Chapter 24 #2
“I forgot to kiss you,” he flexes his hand around Darian’s neck. “I’ll change that once I’m done with this dick head.”
He sounds so sure, but I know he won’t kill him. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because of me.
I let out a slow, tired breath and point downward, deliberately lowering my gaze—but I can't resist sneaking another glance.
There it is, just above the base.
My name.
He told me I owned him.
Said no one else would ever get to touch him, taste him, know him like I do. That his body, his madness, his cock—all of it—belonged to me
Last night, when he had me trembling under him, sweat slick skin, covered in blood and dirt, shaking from how many times he made me come, he made sure to remind me.
He meant every filthy, possessive word.
And it’s true, he is mine forever.
I arch a brow. “That, Malrik. That’s what you’re forgetting.”
He glances down too, expression neutral, and suddenly I feel very warm. His mouth then curls into a smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind last night, or this morning.”
I roll my eyes at him, ignoring the heat crawling up my neck. “Yeah, well, we didn’t involve an attempted murder in my bedroom. Or an audience.”
That wouldn’t be so bad, though.
Marik’s head jerked to the side from Darian's punch, and for a heartbeat, he faltered, just a flicker of imbalance.
Then he twisted back, that familiar, wicked grin curling across his blood-slicked face.
Blood dripped from his lip, and he licked it slowly, like the whole thing was nothing but a game.
Ah, shit.
“Oh, that was cute.” Malrik taunts, “You think just because I’m not allowed to kill you, I won’t tear your spine out and beat you with it?”
Darian didn’t move. He was calm as he stared back, and I didn’t like that.
“Anything is better than listening to you two.” Darian's fist comes forward again, slamming into the other side of Malrik's face with a brutal crack. Malrik barely reacts—just throws his head back and laughs, blood painting his teeth.
He’s enjoying this. That’s why he isn’t fighting back.
Yet.
“Jealous?” Malrik croons, straightening with the grace of a predator. “It’s okay. I would be too. Want me to tell you how she tastes?”
Please, shut up.
“How she sounds when she moans your name just as she cums?”
“Malrik,” I snapped.
But he's already moving.
Darian lunges—blade suddenly in his hand, pulled from the sheath at his back. His movements are fast and focused. Malrik dodges the first strike like he was waiting for it, then retaliates with a vicious uppercut that sends Darian stumbling back.
“Touchy,” he grins at him, licking more of his blood from the corner of his mouth like it's honey. “Did I hit a nerve? Or are you mad that I got to fuck her instead?”
“You need to stop, now.”
I stumble back as Darian lunges again, faster this time, his knife flashing.
Malrik pivots with impossible speed—the blade scrapes his ribs, barely a scratch.
He grabs Darian by the shirt, slamming him into the window with a bone-crunching force.
Glass explodes around them, shards scattering, but Malrik doesn't even bat an eyelid.
Idiots are ruining my house.
“Come on, Vespera's little bitch. You can do better than that.”
Both of them are too far gone in their hatred—dark and light colliding, both dangerous in their own way. Malriks fights like a man who welcomes death, and Darian is lost in himself.
I’m stuck in the middle of it, my heart is pounding, my chest is aching, and I’m sure the pain I am starting to feel isn’t mine. They need to stop soon, or one of them is going to end up dead on my floor.
“Enough!” I yell, stepping forward, but once again they ignore me.
My throat tightens, each breath coming slower than the last. My vision blurs around the edges, the sounds of fists hitting flesh dulling beneath the growing pressure in my head. I try to focus on them, on anything, but my body’s locking up, frozen as though something inside me has severed.
This pain… it isn’t mine. It’s not Malriks either.
Ronan.
The moment his name ignites in my mind, it scorches through me like molten fire.
My legs give out, and I collapse to the floor, a ragged, painful cry ripping from my throat.
Agony twists through my stomach, a white-hot brand burning outward, spreading through my chest until it feels like my ribs will splinter under the weight of it.
I clutch my stomach, shaking violently as if something inside me is clawing its way free. The fire sears through me, scorching from the inside out, and all I can do is let out a torn, primal scream that tears through the silence.
My heart is splintering, every beat a reminder that something is wrong with Ronan. So, so wrong.
“Little witch, what’s wrong?”
His voice cuts through the fog—gravelly, sharp with panic—but I can barely register it. My body is shaking in his arms, curled in on itself as if it might protect me from the agony ripping through my core.
I feel Malrik holding me close to him, his hands that were capable of such violence now quivering as they stroke my face. Gentle. Careful.
Uncharacteristically soft.
But I can’t speak. I can’t answer him.
All I know is pain. It’s endless, consuming, like my soul is being ripped out of my body piece by piece. I try to focus on his touch, the scent of his blood orange and honeycomb scent that clings to him, but even that is drowned beneath the burning in my veins and the panic clawing at me.
I can feel Malriks' lips press to my skin, but it’s still not enough.
Another scream tears through my throat, raw and strangled, as another wave of pain crushes me from the inside out. Everything inside me is burning.
Ronan. God, she’s hurting Ronan.
She’s hurting him because of me.
A sob escapes me, full of panic and guilt. Nobody should suffer from being involved with me, especially not him.
Time blurs. Minutes. Hours. I can’t tell.
The pain doesn’t stop—it only slows, fading into something dull. A buzzing in my skull that finally begins to lessen, like the connection between us is dimming just enough for me to breathe again.
But it leaves me cold and empty.
“Ravena, look at me.”
I open my eyes slowly, and there he is.
Malrik, kneeling on the ground with me in his arms, crimson eyes glowing like embers in a wildfire. Always so wild, chaotic, so untouchable. But now?
Now I am seeing something that shouldn’t exist on his face—cracked right through the madness.
Worry.
Not rage. Not obsession. Just fear for me.
And for a second, I forget the pain. I forget the panic, because seeing him—the man who fears nothing—looks at me like he’s watching his world end.
“I’m okay,” I croak. My fingers find his hand against my cheek, and I hold it there like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. “But Ronan isn’t.”
I glance to the side, expecting to see Darian's judging glare, but the space where he stood is empty.
“Golden boy bailed the second you screamed Ronan’s name,” Malrik says, bitterness bleeding into his voice. The tension in his body tells me everything I need to know—he’s pissed, and not just at Darian, but at the situation. The fact that I hurt, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
It makes sense that Darian didn’t stay. His family always comes first, above me, above everything. That’s how he was made. Loyal.
But that’s why I’m afraid for him, and why I will do anything to get rid of the darkness.
Vespera knows who he is truly loyal to. She’ll twist it. If she makes him turn on his own, if she breaks that very last bit of light inside him… he won’t come back from it. Not fully.
And I’m not sure I would be able to save him a second time.
I can’t put it off any longer. We’re out of time.
“We need to break the spell. Now.”
Malrik narrows his eyes. “You’re in no fucking state to do anything except get into that bed and rest.”
Bossy.
I sigh through the ache still pulsing in my ribs. “Please don’t start.” I push myself up on trembling arms. “Ronan needs my help. I need my full magic back if I’m ever to get rid of the darkness in Darian, and there’s nobody else in this realm who can put a stop to Vespera.”
He grabs me and holds on tight as if it will change my mind. “I need you alive, little witch. I couldn’t give a fuck about them.”
My heart thuds. I place my palm on his chest, feeling the steady drum of his pulse under skin inked with chaotic power.
“If you care about me like you say you do, then you will help me. Because I care. And I’ll do this with or without you.”
I really hope he does help me, because I have no clue how to make the potion.
Tension tightens his face, but he doesn't speak. He just lifts me with him, refusing to let go. His scent anchors me, though the dread crawling beneath my skin refuses to ease.
“Raven. What’s happening?” Xarothar's voice booms inside my head—deep, commanding, and laced with restrained panic.
Relief crashes into me like a landslide.
“I’m alright.”
There’s a pause. “Lie better. I can feel every thread of pain slicing through you. Don’t insult both of us.”
I exhale shakily and let my cheek rest against Malriks' chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“We need to break the spell, and I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“I’ll need to tap into the bond again,” I say. “But I need to know you’ll be okay when I do. That you can handle it.”
“I know what to do. But don’t be reckless. If we do this, it has to be at the right moment.”
A weak smile touches my lips. “Thank you.”
“And like I’ve told you before—don’t die. It would be inconvenient.”
I let out a laugh. “That’s not the only reason, and you know it.”
“I know,” he says quietly. And for a second, the bond pulses with something that feels like warmth. Like home.
“Are you speaking to that overgrown lizard again?” Malriks' voice rumbles.
I pinch his side without looking up. “Dragon.”
“Potato, potahto.” I look up to see him grinning.
“Keep calling him a lizard and you’ll find out just how much fire he’s packing.”
He lets out a low chuckle, the kind that always makes me smile, even when I don’t want to. I missed him so much whilst he was gone. At this moment, even for just a moment, I want to stay here with him. Before everything changes and the unexpected happens.
I rise onto my toes and press my lips to his, soft and slow. He’s cold, like always, but familiar in a way that eases the thunder crashing through me. He doesn’t ask me to be anything else. He accepts the darkness that is hidden deep inside me that matches his.
I’ll never have to pretend with him.
He kisses me back with a hunger that steals the breath from my lungs, his hands splayed wide across my back as he pulls me flush against him.
There’s no hesitation —just heat, possession, and the kind of desperation that leaves no room for doubt.
A groan escapes him as his mouth claims mine, tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my knees weaken and my heart race.
I break the kiss, just enough to breathe, but I don’t step away.
“I need you to promise me something before I tell you what comes next.”
His fingers tighten at my back, digging into my skin like he already knows he’s not going to like what I’m about to say.
“Will I hate it?”
I don’t lie. “Yes.”
“Go on,” he growls, already pissed.
I lift both hands and frame his face, memorising the way his eyes burn, the way his skin feels under my fingertips. I don’t want to forget a single piece of him. Not if this goes the way I think it might.
“Whatever happens down there,” I whisper. “You have to stick to the plan. Even if something happens to me.” I hesitate, the words catching on my tongue. But I force them out. “I need you not to save me.”
His whole body goes rigid, and I can feel the fury ripple through him as he holds me.
But I don’t look away, because I need him to see how serious I am. Even if it kills me.