Chapter 28 Malec
Malec
Saying Kayla’s clothes wouldn’t match Roran is accurate—at least the pants. The shorts she’s wearing cling to every curve, tight and unbothered, and if she so much as leans forward, I’m pretty sure I’ll see everything underneath.
That’s not Kayla’s style. She prefers things oversized, loose, comfortable.
This isn’t that. Every line of this outfit is deliberate, drawing the eye, and suddenly it’s impossible to look away.
I watch her move, subtle shifts of her shoulders, the way her hair brushes her collarbone. She’s undeniably a sight. Tempting, even. But then my gaze drops, and my chest tightens.
Her legs.
Scars. Dozens of them.
Some faded, others raw and pink, angry and fresh, refusing to be forgotten. It’s like her body can’t decide which memories to keep, and every step she takes makes them pulse under my gaze.
I swallow hard, torn between wanting to look away and the impossibility of doing so. Every scar tells a story, and every story makes her harder to ignore.
“I’m sorry, that was the only thing I thought might fit,” Kayla murmurs, stepping closer. “Chris will bring something from her wardrobe later today.”
I have to lean down to hear her—she’s on her toes, whispering like we’re exchanging secrets. It’s not like her. She’s usually blunt, sharp, always two steps away from a jab or smirk. Now she’s soft. Too soft.
And she’s whispering that, of all things?
“What happened while I was gone?” I ask, keeping my voice low, but not bothering to whisper. “Do I need to worry?”
“I touched her. To see.”
“You used your powers on her?”
I exhale through my teeth, jaw locking. “Tell me she didn’t see your eyes.”
That comes out rougher than I meant it—closer to a scold than a question. But she was reckless. She knows better.
Kayla shakes her head quickly, stepping back. “No. I closed them. Don’t worry. But I saw… bad things.”
Shit. That bad?
She never looks this serious.
“Chris,” I call, not turning around, “take Roran to your apartment. Let her borrow something that fits. She’ll be staying at the beach house for now.”
I need to know what Kayla saw. Right now.
“The beach house?”
My dad’s voice comes from behind me. I turn and see him in the doorway, Mariano and Mom beside him.
“You made the right call bringing her,” he says coldly. “But there’s no. Fucking. Way. You’re using your mother’s beach house.”
His fists are clenched, soul flaring hot without me even needing to read it. I know it.
Anything involving Mom sets him off—but this? This is different. What does he think Roran’s going to do there? Trash the place? Tell someone?
“But—”
“No. End of discussion.”
He cuts me off like it’s nothing. Then he steps toward her.
“So you’re Fedor’s daughter.”
Cold again. Ice. Guard up.
He hates outsiders—especially ones who could threaten our family. I expect Roran to shrink under his stare, but she doesn’t. Impressive.
“Yes,” she says, her voice steady. She straightens like a soldier bracing for orders. It doesn’t rattle her. Not even a little.
She isn’t like this with me.
Is she feeling it too? That weird… connection.
“I’m not proud of it,” she adds. “And I’m more than willing to give you whatever you need to take him down—if that’s what you want. Maleciandro promised me he’d bring my sister back and that we’d be allowed to stay.”
She says it with her spine straight and her chin lifted.
She’s been in front of powerful men before.
She’s learned how to survive them.
Is that what she’s doing now?
Surviving my father?
The thought of her bowing like earlier to him—to anyone else—makes something in me burn.
What did Kayla see?
“We’ll see what we can do with you,” my father says, quieter now. Then he turns to the door, and just before he leaves, he glances back at me.
“She stays here. Where the men can keep her in clear sight.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Just walks out.
Mom follows a second later, but not before mouthing, “I’ll talk to him.”
She probably feels my frustration—but she’s not reading it right. It wasn’t because of his behavior…
“She’s not staying with Chris,” Mariano cuts in, arms folded as he glares at his daughter.
“Dad—”
“You want me to call your mom? Go ahead. See if that helps your case.”
He’s trying to sound cold, but we all know better. Chris is his soft spot. One tear and he’d probably punch my father in the face if she asked.
They’re all killers out there.
But in here?
They’re just whipped.
I sigh. “She kicked my ass twice in training last month. She’ll be fine.”
If it were anyone else, I’d be just as cautious.
But Roran doesn’t feel like a threat. Not to me. Not in that way.
She wants her sister. That part is clear. She’s not lying.
“You’ve got some balls, dragging Christiane into your mess,” Mariano says, narrowing his eyes like he’s imagining me in his torture chair already.
“Ma—”
“Shut your mouth. She’s my daughter.”
“She can stay with me,” Chris cuts in, stepping between us before it escalates.
What the hell happened while we were inside? Even Chris volunteers for her?
I glance at Kayla. Her eyes haven’t left Roran once. Roran notices too now, brows drawing together in confusion.
I grab Kayla’s arm and pull her back into the office, closing the door behind us, leaving Chris and Mariano to argue outside the office and Roran to stand there looking like she just stumbled into a war zone.
“What did you see?” I demand. “Talk. We don’t have time. I need to leave for Kolox as soon as Alessio’s back with Bay.”
“It’s not about something she did. Relax,” Kayla mutters, yanking her arm back and rubbing it like I actually hurt her.
“I didn’t grab you that hard. Don’t act up. Just tell me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Alright, alright.”
“I saw someone torturing her. I think it’s her father,” she says. “She looked younger. A lot younger. His men were holding her down while he cut her—stabbed her in the back. Then he…”
Her voice falters. She swallows.
“…He broke her leg. Whipped her with a belt. Said she cost them a big client because she refused to sleep with him.”
I go still.
Her scars. Her shields…
The anger starts low. Boiling from somewhere beneath my skin.
That fucking filth is not going to stay alive for long.
My marks begin to glow. Soft at first, then burning brighter.
Kayla’s soul flashes orange. Nervous. Afraid. I can feel the energy turning volatile.
“I’m on my way with Bay. Hold. It. In.”
Myko’s voice slices through the chaos. Did I call him? I don’t know. My breath is getting heavier as I try to fight the surges.
“Malec,” Kayla warns, stepping back slowly. “Breathe. I’m not Black Blooded. Don’t forget that.”
She takes another step back. Then another.
And then she bolts, slamming the door open.
“We need to go. Now!” she calls outside, cutting into whatever was still being said.
I stop listening.
Everything narrows—hot, blinding, drowning in pressure.
The pendant in my pocket warms against my thigh, pulsing with my breath. It’s reacting to me, too.
I tilt my head back.
Focus.
Breathe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale—
“Malec!”
Bay’s voice breaks through. The office door slams shut behind her.
Thank the oceans.