Chapter 25 #2
“I mean it, though.” She turns back, her hair already wet from the rain, sticking to her face. “I owe you one.”
She holds out her hand, palm up. “Your phone.”
“Why?”
“To give you my number, witch.” She bares her teeth at me, that attitude leaking through again.
Reluctantly, I fish my phone from the pocket of my dress pants, unlock it, and hand it to her.
She adds her number to my contacts, then gives herself a call before returning it.
Our fingers brush when I take it back, and my magic sizzles, reacting to…
something. Our eyes meet for a moment before hers snap to something behind me.
It’s brief, only a second, before she looks back at me.
“I don’t know if you’re aware,” she starts, her voice so silent and grave that it’s barely audible, “but someone’s been coming into your house.”
My whole body tenses at her words. She casts another quick look down the hallway behind me, then turns and walks away. Once on the sidewalk, she unfolds her wings and takes off into the night sky. Within seconds, her figure disappears, swallowed by darkness and rain.
Locking the front door, I send my magic to search the house.
Every nook and cranny, every corner, every creaking floorboard—I turn it all over.
There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, and that freaks me out even more.
I place extra wards on the front and side doors and every single window in the house.
When I finish and check everything again, I lock myself in the library.
I huddle on the sofa under a blanket, knees against my chest, eyes fixed on the door as paranoia claws at me from within.
Memories press against the back of my skull, there but not really, only the fear associated with them leaking through into my consciousness.
A sliver of magic lingers around me, ready to alert me of any change, however small. My heart races in my chest, in my throat, with every passing second. I can’t tell if I should be relieved or worried that my magic doesn’t find anything; it remains silent in the air.
I can’t do this, not again. Please, not again.
Too much occupies my mind, distracting me during training. Tomyla lands more punches than usual, and at one point, she even manages to break my nose. I let out a surprised scream as the bone snaps with a loud crack, blood leaking down my face and onto my clothes.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry! So sorry!” Tomyla panics, rushing to the built-in storage closet while I tilt my head back to minimize the mess. I gently touch my nose, hissing at the sharp pain.
The torturer returns with gauze and cotton buds, but I wave her off. “Are you sure?” Her voice shakes, and I nod. We both know I’ve had way worse happen to me in this exact room.
My magic brushes against my nose, and I gasp as the bone snaps back into place. At least it spilled enough blood that I don’t need any more payment. “Do you have a wet cloth, perhaps?”
“Not here, but I’ll get one from the bathroom.”
“That’s fine. I’ll go get it.” Looking down, I see my shirt drenched in blood and grimace. “Okay if we continue this tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course.”
In the bathroom, it doesn’t take much to clean my face and neck, but my shirt is thoroughly ruined. And, of course, today is the day I didn’t bring a change of clothes. I was too distracted this morning, too frantic to get out of the house, the bounty hunter’s words still hanging heavy in the air.
Grumbling, I magic the blood away, but a stain remains, and the coppery scent lingers, which is strange. Seeing how my magic is primarily blood magic, I would think it would gladly absorb every drop, but it seems too much of a convenience.
Wearing my coat over my workout gear risks getting the scent in there too, possibly ruining another piece of clothing. I grumble under my breath while putting the shirt back on, after which I make my way upstairs.
The elevator doors to Malakai’s private office open with a ding. Upon stepping out, my eyes land on Thomas rummaging through one of the filing cabinets against the back wall.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The sound of my voice startles him. He nearly jumps out of his skin and drops a large folder in the process. “Oh dear, you startled me,” he proclaims, picking it up.
“Again, what are you doing?”
Hearing the anger in my voice, Thomas looks up, taking in my bloodstained clothes with a scrunched nose. “Gathering materials,” he explains with a vague gesture.
“I remember you explicitly telling us there are only two keys to this office, and we have both. So how did you get in here?”
He raises an eyebrow, as if to wordlessly tell me to keep my stupid questions to myself. Given my bad feeling about the family, I’m slightly on edge.
“Spare key,” he replies dryly, folder pressed against his chest. He turns away from me, continuing to search through the cabinet.
“Hey,” I snarl, stepping closer. “Don’t disregard me like that.”
Thomas continues to ignore me, scoffing under his breath as if I can’t hear him.
If I knew how to explain it to Malakai afterward, this man would already be choking on his own blood.
Both my hands and my magic ache to make it happen, despite how I’m trying not to let anger guide my magic. In this case, it’s acceptable.
“Apologies, my lady.” His words are more sneer than apology. At least he’s smart enough to look at me. “But I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“Excuse me?” My voice is cold as I step closer. My magic crackles against my skin, my body vibrating with anger.
“I answer to Lord Deimos, not to his filthy whore of a wife.”
My magic is on him in an instant, wrapping around his neck like a noose. “I dare you to repeat that,” I snarl, venom dripping from each word.
My whole body vibrates with anger, and I’m surprised I’m not frothing at the mouth. The audacity of this man—who does he think he is, that he dares to speak to me like this?
Thomas remains silent, but defiance flickers in his eyes, weighing whether to repeat his words.
“You won’t kill me,” he finally says. “You might be his wife, but he wouldn’t let you get away with it. No matter what you believe, women mean nothing in this family.”
“Your own wife included?”
“Even Isabella,” he admits, swallowing hard.
“Does she know that?” I ask, and he shifts nervously, telling me she doesn’t. “Leave the folder and the key and get out.”
Despite his tough words, he complies, dropping the folder back on the floor, the spare key on top of it. I retract my magic and step back. Thomas scurries to the door, but I stop him before he can leave.
“Thomas.” He looks back, sweat beading on his forehead. “The only reason I don’t kill you is that I want him to watch when I do.”
Thomas bolts, nearly tripping over his own feet.
When the elevator doors close behind him, I pick up the folder and key, pocketing the latter as I thumb through the file.
I’m surprised to see it’s about Isabella and William.
Why would he want a file on his own wife and son?
It contains their whole lives, including birth certificates and extensive background checks for Isabella.
A soft knock interrupts me as I return the file to the cabinet, and I turn to find Creiddyla standing there. “Everything okay, Lady Deimos? Sir Evans almost ran me out of the elevator.”
“Just a little disagreement,” I say, stepping away from the desk. “Nothing to worry about.” I smile at her, and she returns the gesture.
“Want to leave those inside?” I ask her with a nod to the letter in her hand.
Creiddyla shakes her head vigorously. “Oh no, I don’t go inside Lord Deimos’s office when he’s away. There’s a table here for the mail.” She gestures to something next to the door, and I step out of the office to see a small table there.
I nod in understanding while I take my keys out of my back pocket and attach Thomas’s to the keyring.
“Sir Evans still had a key?” Creiddyla gasps as she openly stares at the key I took from him.
I see why Malakai hired her—she’s quick to pick up on things.
“Not anymore.”
Creiddyla starts to cross the hallway toward the elevator, and I casually accompany her. I regard her from the corner of my eye while she pushes the button to call the elevator back up. “You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”
Creiddyla looks at me, a slight flush creeping up her cheeks as she starts to fidget with a strand of hair. “I guess so,” she whispers. It’s adorable how shy she is.
“Is there anything else Thomas has or does that he shouldn’t?” Her shoulders tense, clearly indicating there’s something.
“Don’t worry.” I soften my voice to put her at ease and smile when she looks back at me. “It won’t get you in trouble.”
But it will clarify her allegiances, which is a different matter altogether.
“He’s been... on edge ever since Lord Deimos returned.
If anything, it’s as if his workload has increased, even though I know it to be the opposite.
” Creiddyla hesitates, revealing more. “H-he has lunch or dinner meetings almost daily. He files them as company expenses, but something about it doesn’t sit right with me. ”
She stands there, nervously biting her nail, undecided whether to look at me. I don’t even want to know how she knows this, because it’s clearly more than a receptionist should know.
The elevator door dings open, and I think she might not tell me.
Creiddyla steps inside, turning to face me with the door held open. “Aren’t you coming down?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
I gesture to my bloodstained shirt, and she nods in understanding, making up her mind. “He always comes back smelling like apples and nutmeg. It’s faint, but it’s there—every time.”
My eyes widen, and my heart skips a beat. I swallow rapidly, trying to hide my reaction. What this means, what it confirms.
“Thank you, Creiddyla.” I smile, masking the emotions bubbling within.
Creiddyla returns the smile, drops her hand, and the elevator doors close.