Chapter 4 #2
I resisted, planting my feet. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Malik ignored my protest.
His hand pressed against my back—a whisper of command—and I moved.
Not because I wanted to.
But because his power compelled me.
“How do you know our names?” I demanded, shaking off the haze. “How do you seem to know so much about me when I know nothing about you?”
We reached the foyer, and his voice drifted over me, resonant—a sound carried across time.
“You’re a Timeborne,” he said. “And Emily is a Timebound.”
Then, his hand disappeared from my back.
And Malik… glided past me.
Moving in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
Moving in a way that defied gravity itself.
“What do you mean Emily is a Timebound?”
As always, Malik ignored me.
Instead, he did something that stunned me.
He crouched before Rosie, his expression softening as he gently kissed her forehead.
“Hello, little friend,” he murmured, smiling. “Where did you come from?”
Rosie shifted from foot to foot, shy but unafraid. Then, to my utter surprise, she touched his cheek.
Malik chuckled, the sound warm, unexpectedly tender. “You’re a sweetheart,” he said. “Do you have a name? My name is Eyan Malik.”
Rosie glanced at me, hesitating.
Emily spoke up. “Her name’s Rosie. Olivia and I found her at the site of a carriage crash. Her parents died.”
Malik’s gaze darkened—not with malice, but something else. Something ancient and knowing. He tapped Rosie’s nose lightly.
“That’s a sad thing for a child to endure,” he said. “I’m glad you are here, and I’ll help you however I can.”
Rosie’s bright button eyes stayed locked on him, wide and full of something innocent, trusting.
Malik rose, his gaze shifting back to me.
Then—a smile.
A curve of his lips, seductive, knowing. His lids lowered just slightly, the faintest hint of something unreadable lingering in his expression.
I sucked in a ragged breath.
Malik was the most mysterious, compelling, and utterly confounding man I had ever met.
“You and Emily are strong women,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth, rich cadence. “Rosie is fortunate to have found you.” He paused. “You’ve traveled far. Endured much. Here, you can rest, restore, renew.”
He extended his hand toward Rosie.
She took it without hesitation, as drawn to him as I was.
“Allow me to show you to your rooms,” he said.
With Rosie at his side, he turned and ascended the stairs.
I stood there, utterly speechless. Gutted by his presence.
Like a fish gasping for air, my mouth opened and closed—no words came.
Malik and Rosie disappeared up the staircase, veering left instead of right, speaking in hushed tones beyond my hearing.
Emily let out a breath. “Can you believe this, Olivia? He’s showing us nothing but kindness.”
“I don’t trust him, Emily,” I hissed, my pulse still racing. “The darkness manipulates. It twists, deceives, and destroys. Malik was trained under Balthazar. I don’t believe him—I don’t trust him—for a second.”
Emily placed a hand on my upper arm. “He wants to take care of us. And isn’t he kind to Rosie? Children know when it’s safe to trust someone.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Em. Malik could have hypnotized her. He’s… compelling.”
I propped my hands on my hips, watching Malik and Rosie disappear into the upstairs hallway.
Emily exhaled. “You don’t know him.” She hesitated, then added, “I say we give him a chance.”
I turned to her, my eyes narrowing. “You’re right. We don’t know him. And that’s exactly why we shouldn’t trust him.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “He is the darkness. At this point, I trust no one. And not him.”
Something in my gut twisted.
I raced up the stairs.
I had to see where he was taking Rosie.
As I crossed the threshold, I faltered.
The left upstairs hallway was nothing like the one on the right.
Sconces flickered along the walls, casting warm candlelight over the immaculate space. There were no cobwebs, dust, or eerie, abandoned stillness. Instead, the air carried the soft scent of beeswax and lavender—fresh, lived-in, and welcoming.
But still, I was suspicious.
From a room up ahead, I heard laughter.
Rosie’s soft, innocent giggle.
And Malik. His voice was smooth.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I stormed into the room.
Malik looked up and smiled, as if greeting an old acquaintance. As if my distrust meant nothing to him.
I hesitated, gawking.
The room was… beautiful.
Rosie perched atop an impressive four-poster bed draped in heavy blue silk. The canopy’s fabric shimmered faintly in the candlelight, enclosing what I could only assume was a featherbed resting atop a husk mattress.
Beside it, a smaller bed—just Rosie’s size.
A massive dresser stood opposite the bed, its dark wood polished to a gleam. In the corner, a hassock and chair sat near a large armoire, its golden handles glinting.
And the rug.
A stunning expanse of woven blues, golds, and reds, swirling together like a painting, come to life.
Gold stripes lined every wall—except for the one behind the bed, which was papered in rich, elegant blue.
I swallowed hard.
This was no dungeon.
No prison.
This was a sanctuary.
And that terrified me even more.
The memory of Balthazar’s lair haunted my mind—the cockroaches, the foul, suffocating mustiness, the darkness that seemed to crawl beneath my skin.
This was the exact opposite.
Emily pushed past me, her mouth gaping just like mine.
“Oh, my! What a beautiful room!”
“This can be your room, Miss Emily,” Malik offered.
Emily didn’t hesitate—she flopped onto the bed, sinking into the feather-soft mattress with a blissful sigh. “It feels like heaven.”
Warning bells clanged inside my head.
Don’t get seduced.
This was a trick.
Malik’s voice was a purr of perfect hospitality. “Would you and Miss Rosie like to take a bath, Miss Emily?”
Emily beamed. “Would we ever!”
“I’ll have one of the maids draw one for you.” Malik turned to leave, but I thrust out a hand, stopping him cold.
“Hold on a second.” My suspicion evident in my tone. “How do we know we can trust you?”
An easy smile curved his lips—practiced, unshaken, utterly composed. “What harm can come from a warm bath, a good meal, and an excellent rest?”
The thought was tempting.
Too tempting.
Malik must have sensed my hesitation because he turned back to Emily.
“I’ll have the maid retrieve you when the bath is ready. There are fresh clothes for you in the armoire.” He glanced at me. “I’ll show Olivia to her room.”
“Thank you,” Emily said dreamily, rolling onto her back with a sigh.
I hesitated, then followed Malik.
I had no choice.
We moved down the hall, entering another bedroom.
This chamber was even larger than Emily’s—lavish, decadent, every detail drenched in rich burgundy and gold.
The bed sat like a throne at the center, the kind of thing a queen would have draped herself across. It called to me like a siren’s song, my eyelids growing heavier just looking at it.
A bath and rest may help.
After that, I’d be able to think more clearly.
Malik moved—or rather, he glided. His emotions were so seamless, so fluid that it was as if he weren’t bound by the same physical rules as the rest of us.
I was startled, jerking back.
“Stop doing that.”
He tilted his head, amused. “Doing what?”
“That… that now-you’re-there, now-you’re-here thing!” I waved my hands frantically, motioning to where he had been a second ago, then where he stood now.
Malik only smiled, ignoring my unease.
Instead, he took a step closer, lowering his voice.
“How are you feeling?”
His eyes—vast, endless, like staring into the swirling depths of a nebula, full of mysteries I didn’t dare try to understand.
My breath hitched.
Like I was standing on the edge of something vast, something consuming.
Something I wasn’t sure I could pull away from.
“What?” I blinked, forcing my feet to step back. “I’m utterly fatigued. That’s how I’m feeling.”
Malik studied me, his gaze unblinking, assessing. Then, in a voice as smooth as midnight silk, he said, “The last time I saw you, you were grieving the loss of your child. Have you… sufficiently healed?”
He lifted a hand and ran a lazy finger across my collarbone.
It was a touch too intimate. Too knowing.
No.
I shoved his hand away, already feeling the pull of his unnatural gravity.
“How does one heal from such a loss?” My voice trembled with fury, my fists curling at my sides. “My child died because Balthazar assaulted me. You think I can ever recover from that?”
I took another step back, desperate to shake his influence, spell, and suffocating presence.
“Why are you asking me these questions?” My breath came in ragged beats. “What do you want?”
Malik stilled.
His expression turned to stone and steel, something unreadable, unshakable.
Then, he moved.
Slowly. Stalking.
Circling me.
A predator with infinite patience.
“Are you saying,” he mused, “you could have healed yourself?” His voice slid around me like a chain tightening around my throat.
“That no assistance was required?”
He blurred.
One moment in front of me.
Then, behind me.
Then back again.
The effect was dizzying. Disorienting.
“Why did you come here, hmmm?” His voice snaked through my mind, a whisper of liquid silk wrapping around my thoughts before I could bat it away.
I pivoted, trying to track him and trying to anchor myself.
“I came for the journal,” I said, my voice clear, though my head felt weightless. “You have Alina’s journal—and I need it.”
He appeared behind me, his breath ghosting along my ear.
“You came here because you think I can defeat Balthazar.”
His words were too close, too warm, seeping beneath my skin.
I nearly swayed back into him.
Nearly.
But I caught myself, stiffening, locking my body in place.
“I can help you defeat him,” Malik murmured, his voice like a promise dipped in darkness.
“You mustn’t be afraid of me.”
“Who says I’m scared?” I challenged, my eyes drifting closed, drinking in—damn me, savoring—his effect on me.
A soft laugh followed.
“Your heart is beating,” he whispered, “like a bison chased by a bear.”
The breath against my neck sent shivers racing down my spine.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I said, opening my heavy eyelids. “I’m simply tired.”
Malik’s voice dipped even lower. “You’re not afraid of me.”
A pause.
A heartbeat.
“You’re afraid of Balthazar.”
His voice shifted, suddenly at my other side.
How did he do that?
I didn’t feel him move. Didn’t hear a single step.
I whirled to face him.
Malik laughed—a soft, mocking sound, like a predator amused by its prey’s futile struggle.
Despite the fear rattling my bones, I swallowed hard and forced my voice into something even and controlled despite the traitorous longing coiling beneath my skin.
“You have my mother’s journal,” I said. “I need it. It has information vital to me. Just hand it over, and I’ll be on my way.”
A lie.
I didn’t want to leave.
Not yet.
Malik moved so fast I barely saw it coming.
His hand clamped around my jaw, seizing me.
My breath hitched as his fingers dug in possessively.
I tried to wrench away, but his grip was iron.
“You are in no position to make demands,” he said, his voice a silken blade. “I would be cautious with your words, Olivia. Your stubbornness could get you killed.”
His eyes darkened, shifting into storm-wracked skies, into tornadoes, hurricanes—turbulent, all-consuming.
My muscles turned to jelly.
My bones melted into a liquid.
I couldn’t move.
All I could do was tremble in his hold.
“I could kill you,” he murmured, his breath searing my skin.
My voice was barely a whisper. “You’re a demon. Just like Balthazar.”
“And yet,” he said, tilting his head, “you came to me for help.”
Then, with a twist of his wrist, he released me.
I staggered, gasping, opening and shutting my jaw to ease the dull, lingering ache of his grip.
Malik began circling me again, moving in and out of focus, blurring, shifting, appearing, disappearing.
I pivoted, trying to track him and brace myself against his unnatural force.
I loathed his nearness.
I longed to be closer.
I hated how he made me feel.
He stopped, his presence looming behind me.
“My servants will draw a bath for you,” he said as if nothing had happened. “You will find fresh clothes in your armoire.” A pause. Then, “Afterward, you shall be escorted to the dining room, where a meal is prepared.”
I lifted my chin, pushing back against the heat of his presence. “And if I don’t care to dine with you?”
I knew I was playing with fire.
His voice curled around me, soft and absolute.
“You’ll be there.”
Then, he was gone.
Vanished.
I staggered back against the door, my knees buckling.
I slid to the ground, breathless, shaken, burning with something I couldn’t name.
Because somehow, in a way that made no sense—
I knew him.
There was something about him, a familiarity I couldn’t place or grasp, from where or when I didn’t know.
And I had to find out.
Before it was too late.
Before I wound up dead—by his hand… or by Balthazar’s.