains unhindered.
She scores a deep cut from my shoulder to my elbow, exposing the bone underneath.
She pulls the blade free and swiftly retreats, out of my reach. Her lips curl in anger as she examines my wounds with disdain. Oh, how I’d love to snap her neck right now. Luckily for her, I need a moment to bite back the pain, to keep myself from fainting.
I channel my magic into my left hand as she comes at me a third time.
The slight distance between us buys me the extra second I need to send it to her arms. A thousand cuts make her scream either in pain or in surprise—I don’t know and don’t care.
I need to make this count. She drops her short sword when I flip my hand and make the cuts rip open even more.
The bounty hunter falls into the grass, groaning while pressing her arms to her chest. She looks at me with fury, baring her teeth in a defiant snarl.
I take a moment to collect myself, letting my breathing even out.
“I sincerely hope you’re getting paid enough for this,” I say.
A tremble runs through me as I rise to my full height, the movement pulling at my wounds.
She got me good. My healing magic works to smooth things out, but it still hurts.
As I approach her, I must clench my jaw to suppress any groans of pain.
“Fuck off,” the bounty hunter spits. She hoists herself up and throws her body against me, sending me flying into the pond. As my body hits the cold water, I throw out my magic like a lasso and drag her in with me.
My head pops up seconds later, sputtering and gasping for air.
I try to stay afloat while reeling her in like a fish.
She kicks and thrashes against my magic, but it has her in a tight grip.
By sheer willpower, I manage to loop my magic around her neck, choking her as I drag her body against mine.
Her eyes are cold and angry, her fingers clawing at my face while she sneers.
With a sudden burst of power, she manages to release one hand and grab her dagger.
She cuts her shoulder blades, and with it the spell containing her wings.
She might not be a magic user, but she knows how to defend herself against it.
Her wings shoot free, and despite being wet, she lifts herself out of the water.
She kicks me in the face. Her foot connects, and my nose cracks painfully.
Blood immediately flows down my chin and into the water.
These two seconds of distraction are all the bounty hunter needs to break free from my magical grip. She flies out of the pond, and I aim a few spells at her, but she’s too fast. As she flies away, I’m pretty sure I see her flipping me off.
It takes a lot of strength—more than I like to admit—to swim back. Hoisting myself to shore, a violent shiver seizes me. My hands shake when I pick up my cloak. Gratefully, I wrap it around my trembling body.
After a moment, my magic begins to kick in. It slowly warms my body and heals the worst of my wounds. I groan and stumble when I stand, holding my cut-up arm close to my body as I shuffle back to the house.
The front door closes silently behind me.
Leaning back against it, I take a few seconds to ensure I don’t collapse in the hallway.
My head throbs as much as my arm and leg do, and I feel weak, my knees buckling.
Even though my magic has dried most of my body and clothes, they’re still damp, making a shiver run through me.
Noises from the kitchen reach me, and the idea of Malakai finding me makes my cheeks flush.
I don’t want him to see me like this, not now.
So I drag myself upstairs, through the bedroom, and into the bathroom.
Once inside, I shut the door and run a bath.
My hands continue to shake, making undressing harder than necessary—and painful, with my wounds not yet completely healed.
Frustration spills over as I struggle to get the dress off, and I hear the door opening behind me but don’t register it.
His hands touch my shoulders, warm and gentle, as Malakai carefully moves my arm out of the way to unzip the dress.
His heat, the touch of his fingers—it’s all it takes for the last of my strength to abandon me.
My dress falls from my body, and I collapse with it.
Malakai catches me before I hit the floor, lifts me, and places me in the tub.
The hot water is already charged with his healing magic, soothing against my sore body.
It tickles my skin in a way my own magic doesn’t, yet works the same.
A sigh of relief escapes me, and I’m grateful he somehow knows about my bathing ritual.
My wounds heal further, the cuts weaving themselves shut.
Without a word, Malakai lets me be, and my head falls back over the rim of the tub, my body beginning to relax.
I close my eyes and sink deeper into the water, humming softly.
When it starts to get too cold and enough strength returns, I reluctantly open my eyes.
My legs wobble when I get out of the tub, my hands grabbing the rim for support.
After toweling off, I wrap myself in a dressing robe and step out of the bathroom.
“What happened?”
I flinch at his voice, startled as I enter the bedroom.
Malakai leans against the doorway leading to the hallway, arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and for a moment, my eyes are drawn to the muscles straining against his skin, his honey-colored complexion still radiant.
“The bounty hunter from last time,” I reply, looking away as I head for the closet.
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
Before I realize he’s moved, he shoves me against the wall, caging me between his strong arms. A sharp stab of pain surges through me, and I hiss. He knows well enough I’m still sore.
“The truth, love.” His voice is cold, but his eyes blaze with intensity, the molten gold captivating. His hands are placed beside my head, ensuring I’m not going anywhere.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Fine,” I bite back, avoiding his gaze. “I feel out of place here, like I don’t belong. More than I thought I would. I don’t know what to think or make of it.”
Malakai is silent for a moment, then says, “You don’t.”
His words catch me off guard, and my breath hitches, but my eyes refuse to meet his. Malakai growls, taking my chin in his hand and forcefully turning my head to face him.
“And neither do I.” He lets the words sink in, then releases me and steps back. “You, me, my brothers, the inhumans roaming this world—none of us belong here. Only humans do. So get over it and get dressed. Our guests will be here soon.”
“No.” The word escapes my lips before I realize it.
“Excuse me?” Malakai narrows his eyes, looking more dangerous than ever.
“I will not just get over it.” Anger spikes within me, filling my voice. “Contrary to you, I used to be human. I remember what it was like to belong. So don’t you dare treat me like someone who doesn’t. Don’t you dare look down on me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Malakai reaches back toward me. “I truly wouldn’t dare. You might not realize it, but you’re my wife.”
“What does that even mean?” I almost yell at him, sidestepping his hands as I cling to my last shred of self-control. “I’m not human. I’m not like you. I’m not like that… that inhuman bounty hunter. So what am I?”
“You’re nothing.”
“What?” It feels like I’ve been doused in ice water. My whole body freezes in place in an instant. My anger evaporates, replaced by a fear I’ve never felt before.
“You’re someone who shouldn’t exist, neither human nor inhuman.” Coldness replaces all anger in his voice. “You’re the kind of creation that isn’t supposed to be. You’re a human reborn as inhuman—an impossibility I’ve strived centuries to perfect.”
For the first time in a long time, I fear the words he speaks. A memory creeps in—Sophia’s words from the beginning: “We were chosen from so many, so there is no doubt that we are more than just women.”
Back then I believed she was hinting at some kind of magical ability within us. How wrong I was.
“Why do you think there were only three of you? Because I only chose you three?” I stagger away from Malakai as he continues to stalk closer, my eyes widening with this revelation.
“You were the only ones who reacted well to the procedure, to the magic I forced into your veins. You were the only ones to return as inhuman—more than inhuman. Believe me, there were quite a few more women in between.”
He corners me against the side of the bed, placing a hand on my shoulder.
My fight-or-flight response kicks in, as confused as I am because I want to run away and hide from what is apparently my new truth, but also to fight for every morsel of information he might be willing to give me.
“The three of you were the lucky ones—strong enough not to turn to dust. Strong enough to overcome death.”
My heart beats so frantically I’m surprised it hasn’t burst from my chest. I can barely think straight through it all, unable to wrap my head around what he’s saying. I barely grasp the concept of inhumans, but all of this? This is so much more and goes so much deeper.
Malakai pushes me down onto the bed and crawls beside me.
“Out of those three, you were the only one to persevere. It turned you into something that’s neither this nor that, and no one will be able to tell what you truly are.
Except for me—I’m the only one who knows, and in that, you are perfect.
It allows you to further become whatever you want and need to be.
” His hand wraps around my neck, squeezing slightly as he angles my face up.
Then what am I supposed to do with myself? How can I ever feel as if I belong if I literally don’t? I didn’t belong when I was human. Am I doomed to always feel like this?
Tears sting my eyes, and my throat feels raw and dry as I try to speak. “Mal, I—”
He kisses me before I can say more, deep and hard.
The combination of his hand around my throat has me struggling to breathe.
It feels so wrong, yet so right—a whole spectrum in between, and I don’t know what to do with it.
His other hand slips between the folds of my dressing robe, fingers hot against my skin as they creep up my leg.
That’s when the doorbell rings.
Malakai’s hand freezes, and he groans in frustration as the bell rings a second time. Reluctantly, he raises himself and steps out of bed.
“Get dressed,” he says, rolling down his sleeves. He takes a jacket from the closet, putting it on with strained movements as he reaches for a tie next. “And behave.”
I lift myself onto my elbows, defiance in my eyes. “What if I don’t?”
Malakai looks back at me, and I know exactly what he’ll do if I don’t. The only uncertainty is whether I’m going to enjoy it or not.
I gulp, my resistance melting away—for now.