Chapter 37 Malik
Malik
Ilifted my head from the corpse beneath me and inhaled deeply. The body’s essence curled into my nostrils, filling me with life and power.
A sigh escaped my lips as I slid the blade from the dead man’s chest. Rising to my full height, I took in my surroundings—the cobbled street bathed in the waning light, the silence stretching like a heavy shroud.
Four bodies lay at my feet. Four souls were consumed. That should have been enough.
But the hunger still raged.
It gnawed at me, insatiable, a beast prowling the depths of my being. I needed more. More souls. More life to siphon into my own. I would not stop. I could not stop.
My steps were light and soundless as I sniffed and searched the deserted street.
I had abided by my so-called morals for years—only hunting the wicked, the corrupt, the depraved, and had all those I slaughtered tonight fit that category?
I didn’t know.
I didn’t care.
The poison still lingered in my veins, clouding my senses and dulling my restraint.
Goddamned belladonna.
The street stretched ahead, grim and foreboding—no sanctuary for those foolish enough to walk its path. My gaze locked onto a house at the far end of the block, its pale-yellow light spilling onto the cobblestones like a beacon.
That would be my destination tonight.
I moved swiftly, circling the cottage, every sense attuned to the lives pulsing within—the scent of warm flesh, the rhythmic thrum of beating hearts.
Two bodies.
A predatory smile curved my lips.
With a single strike, my fist cracked the thick windowpane. The glass splintered, cascading onto the floor in a deadly shimmer. I leaped through the opening, landing with the fluid grace of a great cat.
A man stood frozen in the room.
His breath hitched, his eyes widening in sheer terror as I lunged.
“No, no, no! Don’t!” He stumbled backward, hands raised in surrender. “I know what you are! I—I’m on your side!”
I hesitated, the fog in my mind swirling as I gripped his arm like a vice.
“Who are you?” I growled.
His breath came in frantic pants. “My name is Osman.” His fingers clawed at my grip, desperate to pry himself free.
My love for Roman—my unwavering need to protect him—overpowered the hunger.
With a sharp exhale, I shoved Osman away. He stumbled backward, landing hard on the floor.
“Do you have Roman?” My voice was raw, frantic. “Where is he?”
Osman scrambled to his feet and scurried toward a curtain draped over the entrance to the next room. “Yes, yes! He’s in there, recovering. I gave him the antidote to the poison.”
I crossed the room in a daze, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. The dimly lit space smelled of woodsmoke and old fabric, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The furniture was sparse and worn—nothing in this house suggested luxury, but I didn’t care.
All that mattered was beyond that curtain.
I hesitated in the doorway, my breath hitching as my eyes found him.
Roman lay still on the bed, his body bathed in the glow of the fire. He looked almost angelic in his repose, his face carved in lines of exhaustion.
A surge of emotion crashed over me—love, relief, overwhelming devotion. My feet refused to move, rooted in place by its sheer force.
He was alive. Thank God.
But he barely looked conscious.
Carefully, I crossed the room and knelt at his side. My fingers drifted over his forehead, pushing back strands of his thick, sweat-dampened hair.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but his skin was ghostly pale—the color of snow veiled in shadows.
My head felt like a boulder, impossibly heavy. The poison still slithered through my veins, making my limbs sluggish and my vision blurred.
“God’s bones,” I murmured, my voice hoarse. “The poison has made me nearly immobile. It’s no wonder you look half-dead.”
A tremor ran through my body.
The hunger surged.
My mouth watered as the urge to feed coiled through me, sharp and merciless.
I jerked away from Roman, stumbling into the front room, where Osman hovered uneasily.
“I need more souls.” My voice was strained, desperate. “I was taught not to kill the innocent, but if I don’t find one soon…” My fingers curled against the wall for balance, my vision swimming. “You might be next.”
Osman paled, inching backward. “The tavern,” he blurted, pointing toward the door. “I told you—there are terrible men there.”
I barely had time to register his words before a ragged, desperate scream tore through the house.
“Malik!”
Roman’s voice. Hoarse, frantic.
I spun, rushing back to him. My heart slammed against my ribs.
His eyes were open. Bleary, unfocused, but alive.
“You’re awake!”
He pushed himself up with determination. “I’m coming with you.”
“No!” I pressed a firm hand against his chest, forcing him back down. “You’re still weak. You can’t go—you need to stay here and heal.”
His breathing was shallow, his hands clenched into fists.
But I saw it in his gaze.
The fire.
The refusal to be left behind.
Roman shoved my hand aside with surprising strength. “I’m not staying.” His voice was hoarse but firm. “I heard what you said, and I’m coming to keep you safe.”
Before I could argue, he lurched to his feet, grasped my arm, and pushed us toward the door.
Outside, the night air wrapped around us like a damp shroud, the cold mist of rain beading on my coat like tiny diamonds on black velvet.
The hunger tore through me relentlessly. My veins thrummed with need, and my breath came shallow and ragged. But I pushed forward, knowing Osman followed a few paces behind.
I wanted to leave him in the darkness, to shake him from my shadow. But no matter how fast I moved, he remained close.
The craving roared louder.
The scent of humans teased and tormented my nose, their life forces pulsing in the distance.
I began to run.
The tavern loomed ahead, its doors flung open, the stench of sweat, ale, and rot thick in the air.
A man knelt beside a corpse, looting its pockets.
I didn’t hesitate.
I seized my knife, tore it from its sheath, and plunged it into his back. The soul surged into me before his body even hit the cobblestones.
But it was only an appetizer.
The hunger demanded more.
I turned on the gawkers, the looters, the bystanders—heedless of their innocence, their morality. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was restoration.
I struck. Again. And again.
Blood splattered across my coat, my hands, my face. Their screams filled the night but were only distant echoes beneath the thrum of power coursing through my veins.
Someone let out a guttural cry. “Good lord, there’s a monster among us!”
Panic erupted. People pointed, gasped, and ran.
It didn’t matter.
Moving with inhuman speed, I caught each one, snuffing out their lives with swift, merciless precision.
Panting between soul-laden breaths, I fed.
Again.
And again.
Until—
Silence.
The massacre stretched before me.
My body pulsed with renewed strength, every inch of me alive with stolen energy. But as I took in the carnage, the realization came crashing down like a thunderclap.
I fell to my knees, the impact jarring my bones.
My blade slipped from my fingers, clattering against the blood-slicked stone.
“What have I done?” My voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I’m truly a fiend.”
The corpses lay in heaps, their eyes sightless, mouths open in silent screams. Blood pooled in the cracks of the cobblestone, seeping into the earth—the scent of death—iron and sweat, decay and loss—coiled thick in the air.
I clenched my hands over my face, trembling.
“How can I live with myself?” My breath came in ragged gasps. “How can I pretend to be Rosie’s father, Olivia, and Roman’s friend and protector after this?”
Footsteps.
Approaching me.
I didn’t look up. I didn’t have the strength.
“Malik…”
Roman’s voice was careful, as one might speak to a cornered wolf.
I shook my head. “I’m despicable!” The words tore from my throat, raw and broken. “You must be disgusted with me. All I ever wanted was to live a normal life. To be a father.”
The light rain mingled with the blood, turning the streets into a canvas of crimson rivulets, curling in intricate patterns as they slithered away from the fallen bodies.
Roman approached cautiously, his palms raised in a silent plea.
Osman lingered behind, hesitant, watchful.
Above us, the storm raged, lightning splitting the sky with eerie brilliance. Thunder rolled like a beast growling in the heavens. The downpour soaked my clothes and my skin, but I felt nothing.
Satan could have come for me then, and I wouldn’t have cared.
Roman crouched beside me, his face streaked with rivulets of rain. His voice, though soft, carried an edge of desperation.
“You didn’t choose this destiny, Malik. It was forced upon you.”
But his words barely touched me.
I felt nothing but the hollow expanse inside me—vast, endless.
My fingers closed around the hilt of my knife. I must have dropped it beside me in my frenzy.
The blade gleamed, washed clean of blood by the relentless storm.
I stared at it, uncomprehending.
A sudden movement—Roman swayed, his body giving way to weakness. He fell forward onto his hands and knees.
Osman rushed toward him, waving a small vial. “This is the antidote. He needs more of it.”
I frowned, suspicion piercing through my numbness. “Who are you?” My voice came rough. “How do you know so much about poisons and antidotes? Are you a Timehunter?”
Osman shook his head, eyes flashing with urgency. “No! I’m a scholar. A healer.” He knelt beside Roman, cradling the vial between careful fingers. “Tip your head back and open your mouth.”
Roman obeyed without question, and Osman poured the tincture past his lips.
“You’ll start to feel better soon.” He turned toward me then, his gaze steady despite the storm. “My betrothed came here for the Moon Dagger. Raul took her because she’s Timebound.”