19. Blood of Two Worlds #6
Malec stared down. The child smelled faintly of milk and warmth and the raw scent of new life, a presence the world had not known before for a long time. A tremble passed across Malec’s lips. His breath faltered. And then, barely audible:
"We finally meet."
The child squinted against the light, though his eyes remained sealed shut, unopened since birth.
And yet Malec felt it.
A rustle in his mind. A soft shifting, like leaves stirred by a wind that did not exist. A brush of thought. A flash of unformed emotion, a psychic nudge that pressed against the deepest part of him.
Malec's brow arched slowly.
"Of course," he murmured, a thin smile curving his mouth. "You're already speaking."
The baby shifted, tiny limbs pressing closer into his chest, as though answering.
Across the room, Luko stood with his sleeves rolled back, arms crossed, a bandage wrapped around his head where blood had dried in his hair. His expression stayed carefully neutral, but his eyes flashed with a keen, unresolved tension when they landed on Malec.
Malec didn't look up. His entire focus remained on the infant in his arms.
Surian approached carefully, her pale blue eyes soft with emotion. "Malec," she said quietly. "How is Allora? Can I see her?"
Malec's gaze lifted briefly, his expression softening at the mention of her name. "She's still sleeping. That poison Leira's midwives forced down her throat nearly killed her. She needs time to recover."
Surian's face paled. "Will she be alright?"
"Kalemon gave her sedatives to keep her from moving around and tearing the healing." The line of his jaw hardened. "I gave her some of my blood to stabilize her. She'll wake when her body is ready." He paused, his tone firm but not unkind. "You can see her after she's eaten and fully woken."
Surian nodded, relief washing over her features. Then her gaze drifted to Luko, standing silent and tense across the room, and her expression shifted.
"Malec," she said carefully. "Is there something you should address with Luko?"
Malec glanced up, his eyes landing on Luko for the first time since entering. A small smile still lingered on his face from watching his son. "Why is your head bandaged?"
The room went silent.
Luko's expression darkened. His voice came out clipped, tense with barely restrained anger. "Oh, I don't know, Malec. Maybe because you threw me into a fucking wall."
The words landed like a slap.
Luko bent down, grabbed the stack of clean baby towels he'd been holding, and hurled them to the floor. The soft fabric scattered across the stone with a muted thud.
Then he turned and stormed out.
"Luko!" Surian called after him, her voice cracking with worry.
She moved to follow, but as she passed Malec, she stopped. Her eyes locked on his, blazing with frustration and disappointment.
"Honestly, Malec," she said, her voice cold and cutting. "There are other breathing and feeling beings in this world besides you and Allora."
Then she ran after Luko, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
The room remained silent. Nobles shifted uncomfortably. Servants averted their eyes. Malec stood there, still holding his son, and let out a slow, measured sigh. He looked down at the baby in his arms, the tiny face peaceful and untroubled.
He wasn't worried. Luko always bounced back.
Malec brushed his lips against the downy silver crown of his son's head, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for the child. "I'll do better," he murmured. "For you and her."
But even as he said it, he knew the road ahead would not be easy. Allora had not forgiven any of them. And Malec was not going to make it easy to be forgiven.
The fire crackled low in the chamber, shadows flickering against the stone walls.
The air still carried the faint metallic tang of blood, threaded through with the pungent er scents of dried herbs and crushed root.
Beneath the weight of the furs, Allora stirred.
Her muscles ached, stiff and sore. Her mouth was dry.
Every breath sent a dull throb of pain echoing through her body.
Her vision blurred, and when it finally cleared?—
He was already there.
Malec sat in the chair at the foot of the bed, unmoving, silent.
But he was transformed. His silver-blond hair had been washed and pulled back neatly, tied at the nape of his neck with precision.
His face was clean-shaven, chiseled jawline no longer obscured by grime and sweat.
He wore fresh clothing: a dark fitted tunic embroidered with silver thread, black trousers without a speck of mud, polished boots that gleamed in the firelight.
He looked like a monument carved from composure and control. The feral, desperate male who had torn through kingdoms was gone. The Silver Fox had returned.
Allora's body went rigid, her instincts screaming. His sun-flattened clay eyes fixed on her immediately.
"Good," Malec said softly. "You're awake."
His voice was calm, though a raw tension simmered beneath it, barely restrained.
She pushed herself up on her elbows, her body protesting with honed, punishing pain.
"Don't." The word came flat, but edged with strain. "You're still weak."
Her breath caught. "I'm fine."
His jaw worked. "You're not."
She forced herself upright anyway, ignoring the way her vision swam, the way her stomach lurched. Her eyes darted to the bowl resting on the tray beside her.
"Eat," Malec said, his voice rough.
"I'm not hungry."
"You need to eat." He didn't move, but his hands curled into fists on his knees. "You lost too much blood, you need your strength back."
Her throat tightened. She looked at him, really looked, and saw the strain carved into every line of his face. The exhaustion and tension coiled in his shoulders.
"What do you want, Malec?"
He rose from the chair and crossed to her bed. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, like a predator moving through tall grass. He sat beside her, his weight sinking into the mattress.
"I want you to listen."
The pressure between them built until the room felt smaller than it was.
"You left me," he said at last, his voice low and rough. "Drugged me in the dead of night and vanished. You ran from me for months while I—" He stopped, his throat working. "While I tore this world apart trying to find you."
Her pulse kicked up hard, fury igniting through the exhaustion.
"You were suffocating me," she hissed, the words tearing out raw. "You controlled everything—when I woke, what I ate, who I spoke to. I wasn't your lover, Malec. I was your prisoner."
Malec reacted, for a moment the mask slipped. Guilt maybe or pain. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"I know!" The admission came quietly, and it landed hard, unexpected. "I know what I was…still am. What I did to you."
She blinked, thrown off balance by the confession.
"I drove you away," he continued, his voice rough but controlled. "I was so terrified of losing you that I held on too tight. And you ran and rightfully so. You had every right to run, I see that…now..."
Allora regarded the Awyan in front of her carefully. This wasn't the Malec she'd fled from, the male who had commanded and controlled and demanded without question. But she sure as fuck didn't trust it.
"So let me go," she said, her voice hard. "If you know what you did, then let me leave."
"No."
The word was absolute. Final.
Her hands curled into fists in the furs. "You just said?—"
"I said I know what I did. I said I drove you away." His eyes met hers, unflinching. "I didn't say I could survive you leaving again."
"That's not my problem."
"It is when you're carrying my son in your arms." His voice dropped, a dangerous tone threading through it. "It will be when the moment word spreads about what you've given life to and what your body is capable of, you become the most valuable Canariae in existence."
She froze.
Malec leaned forward, his presence overwhelming.
"You think you can just walk out of here?
Go where, Allora? The portal collapsed. Your world is no longer accessible to you.
And nowhere in this world will keep you safe.
Not Caelistra, where Surion would have you locked in a tower before sunset so he could sell you off to the highest bidder, not to any kingdom that learns what you are capable of and would take you and turn you into a breeder. "
Inside his mind, the calculations ran cold and precise.
Surion would hear about this within days.
His weasel of a cousin would see the opportunity immediately: the first Canariae to successfully bear an Awyan child.
Her value would skyrocket and Malec wasn’t sure that even he would be able to keep her to himself once she becomes well known throughout his world.
He had no doubt that Surion would come for her.
He'd use every ounce of influence, favor owed, or find any law he could twist. And if legal means failed, he'd resort to others.
Kidnapping, bribery, force, anything. And Surion wasn't the only threat. Every major house in Ulvareth would be calculating her value right now. The Kaelish. The Veyrans. The Wascori’Thils.
Even houses beyond their borders would hear and covet.
She wasn't safe. Not anywhere in this world—except with him.
“You have no idea what you’ve become,” Malec said, his voice drawn taut with restrained urgency.
“You are no longer the whole of it. What stands before me is a miracle, the answer to prayers whispered in desperation.
A force the world has been starving for.
You are no longer just a Canariae tied to the Talandros name you're… "
"A commodity," she finished bitterly.
"Yes." He didn't soften it, didn't lie. "Every house in Ulvareth will want you. Kings will try to buy you. Nobles will scheme to steal you. You've just become the answer to our dying bloodlines, and they will not let you slip away."
Her eyes closed in despair, lips pursed together.