Chapter 14 #2
“Explicit verbal permission and blood. Just a drop, so it recognizes them as allowed. And in case you ever need to”—Malakai throws me a sideways glare—“the invitation can be verbally rescinded.”
He places his palm flat on the front door and closes his eyes. His magic works around us, pulling, pushing, and probing at the wards.
“There’s a small tear,” Malakai mumbles, opening his eyes and dropping his hand. “It looks like it tore from the inside out.”
He proceeds to mend the tear, explaining the wording and how to cast it if I ever need to. Then an idea hits me, and excitement bubbles inside of me.
“What if we add a second layer?”
Malakai gives me a long, hard look. “Elaborate.”
“A ward based on earth magic, woven into the current one. A second layer as an extra precaution.”
He regards me for a moment longer before finally nodding his approval.
I push away from the wall and walk back to the library.
I pick up the grimoire and flip through the pages, searching for the spell I need.
As I walk past the desk, I also pick up my dagger.
By the time I’m back at the front door, I’ve found the correct page and shove both the grimoire and the dagger into Malakai’s chest. He fumbles with the items and curses behind me while I open the door and step outside.
“Where are you going?” he yells after me.
“I need earth. What else?”
Looking over my shoulder, I find him standing there, gawking at me.
I shake my head, a faint smile playing on my lips as I cross the street to the park and disappear between the trees.
A cool breeze makes me shiver, reminding me that fall is reaching its peak—or perhaps it’s the idea that they might be hiding just out of sight.
Squatting, I pick up a few leaves and some soil, the scent of it tickling my nostrils.
My fingers get cold from touching the earth with my bare hands, so I send magic through my limbs to keep warm.
Easy enough, but I should still be mindful of the weather, even if only to blend in—like Malakai keeps pressing me to do.
I remain in a squatted position for a moment longer, my eyes closed and my hands filled with leaves and soil. The silence around me calms me, my irritation slowly ebbing away. I’m reminded of the garden back in our prison, comforting me in a way I didn’t think was possible.
Looking back like this, it wasn’t all bad. The introvert in me might have truly enjoyed it if the circumstances hadn’t been so unpleasant.
All of a sudden, a different kind of chill makes me freeze in my half-crouched position just as I’m about to get up. My eyes dart between the trees around me, my left eye taking point on every shadow. Every ripple could be something else.
Slowly, I stand and send out some magic to sense what I might not be able to see. Unsurprisingly, there is nothing—no one. Just this feeling of being watched, and the conclusion that I definitely jinxed it with my earlier thoughts.
My magic returns to me as I turn on my heel and start back to the street. Something brushes by me, and I twirl. Still nothing—only me, the trees, and my growing paranoia. Turning around again, I bump into a hard chest and almost fall down.
Malakai grabs me before I hit the ground, his strong arms keeping me upright, his warm hands on my arm and back. “You were gone too long,” he grumbles.
“I didn’t take you for the worrying type,” I comment, yet remain in his arms. Which is a lie—I know he is.
“Where you’re concerned?” He chuckles. “You should know better by now.”
I gulp and nod because I do, and he clearly knows that I know.
We walk back in silence, Malakai not letting go of my wrist until he slams the door shut behind us.
I sprinkle the soil in a thin line in front of the door, then crush the leaves in my hands and add them on top.
“It’s been a long time coming,” I say, turning to face Malakai with a grin. “This time, I need you to bleed for me.”
“Sure you do.” He grins back at me, picking up my dagger and the grimoire from the small side table.
Cutting his wrist, Malakai steps beside me, bleeding onto the soil in front of the door. He hands me the dagger, and when our hands touch, sparks of his magic shoot over my skin—teasing me. He steps back, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that I try hard to ignore.
I prick my finger on the tip of the blade, no longer feeling the sting from all that I endure on a semi-daily basis. I carefully massage the skin around the wound, coaxing the blood to well up until a few drops fall and sizzle when they mix with the soil.
Returning to the table, I swap the dagger for the grimoire. My finger traces the first line of the spell as I carefully speak the words, grateful for the added pronunciation.
The air around us sighs in a blissful kind of happiness when the final part of the spell leaves my lips. It feels charged with magic—so different from what I’m used to, yet clearly mine. It’s as much an extension of my being as my original magic.
The tips of my fingers tingle, and I drop the grimoire with a yelp. Malakai is beside me in an instant, holding my hands in his, both of us stunned as we look at my skin. It feels as if this first real spell has activated something deep within me.
Black vines begin to bud at my fingertips, wrapping themselves around my arms—around my flesh.
The vines shoot up to my shoulders, their grip straining and constricting until I can’t help but let out a pained squeal.
They twist and turn around my neck, then meet at the back, just below my hairline.
The vines pulsate against my skin, getting tighter and tighter.
The glamor on my arms shatters under the pressure, baring the scarred symbols etched into them.
I whimper as they rip open, blood welling up—dark and full of magic—soaking the vines that pulsate in reaction to it, drinking it up like a plant would water.
A burning sensation spreads through my arms as the veins sink into my skin.
Air rushes back into my lungs, and I can breathe freely again.
The vines intertwine with the carved symbols as if merging together.
It dawns on me that the earth magic is marking me as its caster, fusing with the magic already inside me—becoming one.
I grit my teeth as the pain of the process surges through me, the agony of something familiar yet foreign invading my body and senses.
It feels like being stabbed with a thousand knives as this new, combined magic burrows deep within me.
Malakai squeezes my hand, effectively pulling me back from a dark abyss I hadn’t noticed I was tumbling into. His eyes tell me he knows, and his firm grip reassures me there’s nothing to do but ride it out. So, I clench my teeth and desperately try to endure the war this magic wages inside me.
A sharp jab of pain shoots through me, and I collapse to the floor, darkness lurking at the corners of my vision as my breathing becomes erratic.
I can’t adequately describe what it feels like—like being split apart and stitched back together at the same time.
Flashes of a memory flood my mind—my body on a metal slab in a red room—before the pain takes over once more.
Malakai pulls me against him a moment later, wrapping his arms firmly around me and holding me close.
The blood on my arms stains his suit, but he doesn’t care.
His hold offers me some comfort, yet a pained sob escapes me.
He tenses against me, and then his grip tightens just a little more, protecting me in the only way he can.
It means everything, and I hope he knows that.
The intensity of the pain reaches its crescendo, and for a split second, the black bleeds to red, tainting my vision.
The next moment, it’s gone. The pain vanishes as if it had never existed.
The last of my strength leaves me, and I sag in Malakai’s arms. My breathing slowly starts to calm, and after a few moments, I carefully pull away from him.
“You okay?” Malakai sounds genuinely worried, his golden eyes regarding me with concern.
I look down at my still-shaking arms, at the veins now like black tattoos, standing in stark contrast to my skin and the faint scars.
Now I understand that Loxley’s tattoos were not tattoos but magic—earth magic.
They have become one with the symbols carved into my flesh, forming a unity that brims with beautiful power and potential.
I look up at Malakai and barely manage a weak smile. “Can you…” My voice falters, almost breaking, and I swallow carefully. “Can you help me with the glamor?”
Malakai gently places his hands on my arms, and a warm tingle spreads through them. Then they are bare once more, everything effectively hidden away. I release a breath and finally manage to calm down.
“Thank you.” My voice still shakes, and Malakai reaches out to cup my cheek in his hand.
His touch is warm and comforting, and I savor it, grateful for his presence.
The way he looks at me is soft, with a flicker of regret.
I can’t help but wonder why, because I surely don’t have any regrets—not when his golden eyes linger on me.
For the first time in a long time, I feel that pull in my chest, urging me closer and closer still.
Malakai moves his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck, resting his forehead against mine. “I wish I could pay the price in your stead,” he whispers. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, unable to do anything about it.”
My breath catches, and my heart misses a beat. His confession is at odds with how he sometimes tortures me, how he enjoys making me bleed for him. Yet, at the same time, it’s so like him—my husband who can’t decide whether he wants to hurt me or save me.
I’m not sure how to react, but he doesn’t give me the chance. A soft squeeze of my neck, and Malakai releases me, his eyes falling away from my body. My throat is dry like sandpaper, and I feel like there’s something I must tell him, but…
My eyes wander and catch sight of the strip of soil and crushed leaves in front of the door.
I gasp as small sprouts pop up. They grow rapidly—more dark green vines with thorns and leaves.
They stretch against the door, then the wall, and up to the ceiling, my eyes following their movement.
The floor trembles slightly, and a small pull inside me tells me the vines are wrapping themselves around the house.
My legs are still shaky, but I manage to get up.
I wobble to the door and reveal the original spell by placing my palm against the wood.
The vines spread over it in an instant, creating a separate magical layer.
I take a deep breath, and a moment later, Malakai’s hand rests on the small of my back, reassuring me—grounding me. Then I get to work.
Slowly and meticulously, I loosen part of the vines and manually weave them into the original spell. Much like the markings on my arms, I add small hints of my blood magic. Bit by bit, piece by piece, I’m mindful of the thorns that prick my fingers, drawing my blood as an added sacrifice.
Malakai stays by my side while I work, which drains me.
I quickly lose track of time; the weaving claims all of me—body, mind, and soul.
A single mistake could mean the wards aren’t as strong as they should be.
I need this house to be an impenetrable fortress—to keep whoever it is out, for that feeling of dread has only been growing stronger, gnawing at me from deep inside.
My muscles ache, and my magic strains by the time the final piece snaps into place. Just like that, magic takes over, and the vines and symbols flawlessly merge together. The front door becomes the point of origin from which the fused wards spread out in the blink of an eye.
I step back to admire the result, but doing so makes my head spin. Malakai catches me before I plummet to the floor—again. He lifts me into his arms, and I sigh against his chest.
“Rest,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of my head as he heads for the stairs.
I’m gone before he reaches the first step.