Chapter 37
Mal emerged from the darkness, his eyes on Maeve. She pushed out of her chair and bolted for him. Kietel’s chair flew backwards behind him.
Maeve slammed into a solid wall of air. She hit the ground, her fists banging against the shield. The wall remained. Kietel obscured behind her and placed one finger at her temple, drawing her to her feet.
Darkness crept from Mal’s side of the room. It slithered from the ceiling and across the floors in long tendrils and began penetrating Kietel’s wall.
He walked calmly towards her until he was at that invisible barrier. Steps away from them.
Did he hurt you? Mal said into her mind.
His voice caused an audible breath to rise in her chest.
Not badly. She replied.
A pause. Then he spoke into her mind with incredible control.
Did he touch you?
No.
Those bands holding your magic back will snap with his neck shortly.
Maeve had to suppress a smile.
Mal’s full lips parted slightly, and Maeve realized they had been apart for only four days, but it felt like weeks since his lips had pressed against hers.
From the red and green swirling nebula behind Mal stepped Ambrose.
“The entire Magical Militia is a portal away, Kietel. At least the ones still loyal to me.” He spoke bitterly, his eyes filled with hatred as Kietel held his youngest daughter threateningly.
“I have no doubt, Ambrose. Reeve couldn’t deign to join us, or is he spending another week in the form of a beast? I’ve heard he prefers the scales to skin these days.”
Ambrose didn’t answer. “Step away from her and let us discuss these terms.”
“That deal is off the table,” said Kietel.
Maeve’s eyes widened.
Ambrose’s chin lowered.
“I have a new deal,” said Kietel. “Her.”
Maeve’s heart kicked.
“No,” said Mal.
Kietel looked to Mal. “You can join us too, Dread Prince. But that is the new deal. She fights for me.”
“In exchange for what?” Ambrose said sharply.
Kietel looked at him like it was obvious. “The lives of thousands Ambrose.”
“Kill them all,” said Mal. “She is leaving here with me.”
Kietel looked at him now. “That doesn’t sound very Princely.”
“Do you see me in a crown?” Asked Mal darkly.
Mal’s Magic was pulsing, pushing out from him. Maeve could feel it around her neck. Winding up, preparing to strike.
“You and I could be quite powerful together,” said Kietel.
“I don’t need your help,” said Mal.
“I am not suggesting you do. Only that it would be beneficial for us to be allies. The real enemy slithers among us, leeching off our power, lining his pockets and maintaining stolen power.”
“You think that after hurting someone close to me, I would want to join you?” Asked Mal calmly.
“Ah, but she’s fine, isn’t she? And you’re going to find that your methods won’t gain you much popularity amongst those in power. Or do you plan to usurp them, anyway?”
Mal never broke their gaze. “You will never know.”
All hell broke loose then.
The shield wall between them burst with a howling of wind. The finger Kietel had pointed at Maeve snapped in two with a crack. Mal and Ambrose obscured in a blink. Ambrose toppled Maeve to the floor.
The room turned to pure darkness. Maeve looked up as Mal was a swirling flame of green crackling death, black sparks undulating from the one finger he pointed at the ground.
Maeve was only able to see the look of anguish on Kietel’s face before her body flipped over and she was pressed against cool white marble tile and everything around her fell silent.
She pressed into her palms as her vision focused on the foyer at Sinclair Estates. Reeve stood leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes slid to her with a gloomy expression.
She leaned back on her knees to catch her breath and looked around. Her Father had sent her alone. She ran her fingers across her wrists, where a dullness still lingered, but the moonstone shackles had vanished.
“Are you alright?”
Maeve looked back at the High Lord of Aterna.
He was dressed in casual clothes, no suit of armor for war or velvet tux for pleasure.
Just a simple pair of pants and a shirt suitable for a human.
But nothing about Reeve was human. He face was too glorious.
The power in his golden eyes flickered with fire.
Maeve nodded. “Why weren’t you there?”
Reeve looked away from her, slightly annoyed. “It was voted best I not attend.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but sucked in a quick breath instead. Magic lifted around her.
“Woah,” she said with a shutter.
“What?” Asked Reeve, and stepped towards her.
Maeve couldn’t explain it, but Kietel was dead. The lurking unfamiliar Magic that had plagued her for months was gone.
She looked up at him. He was closer now. His chest sunk and his mouth turned down.
“Who the fuck did that to you?”
Maeve had nearly forgotten her bruised face split lip. “Who do you think?”
Reeve looked down at her. His mouth opened to speak, but he closed it. He looked down at her in remorse. She held his gaze for a moment.
“The most powerful being in the world,” she said softly. “And you let him take me.”
His remorse vanished. “You know nothing of controlling something like what is inside of me.”
“You hesitated-”
“I calculated,” he spat down at her.
With a snap Ambrose and Mal appeared in the foyer.
She was on her feet in a flash. Ambrose slammed into her. The smell of cinnamon cigars warmed her bones. His arms were tight around her. Only when his thick wool cloak turned wet did she realize she was crying.
She unburied her head from his chest, resting her cheek on him. Mal stood only steps away, his eyes locked on her, watching every breath she took.
Ambrose took her face in his hands, forcing her gaze up at him. Small sparks of magic popped through her cheek, healing the bruised skin with a warm glow. He pressed his thumb into her lip, sealing up the cut.
She looked up at him. He pressed a kiss into her hair and released her.
Maeve stepped towards Mal, stopping as his magic brushed down her cheek, cool and calming. She felt as though she might burst into tears once more as he smiled softly at her, worry still filled in his eyes.
He had been magnificent. The very definition of divine violence. And he had done it for her.
“How long have you known?” Asked Maeve, looking at her father.
He looked to Mal and then back to Maeve. He answered without hesitation. “I’ve known since the moment he laid you on that hospital bed in the healing wing last year.”
Maeve’s throat tightened.
Ambrose looked at Mal reverently. “It’s time, Malachite.”
Maeve looked to Mal.
“I know,” he said.
“We need to call a Hexadic,” said Reeve.
“I don’t know why it’s still called that,” said Ambrose. “Only four realms truly remain occupied and you know as well as I do we will be lucky if three even attend.”
“Lithandrian will be intrigued by him,” said Reeve.
“And the other? Do you have contact?”
Reeve shook his head.
Ambrose looked back at Maeve and Mal.
“Reeve and I need to discuss some things.”
“No,’ said Maeve. “You’re not going to exclude us.”
“She’s right,” said Reeve.
Ambrose ignored him. “There is no place for you in a war meeting,” said Ambrose.
“That is your blind love for me as your daughter talking and not the mind of the Premier,” retorted Maeve.
“Yes,” hissed Ambrose as he stepped towards her. “And I shall sleep at night for it.”
“Ambrose,” said Reeve calmly.
Her father looked towards the High Lord. Ambrose’s face twisted. “You are siding with a child.”
“I’m not a child-”
“I think it’s time we stopped under-estimating power,” he replied. “Regardless of its age. You must acknowledge what she and Malachite have to offer.”
“You are thinking of her as one of your Senshi Warriors,” said Ambrose, his teeth grinding together.
“I am thinking of them as strong Magicals, Ambrose. That boy single-handedly held up Vaukore as the magic around it collapsed. Ancient magic. And I am to understand he only killed Kietel only moments ago?”
“His entire army too,” said Ambrose quietly.
Maeve loosed a tight breath.
“Fine, then Mal alone comes,” said Ambrose.
Mal finally spoke. “No, sir.” His voice was velvety smooth. “I’m sorry. Not without her.”
A surge of emotion shot through Maeve at his words.
Finally.
Ambrose’s face was drained of its usual warm color as he looked at Mal. Mal’s right hand slowly turned into a fist, as he placed it over his heart. He looked directly at Ambrose, whose eyes grew large at the gesture.
“I swore to you that I would protect her,” said Mal. His eyes slid to her. “I will die before she does.”
An electric burst of magic sliced through her chest. Maeve let out an audible gasp. It tingled down her arms and into her fingers. She held up her hands as Mal’s magic shot through her fingertips, becoming one with her own Magic.
“What did you just do?” She asked quietly.
Mal’s eyes remained on her, perfectly aware of what he had just done. Maeve’s eyes grew large, and she took another step towards him.
The moment between them was silent. Maeve had never wanted to touch his face so badly, to kiss his lips and confess all the feelings she was too scared to say.
Mal would die before she did. It was now written in Magic. Unbreakable magic sealed in an unbreakable bond between them.
“Zimsy,” said Ambrose.
The gorgeous Elf appeared instantly. Maeve tore her eyes away from Mal. A look of relief washed across Zimsy’s face when she saw Maeve. Maeve smiled softly at her.
“Help Maeve refresh herself. My daughter won’t be attending a war meeting in blood and filth stained dirty pajamas.”
Zimsy nodded.
In her bedroom, Zimsy flung her arms around her. Maeve hugged her tightly back.
Maeve pulled away as a knock came from the door. Zimsy turned the knob and Mal stood, his eyes glazed over at Maeve.
“Could you give us a moment?” Mal asked.
Zimsy bowed her head and slipped past him into the hallway.
Mal stepped inside and the door clicked shut behind him.
Maeve sighed into the sedating feeling of his presence. “Why did you do that?”
He studied her face closely.
“Because I mean it,” was all he said.
Maeve’s breath hitched, and her mouth hung open.
His hands reached for her face.
At last.
His cool, smooth hands fused with her flushed cheeks.
“I’m filthy Mal-”
“When the castle began falling, and you looked at me like you were going to die, I nearly couldn’t bare it. I don’t think I could have done what I did if that fear hadn’t been there. I was determined that you would live, or I would die trying to save you.”
Tears pooled in the corners of Maeve’s eyes. He wiped each of them as they cascaded down her dirty cheeks.
“I realized then,” said Mal, looking back and forth at her tears, “that while I will always save you, I was meant to save us all. I was meant to save the Magicals, or die trying.”
“I’m scared of what’s coming,” said Maeve, her voice catching. “I’m scared I’m not strong enough. I’m not like you. I don’t have your iron reserve.”
“You don’t have to be like me,” he said quietly. “Your strengths are not my own, either. I need you to be you.”
“I jumped,” she said.
Mal’s eyes lit up. “What? When?”
“Kietel made me,” she said. “But I did it.”
Mal’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
He pulled her head to his chest, and she snaked her arms around his torso, palms flat against his back. He kissed the top of her head and spoke calmly.
“I am going to reform the Dread House and reclaim our place as Magicals in the promised land.”
Maeve nuzzled closer to him. “I knew you would.”
“And you will be my second, Maeve.”
She looked up at him, pride building in her chest. Not his High Lady. Not his Queen. Not his wife.
His second in command.
“Does that make you happy?” He asked with a subtle smile, one that showed he already knew the answer.
Maeve nodded, her own smile blossoming. “Yes,” she breathed.
His eyes traveled down to her lips as his hands shifted lower on her body.
Her stomach flipped.
“I thought it might,” he said, barely above a whisper.
She pushed onto her toes and he met her halfway, bending down to press his lips into hers. He held her waist firmly as she tipped backwards, his tongue quickly finding its way into her mouth.
She let out a soft moan as his tongue played with hers.
The sound turned him hard against her. Maeve smiled into their kiss, knowing how quickly she excited him.
He pushed them backwards until she hit the writing desk.
He nipped at her bottom lip and pulled away from her.
Maeve’s breathing was fast, the heat between her legs growing intense.
His hands moved to the dirty pearl buttons of her pajama top, working from the bottom up. When the fabric fell loose. His expression softened into a dull look of hunger.
Maeve gripped the desk on either side of her hips. Her body was hot. Too hot. Her cheeks were burning from the intense vulnerability she was trapped in under his gaze.
Mal’s eyes traced over every inch of her chest. His long, slender fingers reached out and caressed the side of her breast.
A slow breath rose up through her. His fingers were icy and smooth. She was stuck. Paralyzed from his touch.
“I thought about you ceaselessly,” he said. “I don’t think I quite understood the meaning of your presence until I was forced to endure your absence.”
His hand moved down her stomach, slowly, sending ice across her skin. She gripped the desk harder and willed herself to stay still and not push every inch of herself towards him.
“I wondered if he was hurting you. . .touching you.”
Maeve gasped as his hand slipped between her skin and the top of her pants. His fingers danced along the band, teasing her.
“I only hate that I didn’t see you end him,” said Maeve.
Mal took a deep breath. “I will end each and every one of them that tries to take what is mine.”
“The Dread Lands?” She asked as his hand pulled out from between her stomach and her pants.
A darkness formed on Mal’s face. “You.” His eyes bore into hers with a lethal rage so calm it should have been unsettling. “You are mine.”
Maeve couldn’t hold herself still any longer. She pushed off the desk and stepped towards him hastily, eager for more of his taste, his bite. His hand caught her throat, gently squeezing and keeping her back.
“Bathe, Sinclair.” He grinned in satisfaction. “You are positively filthy.”