Chapter 18
The weather is particularly chilly the next day, so I select a long, soft white coat that I’m fairly certain wasn’t in the closet a day ago.
“Is this new?” I ask Malakai, running my hand over the fabric. It’s soft, and touching it reminds me of cold winter days, snowball fights, and bonfires.
“Perhaps.” He smiles, slipping on a black overcoat himself.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
He helps me into it, placing a soft peck on my cheek. “There’s no need to thank me,” Malakai says.
“Why not?”
“I give you something because I want to.”
I consider this for a moment. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to seem ungrateful. So, I will thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” He smirks, but I can tell he appreciates my gratitude.
“Speaking of which,” I begin, fingering the buttons and the soft fabric while biting the inside of my cheek. “I’ve been wondering about something.”
“Oh?” Malakai raises an eyebrow, closing the front door behind him and turning to face me.
“Why do you only wear suits?” I gesture to the one he’s wearing under his overcoat.
“Because I love the way you look at me when I wear them,” he replies, his honesty almost enough to make me blush.
“Yet you still wear the skin I prefer the least,” I retort as we walk down the front yard.
“Ah,” Malakai says, his eyes sparkling. “You prefer it the least but don’t hate it. So it’s starting to grow on you.”
“I guess so.” A smile breaks across his face at my admission, and the sight of it makes my pulse race. “But my preference remains the same and always will be.” I can’t hide the silly grin that returns to him.
Malakai chuckles, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together.
I look at our intertwined hands, feeling a smile tug at the corners of my lips.
I enjoy these small signs of affection. Despite how we started, what I feel for him now is far more than my initial hatred—a lot more.
It makes me wonder how he feels about me and if I’m still nothing more than a means to an end.
That thought has been plaguing me quite often lately.
“You’re thinking awfully loud again, love,” Malakai remarks as we walk from street to street, deeper into the commercial heart of the city. “Care to share?”
I glance at him, acutely aware that his question isn’t really one. “I’ve just been wondering…”
“Again?” he interrupts, and I slap his shoulder, earning a soft chuckle in return.
“Oh, shut up, you asshole,” I snarl, though the insult doesn’t sting like it used to. “I was wondering if you still see me as a means to an end.” I look away, unsure if I want to hear him say the words.
Malakai stops, pulling my arm to make me stop as well. He looks at me, seriousness etched on his face, but there’s an underlying spark of anger in his eyes that almost makes me flinch. “Is that really what you think this is?”
I gulp, my voice caught in my throat, until I finally manage to say, “I don’t know.” I avert my gaze again, the tightness forming in my chest from voicing my insecurity. I’m afraid of what his answer might be—that perhaps he does see me as nothing more.
Malakai is having none of it. He grabs my chin, forcefully tilting my head up, his golden eyes boring into mine. “Because that’s not what it is to me.”
I suck in a breath as his eyes shimmer, revealing the truth in his words. Yes, we started as a means to an end—a marriage of convenience for both of us. But it seems we’re well past that point now.
My eyes widen, and my heartbeat speeds up so quickly that I think I might faint. “Neither is it to me,” I whisper, unable to look away from him.
For a moment, I’m unsure whether he heard me. But then he lowers his face to mine and places a soft, gentle kiss on my lips.
“You’re my wife. You’re mine,” Malakai says. “That’s not just a convenience. It’s a promise—one I plan to keep until the end of time.”
He releases me, wraps his arm around my waist, and starts walking again. Pressed close against him, his words still ringing in my head, I can’t help the fluttering in my stomach. But there’s also a nasty undertone of doubt—after all, he isn’t the first one to make me such a promise.
A few blocks later, we stop in front of an iron door in an alley, its dark color stark against the brick wall. The upper right-hand corner is marked with a faded red symbol in Elomadh, so old it’s nearly unreadable.
“There are a few Doors like this scattered around the city and more around the world. This one is the closest to both the house and the office,” Malakai explains. “Fueled by ancient magics, they only open for those who aren’t human. Let’s see how it reacts to you.”
He steps back, gesturing for me to try to open the Door. I hesitate as I reach for the handle, the metal cold and stinging against my palm. For agonizing seconds, nothing happens. I tilt my head and purse my lips, anxiety making me sweat.
Then, with a click, the handle turns under my touch, and the door swings open. My hands tremble as I drop them back at my side, a shaky laugh escaping me. Pushing the Door wider, I give Malakai a nervous smile over my shoulder.
Malakai steps up beside me, placing his hand on the small of my back—his touch comforting, whether he means it or not.
He gives me a gentle push forward, and I step through the doorway.
He follows, closing the Door behind us. As soon as it clicks back into place, darkness envelops us.
A light flickers on after a moment, revealing a staircase a few feet away, leading down into deeper shadows.
Looking at the stairs, I can practically feel the magic of this place against my skin.
Hot and humid and so very alien. But also old, ancient, and slightly terrifying.
It’s as if it’s warning me—no, daring me to overstep so that it has a reason to chew me up and spit me back out. Possibly literally.
Malakai removes his hand from my back and leads me to the stairs.
It’s a spiral staircase, going down and down and down, each step making me dizzier until my stomach starts to churn.
The dim illumination from the walls barely keeps us from tripping, insufficient to fight off the encroaching claustrophobia.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for the staircase to become a straight path downward.
Suddenly, the wall to our left vanishes, and we find ourselves in an enormous, almost endless cave.
The stairs are part of a dark brown stone wall on our right, with a drop to our left.
Far above us is a ceiling, higher than I know we came from.
Below us sprawls a city—an underground city that stretches as far as the eye can see.
The buildings are made from the same dark stone as the cave wall, and just like above ground, they are a mixture of homes, shops, and businesses.
For all intents and purposes, it looks like a normal city, just older, darker, and grimmer.
The same ancient magic faintly lingers in the air here, less oppressive and menacing, making it easier to breathe again.
Together with the lingering magic, there’s also a peculiar smell that I can’t quite place—earthy and dusty, but warm at the same time.
As we take the last remaining steps down, I notice how most of the people walking the streets look far from human. The sight takes me aback slightly; I’m not used to seeing inhumans out and about like this.
Malakai glances back at me, wrapping his arm around my waist once more.
“It takes some getting used to,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft.
“For many inhumans, it’s home. For others, it’s a safe haven.
No humans can enter on their own—only when accompanied by an inhuman.
Glamors are not allowed in most of the cities, leaving everyone and everything out in the open. ”
I eye him warily. His warm honey skin is still very much present, and he laughs when he notices. “My magic is stronger than the one banishing glamors,” he explains.
“Convenient,” I remark.
“It’s for the better, believe me. My red skin stands out even among inhumans.” Malakai winks at me, clearly picking up on my wonder about how they would react to it.
“I take it that means you’re the only one with red skin?”
He nods. “That particular shade of red is a marker for magic gone wrong,” he explains as he starts to move away from the stairs.
“What did you do?” I ask, gazing at him.
“You know how the flow of time was different in the prison?” I nod. “It was actually slower at first. Some of my attempts to escape broke it, making time… unstable. The magical backlash burned my skin off—quite literally. Healing-wise, this was the best I could do.”
I fall silent for a moment, looking at him with my face etched in anger. “You knew about the possible risks of stitching time, yet you still had me go through with that spell?”
He doesn’t reply, merely leading me through the streets with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Asshole, I think. There could have been two of us with red skin if that spell had backfired even worse than it did.
Then I remember what it did do—the damage it caused—the red room completely destroyed, the metal bar sticking out of his neck as Malakai desperately tried to keep me safe.
My mind spirals to how he took care of me after I took my own eye when I ran myself through after a failed escape attempt.
How he’s even the reason I’m here today, coming for me when I had slit my own wrists.
He’s always been my savior. And I know that no matter how badly he wants to hurt me, he will always remain my savior as well.
My head spins with the realization, my breath catching, and I feel myself fall and fall and fall—
Malakai touches my shoulder, and I abruptly snap out of it to see that we’re standing in front of a shop. He regards me silently, head slightly tilted to the side, but not asking the question I can clearly see in his golden eyes. Which is just as well, since I have no idea how to reply.