Chapter 43 Malec
Malec
Ifight the wave of curses threatening to leave my mouth as I lock the door to my parents’ room behind me.
I have no idea why I got so worked up next to Roran earlier. The second our eyes met, something in her shifted—still that strange sickness clinging to her, but laced with something else. Innocence.
Excitement.
And gods, it lit something in me I didn’t like.
Just for a second, my marks twitched. I felt it—raw, electric, clawing to the surface.
Uncalled for. Uncontrolled.
I forced it down before she could see anything.
At least... I hope she didn’t.
One slip, and my body would’ve taken her soul without asking.
And those tight pink training pants? Hugging every curve of her ass like they’re daring me to rip them off.
I shake the thought from my head before my body reacts again. I can’t afford this. Not now.
Not with her.
Only now my eyes land on my mom.
She sits on her bed, brows stitched together, worry carved into every line of her face. The room’s already been cleaned by the maids—immaculate, sterile. As if no one lives here when my parents are not around. That’s the point.
I step in and sit beside her on the silk black blanket. The mattress shifts beneath my weight, and her eyes finally lift to meet mine—darker turquoise shade than usual. Her emotions are heavy with guilt.
She did something I won’t like.
“Pedro told me—”
“No. Let me start,” she cuts in, her voice tight. She takes a long breath and places her hand on my thigh, grounding herself.
“That ‘sickness’ Roran has… it’s not exactly an illness. And it’s my fault.”
She looks away. Her voice drops, almost like she’s ashamed the air itself might carry her confession further than intended.
“She got it because I wasn’t careful,” she says. “And at this point… I don’t even know how many more humans are ‘sick.’”
“What do you mean?” The question is out before I even register it.
“Do you remember your human grandparents?”
I don’t need to look at her to feel the weight in that question—the kind that drips with guilt, sorrow, and silent confession. She struggles to speak, like she’s dragging words from wounds too deep.
I nod slowly. “I remember the pictures. And the stories you told me. Why?”
She always said they died when I was a baby. I never met them. She only told me stories about her childhood on land—never how it ended for my grandparents, though.
“They’re not dead.”
The words are so soft, I don’t know if it’s her voice or her soul speaking. Like a whisper that barely escaped.
I blink, only now realizing I was holding my breath.
“What!?”
A nervous chuckle slips from her lips, trying to mask the discomfort now wrapping around both of us like a noose.
What the hell is she talking about?
“Your grandma had the same… condition Roran has.”
Her eyes drop to her hand resting on my thigh, and I freeze.
She lied to me.
No—worse. How the fuck did I never notice she was hiding something this big?
“Back then,” she continues, her voice more fragile than I’ve ever heard it, “after I gave birth to you, your father and I went to visit them. So they could meet you.”
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t dare. “We went alone. They didn’t know what your father do… um, for living.”
A breath. Another. Her jaw trembles slightly before she forces the next words out.
“One of his enemies found us. He used the opportunity that we were alone and attacked. Your father took him down easily, but… not before he shot your grandmother in the chest.”
My body goes rigid.
My fists clench over the silk, rage boiling beneath my skin. I want that bastard brought back from the dead just so I can kill him myself. So I can make sure his soul doesn’t get the mercy of passing on.
But I stay quiet. Because she’s not finished.
And I’m terrified of how this ends.
“Because your father had to deal with the body, we couldn’t call an ambulance or take her to a hospital—” she swallows back tears, “—so I did something my mother taught me back when I first started learning potions. I fed her my blood.”
“You did what?”
My jaw drops, a gasp ripping out of me.
Blood magic.
Grandma warned me about this before—without experience, it could lead to chaos.
I never thought my mom could be that irresponsible.
A single tear slips down her cheek. Her eyes shimmer now, the dam breaking.
“She gained consciousness almost immediately. It healed her in a matter of days...”
She pauses, her voice cracking. Breath after breath, she tries to hold herself together.
“But we’re built different than humans—stronger. More durable. My blood healed her wounds, and for a week or two, she felt so good she started running again. Got back into sports. I apologized then... told them the truth about your father so they kept quiet.”
I tilt my head, impatient. My fingers twitch.
She’s dragging. And I’m getting more nervous by the second.
Where’s my dad?
They both knew—
“Things got worse after couple weeks. It started with hearing whispers, blurry vision... then her body began falling apart. Unbearable burning pain. She couldn’t stand. Couldn’t even move her hands without help.”
This is insane. I stare at her, speechless.
“I swam straight to Grandma for help—only then realizing how massive a mistake I’d made.
Merfolk blood can heal when consumed, yes, but to humans, it’s like a drug.
The worst kind. Once you’ve had it, your body demands more.
Without it, the pain is... unimaginable.
The whispers could make you tear your ears off.
And the longer it’s in your system, the harder it is to break free.
Eventually, it owns you. It either takes over, or it kills you. ”
Wait—
“It took your human grandma a full month of agony to recover. When I finally said my goodbyes, I swore never to see them again. To keep them safe, away from our world. From mine and your father’s. They gave me more than enough.”
Wait!
“What does that have to do with Roran? How did it spread?” I ask, cutting in before she drags this out further.
Roran really wasn’t sick. Not truly. Her soul wasn’t deteriorating—it was fighting merfolk blood.
That’s why I couldn’t hear her soul’s whispers. They were buried, tangled with the blood’s ones.
“Do you think she knows about our kind?” I add, my heart spiking.
She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that the Russian man your father killed that night wasn’t alone. There was another—he ran before we could get him. They were working for Fedor, who had just stepped up as head of their New York family.”
Everything clicks before she even says the next part.
“He saw you give her your blood… and that it healed her. And you said the Russians already knew about you before.”
She nods.
And then the worst thought creeps in. My voice comes out hollow, haunted.
“Queen Marcella said she was sure her daughter was on land… Are the Russians the ones taking the merfolk?”
My breath chokes mid-sentence. It’s more of a cough than a question.
Her face crumples as the tears finally fall freely. Her cheeks flush red as she leans forward, burying her head in my chest, sobbing.
I freeze.
My mother—my strong, sharp, protective mother—is breaking.
Her emotions slam into my chest like a wave.
Guilt. Betrayal. Loss.
My hands tremble as I rest them on her back. Rage floods every vein, every cell, heating the room from the inside out.
“That’s not your fault, Mom. And I’m going to end that miserable filth.”
The last words taste sharp, like fire scraping the back of my throat. My chest hammers, each beat echoing through my bones. This isn’t just a mission anymore.
It’s personal.
He hurt my family. He dared to mess with my mother.
He hurt... her.
Roran.
She suffered under his hold. Grew up fearing him.
Hating him.
Wait—
Did she?
“What if she really knows?”
My pulse spikes, pounding in my ears. My marks flare, flickering with a sudden intensity. Light spills from my skin, warm and uncontained, mixing with the rush of adrenaline curling through my veins. The glow pulses like a warning, like the storm already building inside me.
I clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms. My teeth grit together. Every nerve in my body screams—anger, fear, determination—ready to explode.
“You care for her.” Her voice is soft. She cups my cheek, locking my gaze to hers.
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie. I can feel your emotions too.” Her lips twitch into a forced smile. “If it helps… I don’t think she knows. She believes she’s sick. That only her father has the cure. If she knew what it really was… she’d be chasing our blood, not his medicine.”
I exhale, letting go of the breath I didn’t realize I’d held. The glow on my body begins to fade.
Roran better not be lying to me.
“But Malec,” she says suddenly, sitting up straighter. “I know I’m the last mermaid who should ever say this... but you can’t be with a human. You’ve been too volatile lately—and every time, she’s somehow involved.”
“I know. I don’t care about her,” I lie.
Do I?
“Don’t worry.”
She narrows her eyes. “Should I remind you again that I can feel your emotions, too? You’re going to be the death of her, Malec.”
I know.
“I won’t touch her.”
Not when my marks are glowing like this, at least.
I’m getting better at controlling it.
It’ll be fine.
I think.
A snort barging into my mind, loud and mocking—Myko.
I’ll show him too.