Chapter 18 #2
Malakai opens the door and gestures for me to step inside.
My mind is still reeling when I do, with him following close behind.
Then I take a look around and find myself awe-struck.
The shop we entered is a high-end liquor store.
The walls are lined with shelves filled with bottles in all shapes and sizes, the shimmering liquid indicating that they’re Dead Man’s Drink.
It’s mesmerizing.
A bell chimes, and the man behind the counter turns to greet us. He has gorgeous dark brown, almost black skin and long, pitch-black hair, and flashes us his white teeth when he greets us. “Ah, Mister Deimos, sir. Welcome. Good to see you again.”
“Likewise, Almos,” Malakai replies, stepping up to the counter.
Almos throws me a curious look, his eyes pupilless and milky white, slightly tilting his head to the side. The movement reveals pointed ears adorned with rows of golden piercings that match the one in his left nostril and another in his lip.
“What can I help you with, sir?” Almos asks, turning his attention back to Malakai.
“The same as usual,” Malakai replies.
“Delivery, also as usual?” Almos asks, starting to input the order into his computer, and I catch a glimmer of gold, abstract swirling tattoos on his arms.
We’re underground, yet even technologically, everything seems to be the same. If I hadn’t seen the ceiling outside earlier, I would have assumed we were still in the human world.
While Malakai gets his order sorted, I turn my back to the counter and browse the shelves. Every bottle has a small plaque indicating the name, year, price, and tasting notes.
“Anything for your lady friend?” Almos asks at the same time something brushes past my shoulder.
I turn to look, but both men are still by the counter, and there’s no one else in the shop.
Moving to a different shelf, I vaguely hear Malakai request an assortment of sweet drinks for me.
It’s there again, this time feeling like someone’s hands are sliding up my leg.
Convinced it’s not my imagination, I let my magic flow through my body.
Barely a few seconds later, a touch slides up my leg, and my magic snaps; Almos yelps from behind the counter.
I turn around to see him holding up his left hand, all fingers broken.
Malakai immediately catches on, and fury explodes in his eyes.
He grabs Almos by the collar, drags him over the counter, and throws him against the shelves on the other side of the shop.
Multiple shelves collapse, and countless bottles drop to the floor, shattering and spilling liquid everywhere, the heavy scent of alcohol filling the air.
To his credit, Almos manages to stay upright, only coughing and cursing loudly at the damage around him. He attempts to step away, but Malakai is on him before he can move. He pushes the inhuman against the wall, and Almos gasps, realizing he’s messed up.
“You dare”—Malakai’s magic fogs the air in the shop, crackling with power—“touch her?”
Almos’s eyes widen as he continues to struggle, gasping for air.
“Praise yourself lucky that killing you is a mess I don’t want to clean up,” Malakai snarls, baring his teeth at him.
I stand there, watching it all unfold, holding my breath, that same flutter returning to my stomach. Why is it so thrilling to see him choke someone out for my sake?
Malakai glances at me over his shoulder, offering a knowing grin. Then he releases his grip on Almos, and the man drops to the floor with a grunt. Malakai steps away, sneering down at him. “Next time, I might not feel so generous.”
He walks past me, muttering about a “fucking incubus” before stopping in front of the door. He smooths out his overcoat, then opens the door for me as I approach.
I glance back inside and see Almos struggling to get up. He meets my gaze and then Malakai’s, nodding, unable to speak but clearly fearful.
Malakai follows me out and pulls the door shut behind him—much louder than necessary, rattling the glass in the frame. Standing in front of the shop, he gives me a long, hard look. “Where did he touch you?”
“Shoulder, ass, leg.”
A remnant of that same rage flickers in his eyes before he takes a deep breath, and it vanishes. “Next time, I’ll break his neck. Consequences be damned. Let’s go.”
“Oh, so you can’t just get away with murder after all?” I ask as we walk away from the shop.
Malakai laughs. “Not down here, no. Like I said earlier, this place is a safe haven. You can get away with a lot, but not murder. Not in the cities. Outside”—he gestures ahead—“is a free-for-all.”
The streets grow more crowded the deeper we go into the city.
Homes are replaced with various shops—some much like their human counterparts, others not so much.
There are clothing stores, beauty shops, and shops selling mostly fake magical artifacts, or so Malakai claims. There are stores filled with bizarre herbs and spices and butchers selling meat that’s definitely from more than just animals.
It’s an odd mix that I didn’t expect, yet it feels right at the same time.
Across the street stands a blacksmith, very much like it must have been back in the Dark Ages.
For all I know, the shop has been here that long.
In front of the open storefront stands a woman I recognize.
Her raven-black hair hangs loosely over her shoulder, and she wears a bloodred cloak that reveals only black pants and boots underneath.
“You know her?” Malakai asks beside me, just as the woman catches my gaze. Her haunting lilac-gray eyes stare right back at me.
“She’s that bounty hunter.” A tightness settles in my shoulders, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up the longer she looks at me. I slip my hands into my pockets, balling them into fists as the urge to send my magic at her rises.
Malakai remains silent, assessing the woman. By the snarl on her lips and the way her eyes flick to him, it’s clear she’s doing the same.
“Well, that might become a problem,” he finally says, continuing to walk.
“What do you mean?”
“She carries Yblis’s Mark—my brother’s Mark—on her neck. The Mark indicates she’s either his fiancée or already his wife.” The way he says that name makes it clear which brother he means—the one that locked him up.
“I’m able to sense it,” Malakai explains, noticing the question lingering in my eyes. “His Mark is embedded with a unique magical signature that allows him and others to sense the Marked. He’s the only one who still uses magic with his Mark, an old custom that’s slowly dying out.”
He goes quiet for a moment, as if pondering something. “I can’t believe he actually Marked her, though.”
“You’ve Marked people too, so how is this any different?”
He laughs, the sound cold and dishonest. “Yes, but to me, Marking someone is a contract with benefits for the Marked. For him, it’s Marking his property.
” My eyebrows knit together as I look at him, bewildered.
“The magic that binds the Mark is unbreakable, meaning he quite literally owns the wearer’s life.
A slow and gruesome death is usually the only way out. ” His tone conveys his disagreement.
“Why isn’t she coming for me, though?” I wonder aloud, frowning as we move on—and she lets us. “Because she can’t kill me in the city?”
“Trust me.” Malakai laughs. “She’ll drag you just beyond the city limits to gut you like a fish if she wants to.”
I look at him, disgust marring my face. “Why would you even say that?”
“It’s the truth, love. Nothing but the truth.” As if that makes it better. “In all seriousness, it’s probably because my brother pulled the contract for some reason. She likely can’t be bothered if there’s nothing in it for her.”
“Except for payback,” I grumble, and Malakai chuckles. “Do you think she knows who you are?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Not sure, but she’ll figure it out, and then he’ll come knocking soon enough.” Malakai notices the worry in my eyes and pulls me closer. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes,” he reassures me. “Now, how about we check out some shops?”
I don’t understand how he isn’t more bothered by this, given their history.
But Malakai doesn’t give me the chance to ask; he’s clearly done with the subject and ready to enjoy our day.
He drags me to all his favorite shops, introducing me to more people than I expected.
He’s friendly with everyone, and though the friendliness is reciprocated, they all radiate a certain amount of fear.
“They might not fully know who I am, but they can sense that I’m pureblood,” he explains. “And you don’t offend a pureblood, as Almos forgot earlier.”
“If they all sense that from you, then why hasn’t your brother caught on yet?” I can’t help but ask. It just doesn’t make sense. We broke free. We escaped, which wasn’t supposed to happen. There should be consequences, shouldn’t there?
Malakai hands the store clerk a black card to pay for a book he picked out, asking for it to be delivered to the office.
“He mostly resides here in the Underworld, ruling over his subjects.” He accepts his card back, slides it into his wallet, and pockets it.
Looking up, he notices my surprised expression. “Did I not mention that before?”
“Most definitely not.”
“Oh well, now you know.” He snickers, clearly unbothered.
My stomach turns as we head to the next shop. “Can he—” My voice falters. “Can he send us back?”
Malakai stops, takes my face in his hands, and gently caresses my cheeks with his thumbs. “The circumstances now are vastly different from back then.”
“Mal,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear it. “Can he create a new prison and lock us up again?”
His nails dig into the soft flesh of my cheek. “No, he can’t. He won’t receive the necessary assistance to do so.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” I ask, frowning.