Chapter 28
My neck stings, and I groan in frustration as I struggle to open my eyes. My body feels heavy, my vision is blurred, and the bed beneath me offers little comfort.
“Mal?” My voice emerges as a soft, broken whisper.
A chuckle answers me. “Not quite, pet.”
Before I can fully grasp my surroundings, the bed dips beside me, and a gentle hand brushes a strand of hair from my face.
As my eyes focus, my chest tightens with distress at the sight of him.
His mint-green eyes lock onto mine, and a smile plays on his lips, revealing a hint of sharp canines.
His pale skin is smooth, and his long dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
No, not dark brown. Deep red.
His hand caresses my face, and I flinch away from his touch. Feeling returns to my limbs, and I attempt to get up and run, but he sees the panic on my face. His hand shoots out to grip my shoulder, the touch hard and painful, pinning me down against my will.
“Feisty, as always.” He laughs, his eyes gleaming with a joy I do not share.
If he won’t let me go, then I have to make him. I reach for my magic but find nothing—no trace at all. My eyes widen as panic begins to overwhelm me, clouding my vision and making my head spin.
“It must be quite alarming,” he observes, sensing my distress, “but so convenient at the same time.”
“Wh-what did you do to me?” I can’t keep the rising hysteria out of my voice. Despite my training with Tomyla, I’m not prepared to face an inhuman without my magic, especially when fear races through my veins like ice. My magic... it can’t be gone. It can’t be.
“Don’t worry,” he coos, tangling his fingers in my hair while his other hand remains on my shoulder. “It’s only a temporary side effect of my venom.” He flashes his fangs again, and my stomach drops.
“What do you want from me?” My voice emerges stronger than I expected, returning some courage to me. If my magic is only temporarily lost, then I just need to stall.
The hand on my shoulder releases, and a single finger traces down my collarbone. “The same thing I always want from you.”
His finger continues through the valley of my breasts, lower and lower.
His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and I fight off a shudder of disgust. He runs his fingers over the fabric of my dressing robe, draws a circle on my stomach, and then violently grips my waist. His fingers dig into my skin as he pulls me closer, one hand slipping under the robe, between my legs.
“Get your hands off of me!” I snarl, my patience snapping.
He merely laughs, his gaze locked onto mine.
He shifts fully onto the bed, positioning himself between my legs.
I struggle again, pushing against his chest in an attempt to shove him away.
He snickers at my futile efforts, playfully swatting my hands away.
Then, he raises himself up and begins to remove his dark emerald-green jacket.
The sight of the matching corset underneath makes me falter. There’s something familiar about the way he dresses, about this entire situation, but I can’t quite place it. He tosses the jacket aside and leans over me, and that’s when I smell it—apples and nutmeg.
That’s when real panic sets in. Adrenaline surges through me, and I feel close to hyperventilating. Green eyes, apples and nutmeg, blossoms—it’s all connected. It’s all connected to him.
I push and claw at him, choking on something I can’t identify. Horror clouds my vision, making me sob as I continue to struggle. Bile burns in the back of my throat, and I can’t breathe.
My nails rake across his cheek, and he growls as deep, angry marks bloom on his skin. He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, all traces of lightheartedness vanishing from his demeanor.
I keep fighting, but his expression shifts from annoyance to a kind of hunger that cracks something deep in my soul. I immediately shut down completely. All fight drains from me as I lie beneath him, defeated—paralyzed.
He leans closer, whispering in my ear, his voice deep and sultry. “Oh, don’t stop. You know I love it when you struggle.”
A shudder goes through me because I can’t. I simply can’t.
Slowly, some of my magic returns as the venom begins to wear off. It trickles back inside me, but it’s not nearly enough. I turn my head away, closing my eyes, tears stinging the corners but unable to fall. This can’t be happening. Not again.
“Look at me.”
His hand shifts from my waist to my chin, clamping down so hard I know it’ll bruise. He turns my head back to face him, and I force my eyes open to meet his lust-filled mint-green gaze. His tongue darts out, licking his lips as he takes me in. His long, forked tongue—like a snake’s.
A headache builds between my eyes, and flashes of memories make me shudder.
Memories of his hands on my naked flesh, his tongue against my skin.
Those blossoms on a bedside table, that overwhelming scent of apples and nutmeg.
Weak, always so weak. I can’t even gasp for breath, my whole body straining, my lungs desperate for air in my attempt to shut it all out.
My distress must be evident on my face, but he merely chuckles. His hands move to his belt, slowly undoing the buckle. “I can’t wait to hear you scream my name again, pet.”
A crash sounds somewhere in the house, halting his movements.
He tilts his head to glance at the door.
In that moment, there’s an all-encompassing rush of air, and his weight leaves me just as I feel the caress of magic against my skin.
There’s a loud thud, and he’s thrown against the wall, enveloped in black smoke.
Another hand cups my face, and I exhale in relief upon feeling that familiar heat.
Malakai sits beside me on the bed and lifts me into his arms. His warmth and scent—hellfire and cinnamon—instantly calm me.
One hand supports the back of my head while the other rests on my waist, holding me as close as possible.
His magic intertwines with mine, erasing the last traces of the venom.
“Are you okay?” Malakai’s voice is filled with whispered concern.
I snuggle against his chest, clutching the fabric of his jacket like a lifeline. “I am now,” I reply, though my voice shakes, the only tell that I’m far from okay. I’m desperately hanging on by a fraying string.
Malakai reluctantly releases me, clearly having picked up on the truth, his eyes searching mine until he’s certain I’m okay—at least physically. But he also notices what was about to happen, anger flaring in his golden irises.
He carefully lets go, rising from the bed and stalking toward the inhuman. “You dare touch her?” His voice is deep and dark, heavy with the promise of death.
The inhuman rises, unfazed by the murderous intent directed at him.
He smiles as Malakai’s magic wraps around him, black energy pinning him down.
He doesn’t seem to care—his eyes are on me, and when he wets his lips, the sight of that forked tongue almost makes me spiral back down. He notices and winks at me, unashamed.
Malakai seethes, grabbing the inhuman and slamming him against the wall, the plaster cracking on impact. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just rip your throat out.”
“Because you won’t kill your own flesh and blood,” the inhuman sneers.
The temperature in the room drops at his insinuation. Malakai snarls, and the inhuman responds with a grin, baring his venomous canines.
“Or would you, Father?”
That last word hits like a bomb. Malakai’s eyes widen in surprise for a fraction of a second before he collects himself.
His grip on the inhuman tightens as he rapidly loses patience.
“First you touch my wife, and now you accuse me of being your father?” Malakai’s magic seeps from his clenched fist.
“I’m not accusing you of anything.” The inhuman’s voice is sure and cocky. “It’s the truth and nothing but the truth.”
Malakai studies him for a long moment. I shift on the bed, nervous and tense, my body ready to flee if needed.
I’ve never seen Malakai this angry, and it scares me.
His magic is deadly still, his eyes nothing but dark pits—just like when we were at Caner’s—that’s how I know what truly simmers under his composed surface.
He pulls his hand away, stepping back, and the inhuman sags against the wall. His fingers graze his sore neck, and he tsks. The movement reveals deep red scales on his arms, starting at his wrists and shimmering beautifully in the light.
He sees my stare and smirks. “Curious, aren’t you, pet? But I’m not all scales—at least, not where it matters. I’ll let you see if you ask nicely.”
In the next moment, Malakai’s magic surges again, slamming into the inhuman and transforming his amused smile into a painful snarl.
“Let’s find out if there’s any truth to your words, serpent,” Malakai hisses.
His magic tears into the inhuman’s skin, pain flashing across his features, retracting mere moments later, taking blood with it. Malakai studies the remnants, running his magic through them, carefully dissecting the blood. His expression remains unreadable, jaw set in concentration.
The silence weighs heavily, the only sounds being the whir of his magic and the labored breathing of the pinned inhuman. Then Malakai snaps his fingers, and the blood evaporates in the air as the restraints loosen. “Blood of my Blood,” he intones.
My stomach drops, the meaning behind those words crystal clear. The inhuman grins widely in response.
Malakai scans him once more, taking in every minute detail. “What do you want?” he snarls, releasing his magic completely but remaining clearly on high alert.
The inhuman straightens himself and smooths out his clothes. Then his mint-green eyes flick to me. I swallow hard, my hand involuntarily going to where he bit my neck.
“Don’t you dare,” Malakai warns, his voice stern.