Chapter 7 #4
Malik reached for his goblet and took a sip of hard cider. Then, without so much as a glance in my direction, he forked another bite of beef.
I gritted my teeth.
“Are you?” I pressed, leaning forward.
Emily shot me a warning glance.
I shook my head. I was done with this darkness fucking with my mind.
My patience snapped.
“Answer me!”
Malik raised an elegant eyebrow and swallowed his mouthful.
“I’m not finished yet,” he said smoothly.
Something inside me exploded.
I snatched a silver spoon from the table and flung it across the room.
It missed him, clattering against the floor with a tinny clang, as I bolted to my feet.
“If you’re not going to fucking give me answers, I’m leaving.”
I barely saw him move.
One moment, he was across the table.
The next—
He was in front of me.
His fingers wrapped around my throat.
Emily let out a small, whimpering gasp.
I sucked in a breath, my pulse thundering beneath Malik’s grip.
Had I pushed him too far?
A yelp escaped me as I seized his wrists, instinctively trying to pry him away.
His hold wasn’t suffocating, but it was firm.
“You will not use such filthy words in front of a child,” he said, his voice low, not loud, not cruel, but brimming with authority.
The words ricocheted through my body like a pinball, knocking something loose.
He was right.
I should be better. I should set an example for Rosie, not behaving like a petulant child.
Guilt settled like a stone in my stomach.
Tears stung my eyes. I was so tired of crying, of feeling like I was constantly losing my footing, like there was no safe place to land.
My chin quivered.
Great. Now I was acting like an infant.
I forced the emotion down, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I apologize.”
Malik’s jaw tensed. “I don’t need your apology.” His grip tightened slightly, just enough to remind me of his control. “Rosie does.”
I blinked up at him. Oh.
“It would help if you released my neck,” I murmured.
His thumbs moved—not in anger or punishment, but in that same maddening caress he had done the night before.
A shiver coursed down my spine.
Then, in a soft, lethal whisper, “Apologize.”
I inhaled shakily. “Rosie, I’m sorry I used a crass word.”
“That’s okay,” she chirped from behind him. “My daddy used to say bad words when the cows got out.”
A chunk of my heart cracked away.
This little girl—this innocent soul—had just lost her parents. And here I was, throwing a tantrum, screaming at demons, acting like I had the luxury of reckless emotion.
I swallowed against the fresh wave of shame.
“I’ll bet he apologized to you when he did that, didn’t he?” My gaze locked onto Malik’s, searching for anything beneath the storm raging in his eyes.
He didn’t answer.
He only watched me, his expression unreadable, his fingers still ghosting over my throat like he memorized my feel.
Rosie’s soft footsteps padded across the floor.
Then—
Tiny arms wrapped around the back of my legs.
Just a hug.
Small. Simple.
But it destroyed me.
A sob tore from my chest as tears spilled freely down my cheeks.
Malik released my throat.
“I’m just so frustrated,” I admitted. “I miss my husband. I’m still exhausted from our journey. I could sleep for days, but it still wouldn’t be enough. And all I want are answers.”
I dragged a shaky hand through my hair. “I need something to hold onto, some shred of hope or encouragement. Something…”
Fat, wet tears slid down my cheeks.
Malik’s expression shifted. The hard edges of his face softened, his emerald eyes melting into pools of liquid jade.
“Meet me in my study in thirty minutes.” His voice was lower now, almost gentle. Then, without another word, he turned to Rosie, resting a large, careful hand on her head.
“Thank you for dining with me,” he said. “Now, will you go see Cook?”
Rosie beamed, gazing up at him with pure adoration.
“Uh-huh!” she chirped, nodding before heading toward the kitchen.
Malik pivoted on his heel and departed, his presence vanishing as swiftly as a shadow slipping through candlelight.
I staggered back into my chair, collapsing onto it.
Fuck, what was wrong with me?
Emily rushed to my side, her brows drawn together in concern. “Oh, Olivia, are you all right?”
I let out a weak, breathless laugh. “I honestly don’t know.”
I propped my elbows onto the table and buried my face in my hands.
“I should be grateful for his hospitality,” I muttered. “But I feel like he crawls inside my head and twists everything—makes me question everything. I don’t like that feeling.”
I lifted my head, blinking away the remnants of my tears. “It makes me feel… unstable. Like, I never know where to put my foot.”
I blew a deep, heavy breath, grabbing my napkin to wipe my damp cheeks.
Emily leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Tell you what,” she said softly. “My question can wait.”
She offered me a small, reassuring smile. “Let’s go meet with Malik. If he has time, we’ll get to my question too. If not…” She shrugged. “No harm done.”
I let out a long sigh, something akin to relief settling in my chest.
“Thanks, Emily,” I murmured, squeezing her hand. “You’re the best.”
Twenty-eight minutes later, I wandered down the lower floor hallway, searching for the study.
Everything about Malik’s house was massive—from the impossibly high ceilings to the intricately carved wooden furniture to the heavy, ornate doors etched with symbols I didn’t recognize.
A door stood open ahead on my right.
I paused at the threshold.
Malik stood near the window, his broad frame silhouetted against the storm-darkened sky.
Emily crept up behind me, silent as a shadow.
Outside, a stiff wind bent the trees at unnatural angles, sending restless clouds racing across the heavens, galloping like wild stallions.
I swallowed. “We’re here,” I said, my voice small.
Malik pivoted, his gaze impassive, unreadable.
“Come in,” he murmured. Then, gesturing fluidly, he moved past his enormous espresso-colored desk and settled onto a jade-green silk sofa.
“Please,” he said, sweeping his arm to the side. “Join me.”
I hesitated in the doorway, rigid, then crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside him.
My eyes settled on the small side table near his seat.
Malik reached inside and withdrew a leather-bound book.
My breath hitched.
My mother’s journal.
Longing shot through me—an aching need to touch, hold, and possess something of hers in my hands.
Malik rested the book on his lap; his fingers splayed protectively over the worn leather cover. Then, shifting to face me, he said, “Your mother gave me her journal before Balthazar killed her.”
His expression softened, the harsh edges of his face easing into something almost gentle.
“She wanted me to tell you…” His voice lowered, weighted with meaning.
“If you found the journal and read it…” He held my gaze.
“She hoped you would forgive her.”
His words slipped inside my chest like probing fingers, working their way past the walls I had so carefully erected against my mother.
A strange, mushy feeling settled in my heart. Vulnerable. Exposed.
How could we ever be reunited? In death?
And how was I supposed to forgive her when she had loved a monster who now wanted to destroy me and everything I held dear?
Malik’s knuckles rapped against the worn leather cover.
“This book,” he said, voice low, reverent, “contains Alina’s deepest, darkest secrets.”
Then, he stood, crouching before me, holding out the journal.
“Here, Olivia.”
My breath hitched.
I reached for the book, and as my fingers brushed against Malik’s, a jolt of energy surged between us.
Our eyes locked.
For a split second, it felt like I had fallen beyond the universe, plunging into the unfathomable depths of his ancient gaze.
Lifetimes of experience and secrets stared back at me.
Then—
My focus shifted.
The journal.
Malik released it, rocking back on his heels as my hands closed around it.
It was heavier than it looked.
Words like sacred and fragile fluttered through my mind.
I lifted my gaze to Malik.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
His eyes softened. “Promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”
His tone was gentle. But beneath it, I sensed something else—concern.
“I know Emily can handle what you’ll soon discover,” he continued. “I worry about you the most.”
My brows lifted. “Why?”
A small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. “You’re so tough.”
I frowned. “And that’s bad?”
“Not always.”
The tenderness emanating from him was almost too much to bear.
“Read the journal here,” Malik continued, his voice measured, almost soothing. “Take your time. Let yourself absorb your mother’s words. And please—don’t judge.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“Once you’ve read it, I’ll explain what a Timebound is,” he said. “The journal is long—it will take you all day to get through. While you learn about your mother, I’ll take care of Rosie.”
Malik rose to his full height.
I stood, too, as if guided by invisible strings.
Emily frowned, her forehead furrowing as she studied me.
I could feel her unspoken question.
What was this effect Malik had on me?
It wasn’t an attraction—not in the way I felt drawn to Roman.
It was something deeper, something ancient—like silvery strands of energy binding us, weaving something I couldn’t yet understand.
I’d mull over that later.
For now, the journal lay in my hands, compelling me forward, pulling me into a past I had long tried to forget.
And I had no choice but to follow.