Chapter 21 #2
In a flash of red light, Malachite Sr.’s face sliced open, spewing blood across Mal’s own face and robes. His father’s face contorted in agony.
Maeve’s stomach twisted. Her hands flew to her face, covering her mouth.
His Father lifted off the floor with the slightest movement of Mal’s fingers. His body tight against Mal’s magic.
“Did you know she was pregnant?” Mal’s voice was unsettlingly calm.
Blood spewed from his father’s mouth.
“No,” he cried.
Mal watched him for a moment. “Maeve.”
Maeve’s heart kicked. Her breathing was quick. She stepped towards Mal. Her hands shook at her sides.
“This is Maeve,” he said. His father’s bloodshot eyes moved to her. They begged her for help.
She swallowed hard.
“She’s going to enter your mind. And see if you are lying.”
Malachite Sr. began sobbing, choking on his own air.
“Unless you’ve had a change of heart?” Asked Mal. “And have found the truth?”
His Father nodded. Mal’s hand fell to his side and his father to the floor.
“Did you know?” Mal repeated.
His Father nodded. “I-left-her. . .in,” he heaved, “London. I couldn’t- I shouldn’t have been with her-”
Maeve’s eyes were burning. Her throat was tight.
“And you didn’t care if I lived or died?” Asked Mal.
His Father bowed his head. “I was-a- child-”
Rage pulsed from Mal. Maeve took a step back as it flared towards her. He stepped towards his father, who was crawling towards the bodies of his dead parents, gasping. Mal stood in his path.
“Did you know she was a Witch?” Asked Mal.
His Father made to nod his head. “That is why my parents purchased her. I beg of you, believe me, I had no choice. I did what I was told-” His Father looked up at him shaking with fear. “Please, my son.”
Mal pointed his finger down at him. “I am no son of yours.”
“Wait!” He wailed. “Do you have the locket?”
Mal didn’t move. “Locket?”
“The locket I gave her-the-the locket!”
Mal took a deep breath. “She had nothing of value on her when she died giving birth to me.”
His Father’s eyes sparkled over. “You-you don’t have it?”
“No,” said Mal darkly. “What significance is that to you?”
“I gave that locket to her, to protect her,” he said softly. Blood pooled on the floor beneath him. “To protect you.”
Mal crouched before him, their faces nearly touching. “What would you know about protection?”
Maeve couldn’t tear her eyes away from Mal’s father. Mal would look just like him in twenty years. Same chiseled jaw. Same sharp cheekbones. She almost hated to see his stunning and dangerous face brutalized in such a way. He looked too much like Mal.
“That locket was a Peur heirloom. For hundreds of years, that locket guaranteed safety and fulfilled lives. It was my only chance to. . .keep her alive.” His gaze traveled to a portrait that hung above them.
Maeve followed his gaze up to the painting of a dark-haired man with a long beard and dark eyebrows. Around his neck was a gold ornate oval locket.
Magic speared through her. She grabbed her chest and her eyes snapped shut.
“Maeve,” said Mal.
Maeve’s eyes shot open. Something called to her. Something old and ancient and forgotten. Her head whipped to Mal’s father, who was on the verge of dying.
“Like calls to like,” she whispered.
“What is his name?” Asked Mal, pointing to the portrait above them. The man with the dark hair and beard and eyebrows frowned down at them. He wasn’t a moving portrait like some at Vaukore or Sinclair Estates.
“Orion,” wheezed Mal’s father.
“Artemis Orion The Dread,” said Maeve.
“Yes,” said his father. “My ancestor.”
“The last ruler of the Dread Lands,” said Maeve weakly as all heat drained from her body. “Before the plague.”
“The what lands?” Mal’s father asked. They ignored him.
The hairs on her arm stood up straight. The words slipped from her without a second thought as she looked at Mal and realized-
“You’re the Dread Descendant.”
Maeve flinched as Mal’s hand jerked to one side, and a loud snapping noise came from his father’s neck. Malachite Sr. lay dead. Mal stared at him blankly. He didn’t look at Maeve.
Thoughts barreled across her mind. She couldn’t stop them as they blurted from her mouth.
“Peur. At the root of your name. I’m so bloody stupid,” said Maeve. “It’s French. They came to France and made a new life. In hiding. Of course- the name broken down means-” She was shaking her head quickly, as though the thoughts were impossible.
“Means?” He said quietly, never tearing his eyes away from his father’s body.
Maeve’s heart was kicking. “It’s fear.”
“Fear?” His voice almost sounded sad.
“Synonymous to Dread.”
Mal leaned forward and took his father’s hand in his own. Sitting on his finger was a black stoned ring. Mal’s head turned to one side, examining it.
He slipped the ring off his finger and looked at it closely.
“You’ve known,” said Mal, without turning towards her.
Maeve’s breath caught. His tone was laced with danger. The image of Valeria snapped to her mind.
Mal stood and looked down at his family, slipping the ring inside his pocket. “Is that why you wanted to get close to me?” He asked.
Maeve scoffed, insulted at his misplaced anger. “You are remembering things quite incorrectly.”
Malachite turned towards her, his face drained of all color and set in stone.
“I suspected,” relented Maeve under his intense stare.
He set towards her; she gasped as his face was suddenly close to hers. She stepped backwards, but he continued his pursuit.
“And you never thought it prudent to share your suspicions with me?”
Mal pressed her against the wall, pinning each shoulder beneath his hands. The small set of paintings behind her slammed to the floor. Maeve jumped as the glass shattered beneath them.
“You never felt it?” Retorted Maeve. “You never thought there was a chance-”
“Of course I thought there was a chance,” seethed Mal. “I have always known I was something bigger.”
“Good,” snapped Maeve. She swallowed hard and her voice grew quiet. “Good. Because you are something bigger. You are the true Dread Descendant.”
He didn’t speak again until his breathing returned to his normal pace. His eyes darted around her, studying her face. His expression was lost.
“How is that possible?”
“The line will be lost,” recited Maeve. “There is magic in his viens. It just lies dormant.”
“Was,” corrected Mal quietly.
She nodded.
“I killed them,” he said. He said it as though it was just occurring to him.
He looked up at the portrait of Artemis Orion. His cheeks slowly turned a light shade of pink. His eyes glassed over. His hands flexed at his sides.
He walked past her out the open doors off the back of the manor. He sucked in a sharp breath. Maeve took a few steadying breaths and followed him. He stood with his back to her, hands clutching the railing of the terrace. His knuckles white.
Maeve stepped to his side. “The one to free your golden blood will come when the Dread line is restored.”
“Sacred blood.” Mal didn’t look at her.
Maeve gently reached up and wiped the tears that slipped from his eyes and wet his cheeks, forcing him to face her. “Mal,” she whispered, feeling her own tears forming. “You were sent to save me.”
He cupped the back of her head and pulled her close. She brushed her fingers through his hair as his other arm snaked around her waist.
His dark chocolate eyes shimmered with flecks of light, like sunlight illuminated in a dark lens. Magic resonated from him, drawing her to the balls of her feet with a deep inhale.
His forehead pressed against hers.
His thumb trailed across her bottom lip.
She titled her head up to him. His breath was cool against her face.
He looked down at her, scanning her face. A small laugh, like one of relief, escaped his lips. In a rare moment, Mal smiled fully. It was a glorious sight to see his sharp face light up like starlight.
“I think it is you who has saved me,” he said.
Without hesitation, he lowered his lips to hers. White light erupted in her vision and cool, refreshing trickles of magic slithered down her neck and arms and legs.
She wanted to be drenched in the long awaited feeling.
She wanted his all. His silent shadow and his passive protection. His unwavering and unnerving calm. There was no feeling but him. He was all consuming.
She twisted her fingers through his raven hair, pulling herself into him with a sharp breath, instantly aching for more.
The kiss was firm, but his lips were smooth and soft.
Mal was the Dread Descendant. He was her savior. But none of that remained in her mind. All she knew was his hands on her body. His lips on hers.
She kissed him with all the power she could muster in an attempt to make up for all the times she had dreamed of his lips on her. The nights she lay awake wondering how long she’d have to wait to know how he felt. If she would ever know.
Now, finally, it felt like the world around her was no longer burning. He doused her in his chilling power.
Their kiss deepened as her lips parted and his tongue flicked across her bottom lip. His magic brushed through her, making her legs weak. His grip around her waist tightened. She held his head firmly, desperate for him to not pull away.
Finally, their lips parted and Maeve gazed up at him with adoration. He brushed his knuckle across her jaw. Maeve reeled at his touch, tossing her head back and pushing her cheek into his hand.
“Now, Little Viper,” the husky way he called her brought a smile to her lips, “the reason I brought you here.”