Chapter 7 #2
“My mother fell in love with a monster!” My voice cracked, raw and bitter. “I’m chained to Balthazar because of her! I despise her!”
Malik’s arms stiffened around me like iron restraints.
A sharp inhale. His muscles coiled like steel cables beneath my hands.
“Do not speak of Alina that way.” His voice was quiet—too quiet. Tinged with something dangerous. “Your mind is filled with lies.”
I stopped breathing, my pulse hammering.
For a single, terrible moment, I thought he might strangle me.
“You know nothing but lies about your mother, Olivia.”
His grip tightened—too tight—his arms unyielding, his presence unshakable.
A flicker of movement—
And suddenly, he was across the room.
Standing near the dresser.
I blinked. How?
The loss of his warmth sent a shiver down my spine, like stepping from fire into the cold.
I scrambled off the bed and stormed toward him. “Don’t defend my mother!” I shouted. “She loved a monster who is now hunting me like prey!”
Malik stepped forward.
I backed up.
Until I hit the wall.
He followed, caging me in.
“No, darling,” he murmured, placing an arm on either side of me, his body an unmovable force. “I won’t stop defending her.”
Darling.
The word slithered through my mind, coiling low in my core.
I let my head fall back, thunking against the wall.
His eyes gleamed, dark with something unreadable.
“Your mother lived a tragic life,” he whispered. He traced the side of his finger along my cheek, the touch featherlight. “Life was messy for Alina. It was dangerous and bloody.”
His fingertip trailed along my jawline.
“You must read the journals to find the truth.”
His hand moved lower, gliding down my neck—intentional—then across my collarbone.
He paused at the hollow of my throat, drawing small, lazy circles against my skin.
A long breath slipped from my lips, shuddering.
I should push him away.
I should resist.
But all I could do was stand there, drowning in the heat of his touch.
His fingers spread, his palm curving around my neck—not squeezing or restraining, just there, a whisper of threat and seduction.
Then, he threaded his fingers into my hair, withdrawing them over and over as if memorizing the feel of me.
My lips parted, another sigh escaping before I could stop it.
I felt scared and protected and terrified and captivated.
Caged by his arms, I didn’t want to move—yet I needed to escape.
He’s messing with you. Make it stop.
I shook my head, trying to break his hold over me. “You probably loved my mother. I’ll bet you fucked her, didn’t you?”
Malik’s lips curved, knowing. “Oh, Olivia.”
He lifted a fingertip to my lips, tracing the shape of them.
“You have a very filthy mouth,” he murmured, his gaze dark and unreadable. “But beautiful, kissable lips.”
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Then—his grip on my neck tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of his power.
Oh, God. Is he going to kill me?
“I could turn your life into a living hell,” he murmured. “Just like Balthazar.”
His fingers flexed slightly, but the meaning was tangible, curling through the air like a phantom.
Balthazar was cruel. He took without care, without thought. He wanted to break me.
But Malik?
Malik wielded emotions like weapons, twisting them, controlling them—controlling me.
Now, his hands both framed my throat. His thumbs stroked from the hollow to the sides, hypnotic.
“I’ll tell you the answer to your question.” His voice curled around me, intimate and deadly.
Stroke.
“I never fucked Alina.”
Stroke.
“There were only two important women in my life.”
Stroke.
His hands never stopped moving, never released me. His touch was a paradox—soft and dangerous, gentle and possessive.
My breath hitched. “Who?”
Malik’s emerald eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable hidden in their depths.
“The first was Layla.”
Stroke.
“I loved her,” he whispered. “Until I watched Balthazar drain the life from her—until I watched him kill her without mercy.”
His hands went still.
And so did my heart.
As I gazed into his eyes, I felt myself fall.
Falling into galaxies—endless, vivid, swirling with color and unfathomable depths of feeling.
“Who was the second one?” I whispered.
Malik blinked, his dark lashes sweeping down, then up again.
“What?”
“You said there were two important women in your life.” I swallowed. “Who was the other one?”
He cocked his head, studying me. A soft, enigmatic smile curved his lips.
Maybe he was lost in memory, remembering her.
Maybe he found me amusing.
There was no way to tell.
Then—in that mysterious way of his—he was suddenly across the room, pacing, his presence a storm brewing at the edges of my senses.
My fingers lifted to my throat, tracing where his touch had lingered, where his hands had held me.
“The second woman was Isabelle,” he said.
His voice was choked and strangled.
A single tear slid down his face.
I gasped, pressing a hand to my mouth.
“She was the love of my life.” His eyes darkened, lost in something far away. “She was my everything.”
His throat bobbed.
“In the end…” His voice broke.
“I killed her.”
An inhale lodged in my chest.
Malik. Killed Isabelle.
Who was she?
Why had he—
And then—he was in front of me again.
One hand pressed against the wall over my head, caging me in. The other, soft, deliberate, brushed through my hair and traced the lines of my face.
His voice was low, a murmur laced with something I couldn’t decipher.
“Life works in mysterious ways.”
I hated how he soothed me.
One second, he confessed to killing someone he had loved.
The next, his touch was lulling me into submission, wrapping me in his presence like a silken noose.
His effect on me was maddening.
I loathed it.
And I craved it—all in the same breath.
Then, just like that, his demeanor shifted.
Cool. Polite. Butler-like.
“I’m so sorry to have disrupted your sleep,” he said smoothly, inclining his head.
Then—
He was gone.
I blinked.
I hadn’t seen him leave.
I hadn’t heard the door open.
I hadn’t felt the air shift.
One moment he was there—the next, nothing.
A shiver crawled over my skin.
I staggered toward the bed, collapsing onto it, gripping the bedspread, and wrapping it tightly around myself.
As if the fabric could shield me from whatever the hell Malik was.
And whatever spell he had just cast over me.
His words tangled in my mind, refusing to make sense. How strangely our lives had become intertwined. I struggled to fit the puzzle pieces together, but exhaustion pulled me down, dragging me into sleep.
A rapid knocking jolted me from a deep, dreamless slumber.
I groaned, rubbing my fists against my eyes to shake off the sluggish fog in my brain. “Who is it?”
“It’s me! Emily!”
“And Rosie!” came the little girl’s excited voice.
I smiled groggily. “Come in, come in!”
I folded the bedspread back and swung my legs to the floor as a yawn escaped me.
Emily and Rosie burst into the room like two chirping birds, their energy almost offensive compared to my sluggishness. Both were dressed in clean, new clothes—tailored for them, by the look of it.
“We were so exhausted at dinner, weren’t we?” Emily flounced toward me, her skirts swishing. “I slept like a princess in a palace.”
“I love this place!” Rosie declared, jumping onto the bed in an explosion of giggles. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
She scrambled to her feet and bounced on the mattress.
I reached for her mid-air, catching her around the waist as she landed. “I’m not as awake as you are, Rosie.” I laughed sleepily, pulling her close. “Why don’t you just sit next to me?”
She sighed dramatically but snuggled into my side.
Emily perched on my other side, tilting her head as she studied me. “How did you sleep, sister?”
Another yawn slipped from my lips as the memories of the night before rushed back—Malik’s presence, hands on my throat, unreadable gaze, and how his voice had entwined itself into my thoughts.
“I had nightmares,” I admitted, pressing my fingers lightly to my neck. The ghost of Malik’s touch lingered there, a secret I wasn’t ready to share. “Horrible dreams of fire devouring my family.”
Emily’s expression softened with concern, but before she could respond, I continued, my fingers brushing over the dagger at my waist.
“I woke up missing Roman so much. And then I remembered—our daggers bind us. I used it to find him.”
Emily gasped. “Oh, Olivia! All this time, you could have known! What did you discover?”
She pushed the hair back from my face, her eyes alight with urgency.
I turned, clasping her hands tightly. My heart ached with the words I was about to say.
“Roman’s alive,” I revealed. “And so is Papa.”
Tears blurred my vision.
Emily let out a soft, shocked gasp.
“Oh, sister!” She clutched my hands, squeezing them tightly. “Your father is alive!”
“Yes, they’re both together in my future,” I said, my heart swelling at the memory. “Roman is learning how to use the devices of my time. I’m sure he’s bewildered.”
A chuckle escaped me as I recalled the pure consternation on his face while fumbling with the television remote, pressing buttons as if it might bite him.
Emily beamed, her joy as radiant as the morning light. “That’s incredible, Olivia! I’m so happy for you!”
She pulled me into a tight embrace, holding me close.
Rosie squealed and launched onto the bed, wrapping her small arms around us.
Laughter bubbled up in my chest, caught in the warmth of their love, their unshakable presence.
But then—
Malik.
Balthazar.
Their names repeated through my mind, ruining the moment of peace.
I gently extracted myself from Rosie’s and Emily’s arms and stood. “Let’s eat. I’m famished. Give me a moment to dress, and we’ll head down together.”
I crossed to the armoire and swung open the doors.
Inside, an array of delicate dresses, blouses, and skirts hung neatly from wooden hangers—soft fabrics in cream, rose, and sapphire.