Chapter 1 #2
Balthazar’s eyes darkened. “You didn’t think it was important?” His voice turned deadly quiet. Then, with a snarl, “Telling me that Emily is Olivia’s sister is fucking important, you dumb fuck!”
I clenched my jaw. “Forgive me, master. I promise it won’t happen again.”
The words tasted like bile. I loathed bowing and scraping before him. I was no man’s bitch. And yet, here I was, playing the obedient servant.
Balthazar stared at me, rage twisting his features—until, suddenly, something shifted. His expression softened.
“Are you feeling better?”
I blinked, realizing the pain had dulled to a tolerable ache. “Yes.”
“Good.” His lips curled into a chilling smile. “I need to close this wound before you rot from infection. Ready?”
I swallowed hard. “I guess so.”
Balthazar pressed his palm against my stomach.
Agony exploded through me.
The stink of scorching flesh filled the air, thick and acrid, mixing with my screams.
Balthazar bared his teeth as he seared my wound shut, his arm trembling with the force of his power. My skin blistered beneath his touch, turning waxy and raw.
I couldn’t take it.
Darkness crashed over me.
When I came to, Balthazar was lounging in a velvet-upholstered chair, angled just right to soak in the fireplace’s heat while keeping a watchful eye on me. A golden goblet rested in his grip.
“How do you feel?”
I hesitated, taking stock of my body—no shooting pain, no gut-wrenching agony. My skin felt damp and cold but not ruined. Maybe I was just numb from the chest down.
I propped myself on my elbows, bracing for the worst. Expected charred, blackened flesh. Expected ruin.
Instead, my abdomen looked… normal. The skin was pinkish-brown and smooth as if I hadn’t been gutted open hours ago.
“Better.” My mind sharpened, bringing back our conversation from before I blacked out. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?”
Balthazar sipped his drink, unbothered. “I didn’t think it was any of your business.”
“But—”
“Besides,” he cut in smoothly, “you didn’t tell me about Emily. Why should I tell you about my son?”
I ran my tongue along the inside of my dry mouth. “Master, I asked for forgiveness. I swore my loyalty to you. I want to be your soldier. Please, tell me about him. Who is he? Where does he live?”
Balthazar exhaled loudly, rolling the goblet between his fingers.
“I still don’t think it’s any of your business,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the flames. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
Then, after a long pause, he admitted, “Let’s just say my son is an idiot I can’t stand.” His grip on the goblet tightened. “I wanted to get back at Alina—wanted her to suffer. So, I had an affair. I didn’t expect her to get pregnant with another man’s bastard.”
His lips peeled back, baring his teeth in something close to a growl.
“So, this line of questioning is closed.”
In a fluid motion, he rose to his feet and crossed the room to where I lay.
“Open your mouth.”
I obeyed, and a thin stream of wine trickled onto my tongue. I coughed, my body shuddering as I forced it down. When I managed to steady myself, I croaked, “More, please.”
“That’s enough.” His tone was final. “The backwash of my saliva in that swallow should be… restorative.”
He turned away, stalking back to his chair.
My stomach twisted—Balthazar’s spit. I nearly gagged. Swallowing it once had been bad enough—keeping it down was another battle entirely.
“No one ever knew about the child,” I rasped. “How is that possible?”
Balthazar’s eyes flashed red as his jaw tightened.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
His fingers clenched the goblet so hard that a dent formed in the gold. A second later, he hurled it across the room. It struck the wall with a deafening clang, crimson wine splattering against the pale stone like blood.
He turned his gaze back to me, reptilian and unreadable. “Now that you’re feeling better, you will answer my questions. Where is Roman?”
“I don’t know.” I closed my eyes, warmth spreading through me, unsure if it was from the wine or the unsettling knowledge of what else had been in it.
“He’s missing,” I murmured, curling onto my side. “Ever since the battlefield, he’s been gone. I went back for him—he was wounded, barely clinging to life—but he wasn’t there anymore. Maybe wolves got him. Maybe he’s with Eyan Malik. That’s what Olivia thinks.”
The air shifted.
In the blink of an eye, Balthazar was beside me, his fingers clamping around my throat.
“What did you just say?” he snarled.
I shoved him off with a surge of strength. “Get your fucking hands off me! You’ve already done enough damage.”
“Tell me what you said!” he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips.
I jerked my head aside. No way in hell was I swallowing more of his demon spit.
“According to Olivia, Roman could be with Eyan Malik,” I said, rubbing my throat. “What’s the problem?”
Balthazar stilled, his breath sharp and ragged.
“There’s no fucking way Eyan Malik is alive.” His voice was low, dangerous. “He’s dead.”
He began pacing, hands clasped behind his back.
“This is impossible.”
I studied him. “You know Eyan Malik, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
“How did you hear that name?” he demanded instead.
“John James told Olivia and me about him.” My fingers continued to probe my throat, the tender skin already aching from Balthazar’s grip—no doubt there’d be bruises by morning.
“When Olivia heard Malik’s name, she reacted like she’d met him or at least knew of him. I wasn’t paying attention when she mentioned it.” A blatant lie. I had hung onto every word, dissecting every detail. But Balthazar didn’t need to know that.
His agitation pulsed through the room, an invisible force that sent an unnatural chill creeping along my skin. And yet, the fire still crackled in the hearth, its warmth swallowed by his fury.
“We went to learn more about Eyan Malik from John James. But all I caught was the name. From what Olivia said, he sounded… terrifying. Like another version of you—capable of the same horrors, the same cruelty. I couldn’t believe that the world could stomach two of you. And yet, here we are.”
I rubbed the stubble along my jaw, shifting to sit upright. My limbs, once weak and sluggish, moved with surprising ease. Whatever was in Balthazar’s necromancer tonic, it worked fast.
I kept my gaze locked on him. He was pacing, carving grooves into the stone floor with every heavy step. His mood was foul enough to make me tread carefully.
“What else did James say?” His question had an edge. “He must have said more.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to drag any missing details from the depths of my mind. My palms were damp, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Balthazar loomed closer, the air thick with his barely contained rage. His presence wrapped around me like a vice, pressing, suffocating—until suddenly, it clicked.
I snapped my fingers. “Oh! Right! James said you raised Malik. Looked after him like your own.”
I met Balthazar’s glowing, reptilian gaze, the tension between us suffocating.
“Is he your son?”
“No!” Balthazar’s voice thundered through the room. “Malik was like a son to me once. I took him under my wing, watched over him, guided him through the darkness.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I cared for him.”
He exhaled, his pacing never slowing. “And what did he do in the end? He betrayed me. He turned against the man who showed him his true nature—who shaped him, made him powerful. The son who carries my blood is alive. Malik is long dead, rotting in his grave.”
I stiffened. Was he lying? Lies came naturally to Balthazar, such as breathing. Did he truly have a son, one who was alive and walking among us?
I dragged a hand over the back of my neck to ease the tension coiling in my spine. “So, who killed Malik?”
Balthazar halted, his head tilting slightly. Then, with a voice as cold as death, he said, “Who do you think?”
A pit formed in my stomach.
“I did,” he said. “I killed him long ago when he became a threat. When I could no longer control him, his anger made him reckless. Untrustworthy. He had to go—just like John James.”
A pulse throbbed in my temple. So, he’s the one who killed James—the one who separated his head from his body.
The silence between us turned brittle. I watched him as one would watch a predator, knowing full well I was standing too close to something that could tear me apart.
Balthazar stopped pacing and turned, his gaze searing into me. “What else did James tell you?”
He loomed over me.
I pushed to my feet, unwilling to let him tower over me like some god of death. “James was a strange man,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “He said a lot of things.”
Balthazar’s eyes darkened with a warning. “Don’t try my patience, Marcellious.”
Before I could react, his fingers locked around my throat, squeezing. His pointed nails bit into my flesh.
“Tell me everything that crazy old man told you and Olivia.” His voice was a whisper of fury, vibrating with power. “I know you have more information.”
I clawed at his grip, but his hold was unrelenting. My pulse hammered against my skull.
“Don’t lie to me,” Balthazar murmured, his lips brushing too close to my ear. “I can smell a lie, Marcellious—even from miles away.”
I fought against his grasp, but his fingers remained locked around my throat, vice-like.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Okay, okay,” I wheezed, vision spotting. “I’ll tell you what he said—just let me go.”
Balthazar released me. I staggered back, gasping, coughing so hard my ribs ached.
“I’m listening,” he said, his voice unnervingly calm.
When I finally caught my breath, I croaked, “James said Malik is alive and in the Catskill Mountains. Waiting. Planning. Biding his time… to kill you.”
I ran a hand over my throat, wincing. There’d be more than bruises there tomorrow.
Balthazar’s brow furrowed, deep lines carving across his forehead. “How is that possible?” His said more to himself than to me. “I killed him. I watched his body burn. He’s been dead for centuries.”