CHAPTER EIGHT
MALIK
I stood before the bed of this bewitching, unknown woman, utterly captivated. The sheet slipped from the woman’s fingers, fluttering like a surrendering flag before it settled over the edge of the bed. It was an inadvertent revelation, a moment too swift to undo. Her body, a silhouette of curves and grace, was bared to my unintended gaze. The shock that etched her features mirrored the paralysis seizing my own. Words, typically my allies, deserted me in the face of such unexpected beauty.
Her hair, a cascade of ebony waves, framed a face that seemed sculpted from the finest marble, with high cheekbones and a delicately pointed chin. Her eyes, a startling azure, gleamed like fragments of the Mediterranean Sea, their depths hinting at stories untold and wisdom far beyond her years.
Her appearance exuded an ethereal beauty, yet there was a subtle frailty in her frame, a slenderness that suggested a strong gust of wind could easily topple her.
However, this impression was deceptive. Beneath her seemingly delicate exterior lay a resilience that might have been forged from years of silent perseverance and intellectual rigor. Her olive-skinned heritage lent her an exotic allure, a blend of cultural richness and history that painted her as Scheherazade, with tales waiting to be whispered into the ears of an enraptured audience—namely, me.
Her duality—her delicate appearance and formidable strength—made her fascinating. She was a living contradiction, a beautiful enigma with a core of unyielding strength and intellect that shone brighter than the jewels in the Ottoman treasury.
“What a beautiful woman,” I whispered, my voice so faint it barely rippled the heavy tension between us.
Her skin was flawless, the warmth of olive skin, except for the cruel patches of violet bruises staining her flesh—a silent testament to the suffering she had endured.
“She has the face of an angel,” I murmured again as if the words could soften the harsh reality of her wounds, as if naming her beauty could create a fragile shield against the truth.
Compunction twisted inside me, and I struggled to stitch my scattered thoughts into coherence.
“I’m so sorry,” I managed, feeling the unfamiliar stumble of my tongue as I spoke. “I had no idea someone was in this room.”
My voice sounded alien, halting, and insecure—unlike the composed man I was known to be.
With each stutter, my desire to retreat grew, to give her the sanctuary of solitude.
“I’ll come back,” I said to her, though I couldn’t quite discern whether it was a promise or a plea.
“It’s all right,” she said with a softness that seemed at odds with the bruises that flowered on her skin. There was a grace to her movements as she pulled the sheet up, trying to cover what was already seen, wincing slightly as it grazed her tender wounds.
I could not move, my feet rooted in place despite my best intentions.
“I’ll leave now,” I said, fumbling over the words that felt like stones in my mouth. It was strange, this sensation that washed over me—a mixture of desire and concern, something I hadn’t felt stirring within me for years.
The intrusive, primal thought crept into my mind without warning— I want to possess her.
The flood of longing and craving for this woman was overwhelming, filling me with a fierce ache that pulsed through every fiber of my being. The intensity of my desire was palpable, a burning fire that threatened to consume me whole. I could feel the pull toward her, like a magnet drawing me closer and closer until I was lost in the depths of yearning.
Her eyes held mine, clear and questioning.
“Why are you here?” she asked gently, shifting beneath the thin barrier of linen. “What do you need?”
The urgency of my mission resurfaced, pulling me back from the edge of distraction.
“The antidote,” I replied, my voice steadier as I clung to the purpose that brought me here. “I’m here to get the antidote for belladonna poisoning. For Marcellious,” I stammered.
“Please continue—get the Calabar,” she said, her surprising and telling knowledge of the remedy.
As I moved to the cupboard facing the bed, where the dark-green vials were kept, my glance swept over her again. The sight of her—so broken yet enveloped in quiet dignity—ignited a protective flame within me. How did she come to be in such a state? The urge to shield her from any further harm rose fiercely in my chest.
Securing the vial of Calabar extract for Marcellious, I felt its weight in my hand and heart.
This gorgeous woman needed more than a mere herbal antidote; she needed someone to ensure no more pain would come to her. As odd as it felt, I wanted to be the man to protect and care for her.
I sat on the bed beside her, the wooden frame creaking under my weight.
“What happened? Did the Timehunters hurt you? Were you and Marcellious kept in the same place?” My voice was a whisper, rough with concern.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice trembling. “Raul Costa captured us. It was awful.” The pain in her eyes mirrored the bruises marring her skin, each one a silent testament to the horrors she had endured.
Gently, I peeled the sheet from her arms, revealing the map of her suffering. She flinched, but she didn’t pull away. My fingers hovered over each bruise, the urge to soothe her wounds overwhelming.
“Did they violate you?” I asked, the words scraping from my throat, raw with the need to understand the full extent of their cruelty.
“No,” she whispered, her voice a fragile mix of relief and lingering sorrow. “It was heading in that direction, but I would have fought them with everything I had.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping. “When Marcellious was brought into captivity, their attention was focused on him.”
Her courage astounded me, and my hand, as if with a will of its own, continued to gently trace the shadows of violence upon her skin. The connection felt sacred and necessary. I needed to know more and understand everything that had happened.
“Take your hand off her. She’s betrothed. I don’t think her betrothed would like this.” Zara’s voice sliced through the charged air, startling me.
I retracted my hand as if burned, my heart sinking. This beautiful, exotic woman was already taken.
Zara’s stern gaze bore into me, and with a sharp tilt of her head, she signaled me to follow her into the hall.
“You cannot touch her like that,” she hissed, her words laced with warning and anger. “Not after everything she has endured. And certainly not when she has already been promised to another man.”
“Who is her betrothed?” I asked, my voice taut with an edge I couldn’t suppress.
“His name is Osman,” Zara replied calmly.
The name struck me like a physical blow.
“Osman?” I repeated. “The Osman, I know?”
Confusion clashed with a sharp pang of betrayal, a storm brewing in my chest.
“Yes, the same man Roman and Marcellious met at the tavern, the one helping you excavate the cave. I placed him there.”
Every piece of the puzzle clicked into—a place with agonizing clarity. The setup, Osman’s story, it was all Zara’s doing. And there I stood, unwittingly caught in the center of a game I hadn’t even realized was being played.
The realization struck me, a heavy stone sinking in my gut. Osman’s betrothed, Reyna, was the woman I couldn’t tear my thoughts from. She was his . A bitter taste of irony filled my mouth as I mused over the cruel jest fate played on me. Was it not enough that I’d crossed paths with Timehunters and lived to tell the tale? Now, I found myself entangled in feelings for a woman promised to another, shackled by emotions I couldn’t escape.
“Malik.” Zara’s voice snapped me back to reality. “You should leave here and head back. You’ve been here long enough, and they’ll start wondering.”
“Right,” I said, my mind racing. “Do you think it best to take Reyna and Marcellious with me now? It would look better if I said I found them in the forest. And I can’t have Mathias asking questions about my whereabouts.”
My story must be convincing; my reputation as a solitary wanderer would lend credence to the tale.
Zara scanned out the window for any signs of danger.
“Yes, I think you should take them with you,” she finally said, her voice laced with concern. “Marcellious’ healing is slow, and Reyna is badly bruised. I don’t want them in any more danger.”
“I will protect them both with my life, Zara,” I said. “No one, and nothing will harm them while they are under my care. You have my word.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of Zara’s lips. “I know, Malik. I’ve always known how fiercely protective you are. And when Mathias asks how you found them, you’ll tell him that while trying to restore your energy, you stumbled upon them in the forest, abandoned and left for dead.”
We returned to Reyna’s room. She studied me, her eyes wide with uncertainty.
“Reyna, my dear, you’re going to go with Malik,” Zara said gently but firmly, her voice carrying an edge of finality.
Reyna nodded.
As we made our way to Marcellious’ bed, I couldn’t help but notice how Reyna’s presence seemed to fill the space around us. The antidote was cold in my hand as I administered it to Marcellious, who writhed under its influence until, mercifully, he calmed.
“Is there a cart we can use to transport him?” I asked, considering the logistics of moving an incapacitated man.
Zara shook her head. “Showing up at Mathias’ estate with a cart would raise too many questions, anyway.”
“Then we make do,” I replied. “I’ll fashion a stretcher out of sticks and secure it to my horse’s back.”
“Can you manage?” she asked, doubt lining her brow.
“I have to,” I said. “Reyna will ride with me.”
The thought of Reyna riding behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist, her body pressed against mine, sent an unexpected surge of heat through my veins. Forcing the distraction aside, I returned to the task at hand. Marcellious needed us, and I had no room for anything else—not desire, not doubt, only duty.
The forest floor was littered with the debris of nature’s own making, and from this disarray, I selected the sturdiest branches.
“Help me with these branches,” I said, setting about creating a makeshift stretcher with practiced hands.
As Zara handed me strips of cloth to bind the wood together, my resolve hardened. I would transport Marcellious and Reyna safely, no matter the personal cost.
Zara’s hands moved in unison with mine, silent but efficient, as we constructed a makeshift stretcher. It wasn’t elegant, but it would serve its purpose. We secured it to Swiftwind’s back, ensuring the knots were tight so they wouldn’t give way under Marcellious’ weight.
Inside, Reyna stood unsteadily, dressed in a traveling dress and overcoat. My gaze lingered on her longer than it should have—her angelic face and graceful figure captivating me in ways I couldn’t ignore. A fierce longing stirred within me, an ache to pull her into my arms and kiss her, to let every ounce of unspoken affection spill forth. At the same time, an equally powerful instinct surged—a need to shield her from the world, to ensure no harm ever touched her.
I caught Zara’s glare of reproach and hurried toward Marcellious’ room.
“Careful,” I murmured as we lifted him, swaddled in blankets like a newborn. His body was limp, the sedative holding him in a merciful grip of unconsciousness. We settled him onto the stretcher, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were preparing for a journey far more precarious than any I had undertaken before.
Reyna leaned heavily against a tree, her legs trembling as she attempted a step. Without thinking, I reached out, slipping an arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned into me, her breaths shallow and labored, her vulnerability tugging at something deep inside me.
Zara’s sharp gaze fixed on us, her expression darkening with warning. “Watch yourself, Malik,” she said, her voice low but firm. “She’s betrothed. We don’t need to repeat what happened with Isabelle. Reyna belongs to another, and you will respect that.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Of course,” I said, chastened, though the warmth of Reyna’s body against mine sent conflicting messages racing through my mind.
With care, we hoisted Reyna onto Swiftwind, and then I mounted, positioning her behind me. The moment her hands settled on my shoulders, light as a whisper yet heavy with meaning, a sense of elation mixed with forbidden longing washed over me. I focused on the rhythm of the horse’s breath, anything to distract from the sensation of her touch.
Zara disappeared into the cabin, returning with a satchel filled with supplies—vials of Calabar, bandages, and other necessities. Her eyes met mine, a solemnity in their depths. “You need to care for her. She’s hurting, she’s weak, and she’s going through more than you know.”
“I understand,” I said, taking the satchel from Zara’s hands. “And I won’t forget her situation.”
The words she’s betrothed echoed relentlessly in my mind, a mantra I clung to in a futile attempt to temper the emotions stirring within me.
“Be discreet with these.” Zara gestured toward the supplies. “Lee can vouch that he had them.”
Her implicit trust in me did nothing to alleviate the weight of responsibility now resting on my shoulders.
“Reyna will be cared for,” I said, securing the satchel in a hidden compartment of my saddle. Reyna needed protection, and whether fate or poor luck had led me to her, I wouldn’t let her down. Nor would I abandon Marcellious. Both had suffered greatly.
Zara climbed onto a flat-topped boulder, her stature above our makeshift litter. She leaned close to Reyna, her fragile form shrouded in a cloak that did little to disguise the tremors that occasionally coursed through her. I could not hear Zara’s tenderly spoken words, but I saw their impact; Reyna’s eyes glistened with a sheen of tears, the kind born from whispered encouragements or shared secrets.
“Even the strongest warriors face setbacks. Everything will be alright, my dear,” was all that drifted on the wind to my ears.
A solitary tear tracked down Reyna’s cheek, carving a clean path through the dust of her trials. She nodded subtly—whether in agreement or determination, I couldn’t be sure.
Zara turned her keen gaze upon me, her eyes flashing an unspoken warning mingled with an ironclad resolve.
“Remember your duty and stick to the plan,” Zara continued as she stepped forward, her movements fluid as she closed the distance between us.
“Don’t come back here. Stay the course. It will get harder, Malik, but don’t let it break you. Don’t lose control.”
Her commands were etched into my mind, each a beacon to guide me through the coming storm. I touched her shoulder, a gesture of parting between warriors faced with separate battles. And, in a moment brimming with the unspoken fears and hopes that clung to our mission, I leaned forward and brushed my lips against her cheek—a silent vow to fight, to protect, to survive.
“Now,” I murmured, letting my breath ghost over the loose strands of her hair, “it’s time to fight the ultimate battle.”
“Be well, my friend.” She nodded before leaping off the stone on which she had been standing.
With those words lingering between us like a sacred oath, I straightened and looked over my shoulder at Reyna, offering a reassuring smile.
Gripping the reins with a white-knuckled grip, I dug my spurs into Swiftwind’s flanks, urging the powerful steed onward. The path ahead was uncertain, and responsibility weighed heavily on me. How many lives would be lost in the treacherous months ahead?