Chapter 8 Malrik
MALRIK
Istood before the tall mirror in my private chambers, adjusting the cuffs of my white silk shirt.
The fabric gleamed faintly in the light, tailored close to my frame, the open collar exposing a glimpse of chest I rarely revealed.
Power was always my armor, but today, I wanted more than armor. I wanted her.
"Paz," I said.
He looked up from his pile of scrolls. "Sir?"
"How do I look?"
He blinked, clearly thrown. "You look… terrifying. As always."
"Terrifying," I repeated, voice flat.
"Yes. The shirt is very… revealing. Let's hope she doesn't see what you really look like."
I turned from the mirror, my gaze narrowing. "What I really look like."
Paz paled. "Imposing! I meant imposing. Naturally."
I tilted my head. "Did you just roll your eyes at me?"
His spectacles slid lower on his nose. "Of course not, sir."
I let the silence linger until he squirmed, then finally turned back to the mirror. "She's here."
Paz jolted. "Already?"
"Go," I ordered. "Continue your research. I want progress before nightfall."
He gathered his scrolls like a shield and hurried out, muttering something about lost causes.
I turned away from the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt. The wards at the edge of the estate shifted, just slightly, like a breath held between dimensions.
Then a ripple.
She was part of me now.
I descended the stairs as the heavy brass knocker struck once, then again.
By the time I opened the front door, Charlie was already mid-sentence, juggling her bags and a paper coffee cup with an expression of determination.
"Sorry I'm early," she said breathlessly. "There was no traffic and I figured, if I'm already cursed with infernal powers, I might as well be your star pupil."
I stepped aside. "I've been waiting."
Her eyes caught on mine for a fraction of a second, then dropped lower. To the open collar. The silk.
"I thought demons wore black," she murmured, brushing past me and heading toward the study.
"Only when we want to be feared."
"Remind me what you're going for today?"
"Restraint."
She arched a brow but didn't push it.
Sinnamon trotted in behind her and growled at me as he passed.
"There is a place in hell for you," I whispered to the little beast.
"I just have a few emails to send out, then I'm all yours."
I'm all yours. She had no idea what those words did to me.
She slipped in behind the desk and started working. A small huff of frustration floated in the air and right on cue, Charlie's emotional state caused my favorite crystal decanter to spontaneously combust.
"Charlie," I said carefully, setting down my morning coffee as wisps of smoke curled up from what had once been a rather expensive piece of glassware, "perhaps we should start with some basic control techniques."
She looked up from her laptop, where she'd been furiously typing responses to vendor emails, completely oblivious to the small disaster she'd just created. "Control techniques?"
I gestured at the smoldering remains. "Your newfound abilities appear to be... enthusiastic today."
"That's the third one, isn't it?" She winced. "It's been almost a week, Malrik, and things are getting worse." There was a sharp edge to her voice that couldn't quite mask the underlying anxiety. "I think I'm going to lose my mind."
"Trust me, you are not, and that's precisely why I'm suggesting control techniques," I replied, keeping my tone deliberately calm despite the rising temperature in the room. "Regardless of how long the effects last, learning to manage them will improve your immediate circumstances."
She closed her laptop with a decisive snap. "Okay. Let's do this. But to be clear, I want this gone. Fixed. Reversed."
"Understood."
Twenty minutes later, I was seriously reconsidering my offer as Charlie stood in the center of my study, attempting the most basic of power exercises: lighting a single candle.
"Feel the energy," I instructed. "Don't force it. Simply... guide it."
Charlie raised her hand toward the innocent white candle. Her face screwed up with effort, and every candle, lamp, and light fixture in the room blazed to life simultaneously, along with the fireplace.
"Too much," I said mildly, as she jumped back in surprise.
"I was trying to be gentle!" She stared at her hands with frustration. "How am I supposed to coordinate Scorched when I can't even control a simple candle? What if this happens in front of everyone?"
"Your emotional state and thoughts affect the power," I explained, extinguishing the excessive flames. "The more agitated you become, the more erratic the results."
"So I'm destined to keep blowing fuses?"
"Not necessarily. It's about finesse, not limitation." I approached her again. "Let's try something simpler. Rather than creating fire, try adjusting the temperature of this." I handed her a glass of water from my desk.
She stared at the glass, clearly trying to focus. Nothing happened.
"You're overthinking it." I stepped closer and placed my hand over hers. "Feel how the energy moves. It's about flow, not concentration."
The moment our skin touched, I felt the connection between us flare to life. The water began to steam gently.
"Too much," I said softly. "Pull back just a little."
Charlie exhaled slowly, and the water settled into a perfect temperature for tea.
"There," I said, though I made no move to step away. "You see? It's about harmony, not force."
Charlie turned her head slightly, and suddenly we were standing much closer than any reasonable training exercise required. I could see the glow in her eyes, feel the warmth radiating from her skin, sense her quickened heartbeat.
"Harmony," she repeated softly, her voice slightly breathless.
"Precisely."
We stood there for a moment, neither moving, the air between us full of more than just energy. Then Charlie's phone buzzed with a text notification.
"That's Jada," she said, checking the message. "She's bringing vendor contracts and supplies. I should go."
"Of course," I said, stepping back.
"We'll continue later?" she asked, with something almost hopeful in her voice.
"Absolutely."
As she headed for the door, she paused. "Please tell me you're making progress on reversing this. I appreciate the lessons, but what I really need is to get my normal life back."
"I'm exploring all possible solutions."
She nodded once before departing. "Later, then."
After she left, I returned to my study, the warmth of her presence still lingering in the air.
I tried to focus on the correspondence piling up on my desk, but my mind kept circling back to the way her eyes had lit up when she'd successfully controlled the water's temperature. The way she'd looked at me.
I was still contemplating my own moral failing when the door burst open without ceremony.
"Sir! Malrik! This is catastrophic!" Paz stumbled through the doorway, arms laden with ancient leather-bound texts, spectacles askew. "I've been researching, and the implications are simply... oh dear, oh dear..."
"Good, what did you find?"
"There's nothing good about it!" He dumped the books on my desk with a resounding thud. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The protocols you've violated?"
"Enlighten me."
Paz adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. "There are procedures, sir! Contracts! You can't just go around sharing your power willy-nilly!"
"I assume you found something relevant in these books?"
"Oh yes, terrifyingly relevant." Paz flipped through pages frantically. "Here! 'On the Permanence of Demonic Power Transfer.' It's all here in alarming detail."
I leaned over his shoulder, reading the ancient Demonic text:
When a demon of significant power shares his essence with a mortal vessel, the binding remains temporary and reversible for a time.
However, as the mortal's essence adapts to and incorporates the demonic power, the transfer becomes progressively permanent.
This process accelerates when genuine emotional attachment exists between demon and mortal, as the powers themselves resonate in harmony. ..
I read the passage again, making sure I understood every nuance.
"Paz," I said carefully, "are you telling me that her power is becoming more permanent with each passing day?"
"Yes, sir! The longer she carries it, the more deeply it integrates with her mortal essence. And if genuine feelings are involved, the process accelerates exponentially!"
I sank into my chair, the implications crashing over me. The transfer wasn't temporary. Charlie would carry part of my power permanently because I had developed feelings for her.
"How can we tell how far the process has progressed?"
"There are signs," Paz explained. "Changes in the mortal's aura, in their eyes when they use the power. Perhaps even marks upon the skin."
I recalled how her eyes had momentarily shimmered with an inner light. "And how do we reverse it?"
"Reversal becomes increasingly difficult with time. In early stages, a simple severance ritual might suffice. But as the power becomes more integrated..." He hesitated.
"Go on."
"The demon must sacrifice a portion of their own power permanently.
The longer the delay, the greater the sacrifice required.
" Paz looked grave. "In cases of complete integration, where genuine emotional connection exists, the demon must surrender all supernatural power. Complete dissolution of abilities."
The words hung in the air like a pronouncement of doom. Give up everything if I was to free Charlie from a connection she'd never asked for.
"And for the mortal?"
"Complete restoration in most cases. No lingering effects. She would be exactly as she was before."
"How much time do we have before the transfer becomes irreversible?"
Paz frowned. "That's the difficulty. There's no precise timeline.
It varies depending on the strength of the demon, the nature of the mortal, and the.
.. emotional factors involved." He adjusted his spectacles nervously.
"Given your particular circumstances, I would estimate the process is advancing rather rapidly. "
"Sir," Paz prompted quietly, "what would you have me do with this information?"
I stared at the ancient text still open before me, its final lines etched into my mind like a brand:
Mutual choice. Truth freely given. Neither wholly possessed, nor wholly surrendered.
I already knew what I had to do. I just hadn't decided if I had the courage to do it.
"Prepare everything you can," I said finally. "Rituals. Remedies. Historical parallels."
Paz blinked. "And Miss Davenport?"
I exhaled. "She deserves the truth. She needs to understand the weight of what I've done."
Paz looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well, sir."
After he left, I stood alone, the words still echoing in my mind.
Not wholly surrendered...
And yet, if it came to it, I would give her everything.
I closed the book slowly, the words burning like a brand across my mind.
She was still here. I could feel her presence like heat under my skin. I didn't think. I moved.
I found her in the foyer, gathering her things. She looked up as I entered, and whatever she saw in my face made her still.
"I need to tell you something," I said.
"Malrik..."
"You can't leave yet. I can't let you walk out that door thinking everything is okay."
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "What are you saying?"
"The power," I said, voice lower now. "It's becoming part of you. Not just reacting to you. It's responding. Harmonizing."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
I stepped closer. "Because it came from me. And because I..."
I stopped, breath catching in my chest.
"You what?" she whispered.
"I didn't mean for it to happen this way," I said, quieter now. "But I gave you more than power, Charlie. I gave you a part of myself."
She looked stricken, shaken, but not angry. Not yet.
"You said it could be reversed."
"It can." I nodded. "But the longer this connection lives between us, the more permanent it becomes. Especially when..." My voice broke. "Especially when there are feelings involved."
Silence pressed between us. I expected her to pull away. To leave. To say the thing I feared most, that she never wanted any of this. That she wanted me gone from her life as much as the power in her veins.
Instead, she took a breath. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't understand what was happening until today. I didn't understand how my feelings for you would escalate the binding."
She didn't look away.
And that undid me.
My hand rose before I could stop it. Fingers brushing the line of her jaw, the warmth of her skin against mine sending a pulse of energy through the connection. She didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. Only watched me with wide, burning eyes.
"This might be the last time," I said softly, almost to myself. "If you walk away after this… if you choose not to carry this any further, I'll make sure it ends. I promise I will protect you."
"Malrik..."
But I didn't let her finish. I leaned in.
And kissed her.
Not a cautious kiss. Not restrained. But deep and consuming, full of everything I hadn't said. Her fingers found my shirt, grabbing the fabric as if she might fall without it, and the moment our mouths met, the power surged between us. Hot and alive, rippling across our skin.
A jolt arced between us, real and electric, and we both gasped into it.
I didn't care. Not in that moment. Not with her body pressed to mine.
When I pulled back, I lingered. Forehead to hers, breath tangled.
"I shouldn't have done that," I said, though I didn't let her go.
Her eyes were dazed, lips still parted.
I touched her cheek again. Once more. Just in case this was the last time. My thumb brushed her jaw, memorizing the shape of her.
"If you want to walk away," I said roughly, "I'll understand. I'll do what must be done."
Her hand rose, hesitating, then pressed flat to my chest, over my heart. I felt her power echo mine, not in rejection... but not quite in acceptance either.
"I need to think," she whispered.
And that, somehow, hurt more than anger.
"Then think," I said. "I'll be here."
She left without another word.