Chapter 24
RAVENA
After what felt like hours, Malrik finally let me leave the bedroom—my legs barely working, my body humming from far too many orgasms to count. He did exactly what he always does: dragged me out of my own mind, drowned me in sensation, and made me forget about the world for a while.
But now he’s downstairs making the potion to unlock my magic, there’s an ache setting in. Something doesn’t feel right.
My stomach twists uncomfortably. My chest is tight—and it’s not from exhaustion… It’s from something else.
Something's wrong.
I am so worried about Ronan. But as long as he listens to Kieran and stays away for now while Vesperas is out for blood, he should be safe.
I miss him.
I miss the quiet way he wraps his arms around me, like I’m something delicate he needs to protect.
I miss the way his voice lifts when he talks about baking—his excitement over flour and sugar and the next ridiculous recipe he wants me to try.
I even miss his awful impressions, especially the really terrible ones that make me ugly laugh.
The way I care about him… it snuck up on me. I didn’t plan for it, didn’t want it—but here it is, lodged under my skin like a blade I don’t know how to pull out. And the way he looks at me like I’m something good, something worth choosing—that’s the part that scares me the most.
Because he doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know the truth I’ve had to live with. The secret I’ve buried so deep I sometimes forget. The only person who knew was my mother, and she’s gone now, because of me.
As I step into the bedroom, the early morning light spills through the windows, casting pale gold across the room. It's colder than it should be—and then I see why.
Darian.
Sitting on my bed like he owns it, dressed head-to-toe in his hunter gear, dark ash blonde hair pulled back in that infuriatingly effortless way. I hate that he looks so good.
He’s not supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be with Ronan and Kieran—anywhere but here with me. Especially not after seeing him with that woman yesterday, letting her paw at him like he belonged to her… and actually looking at her with affection. The complete opposite of how he looks at me.
He used to look at me like I mattered to him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, tugging my towel tighter around my body. His gaze doesn’t meet mine—not at first. No, it drops to the bitemarks Malrik left on my shoulders and chest.
His expression doesn’t change, but his jaw ticks just once. “Does Ronan know you’re fucking the vampire downstairs?”
I don’t answer him; he has no right to know what I do.
Instead, I walk past him like he’s nothing more than a cold draft, pull open a drawer, and grab my underwear.
“The girl I knew hated vampires.”
“I still do,” I mutter, pulling a dress from the drawer without looking at him.
“So why are you letting one use you as his personal whore and blood bag?”
I slam the door shut with a bang that echoes off the walls. My blood surges hot with fury as I turn to face him, towel still clutched to my chest, my glare sharp enough to cut steel.
“You don’t get to call me that.” My voice doesn’t rise, but it lands like a slap. “You lost that right the moment you saw me again and decided to hate me without letting me explain.”
He doesn’t flinch. Of course, he doesn’t. Darian stands like a wall—unmoving, unreadable. But I don’t miss the twitch in his jaw. The subtle clench of his gloved hands at his sides.
“It became my business when my family got involved,” he says, stepping toward me. “I won't let you hurt him, too.”
There it is. The wound beneath the armour. Still raw and bleeding after all these years.
I take a breath and look into his eyes, letting him see I’m not the same scared young girl who used to watch the stars with him. “I would never hurt Ronan. I would rather die.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Darian thinks I vanished on him all those years ago without a word. What he doesn’t know—what I can never tell him—is that the night I didn’t show up, I was too busy watching my mother bleed out in my arms after the vampire soldiers ransacked our home.
The very home I live in now.
I couldn’t save her.
And I couldn’t go back.
So, if he wants to believe that I am the villain in his story, then so be it.
“If you’re done throwing accusations, you can get the hell out before I throw you out.” I square my shoulders, daring him to test me.
His eyes flicker—just for a second—with something softer. Something that looks a lot like pain. It was different to how they looked when the darkness inside him was trying to take over.
But it’s gone as quickly as it came.
He steps back, jaw tight. “You’ve changed.” He mutters.
“So have you,” I say. “And not for the better.”
In a blink, his hand is in my hair, yanking my head back with enough force to make my eyes sting and my scalp burn.
My magic lashes under my skin, clawing to be let loose on him—but I shove it down.
“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” he growls low, pulling me closer. “You’re going to get dressed. You’re going to come with me. Quietly. If you fight me or piss me off, I’ll kill you where you stand. Don’t think the queen cares how she gets you. Alive or not.”
His words are knives. But I’ve survived worse.
And he’s a dick.
I glare at him. “Funny. For someone who used to know me so well, you really don’t know me at all anymore.”
His grip tightens. Just a fraction. Just enough to know I’m pissing him off.
“Do you actually think barking orders at me is going to make me drop to my knees and say yes, sir, like some obedient little pet?” I draw out the last few words with a mocking purr, tilting my head just enough to catch the flicker in his expression.
His pupils blew wide, breath hitching like I’d hit a nerve.
I let out a cold laugh. “Your little girlfriend might fall in line and wag her tail when you growl, but I’m not her.”
His grip loosens just enough for me to slip free, but I don't break eye contact.
“If you seriously thought I’d roll over and come with you, then you're more delusional than I thought.” I spit the last words like venom, done playing nice.
Silence stretches between us, thick and tense, as he just stands there like a constipated statue.
There’s a strange numbness blooming in my chest, not pain exactly, just… hollow. The ache in my head is a low hum, steady and irritating. I’m hoping any second now, maybe he’ll finally grow a brain cell and realise that threatening me isn’t a good idea. Not unless he wants my dagger up his ass.
“Maybe I am delusional.” He says, voice flat and emotionless.
Then he moves.
Fast.
Before I can even roll my eyes at him, he’s closing the distance, a pair of glinting handcuffs in his hand. I’d laugh if there wasn’t something off, something crawling at the edges of my mind.
I step to the side, dodging him before he could even touch me, but he’s fast, and I don’t anticipate the arm coming towards my neck. His hand grazes the skin, and then he’s no longer in front of me.
Malrik slams him against the wall, the plaster cracking behind him as he digs his forearm against his neck. The air buzzes with magic, thrumming off Malrik in furious waves. His face is calm, but it’s the kind of calm that comes before the storm.
“You must have a death wish, hunter scum,” Malrik spits, his tattoos glowing. “Touch her again and I’ll paint the walls with your insides.”
Darian looks at him like he’s something scraped off the bottom of his boot, and honestly, I’m not sure Malrik notices—or cares. He’s too busy radiating pure, murderous fury.
And he’s doing it completely naked.
No shame, no modesty. His cock is still half hard from earlier, from when he had me coming twice on nothing but his very talented tongue.
I try to keep my eyes on his face, but it’s not easy when every inch of him is a reminder of last night.
Malrik is chaos covered in ink, doesn’t care for a single soul and enjoys killing, but I have never seen him truly angry. Not like this. The rage pouring off him in waves is suffocating.
Don’t look down.
As I look at Darian, his sight already set on me, not the pissed off blood mage who has him against the wall. I see hatred cross his features, but I never thought he would want me dead. I have no idea where he ends and the darkness in him begins.
I don’t know if it's him looking at me… or the monster he’s slowly becoming.
And that uncertainty hurts more than any of his threats ever could.
I bite my tongue and move closer to Malrik, only realising that the two men are opposites of each other.
Malrik, my beautiful, unhinged maniac. He’s a monster in his own way, wrapped in pale skin and tattoos that I traced along at some point last night as he claimed he was just resting his eyes, but I know he was sleeping.
His shoulder-length black hair was still damp from the shower we barely made it out of, his crimson eyes practically glowing with madness.
The piercings—gods, the piercings—many of which I discovered and felt last night.
Taller than Darian, all wiry strength and dangerous grace.
Then there’s Darian. The golden boy turned ghost. My first ever friend.
Ash-blonde hair he has let grow long, and suits annoyingly well, but instead he keeps his tied back.
Broader than Malrik, more muscular like he lives at the gym, more sun-tanned skin and those stunning hazel green eyes that used to be full of warmth, softness and a hint of mischief.
Now they are cold. Empty. A mirror of what he’s lost—or worse, what he’s sacrificed.
Once, he was the light to my shadow. Now he’s just… hollow.
“Malrik,” I place my hand on his arm. “Don’t you think you're forgetting something?”
He glances over his shoulder at me, the wild fury twisting his features softens instantly, like it always does when I speak. That terrifying edge slips into something disturbingly tender. Fixation, warmth, and something dangerously close to love.