Chapter 43
The man swallowed and nodded. “That wasn’t so hard. Follow me, princess.”
He stowed his knife back in his pocket. The others put away their weapons as well.
Maeve stepped towards him. They retreated into the dark alleyway. Mal stayed back with the other two.
She rounded a corner, following the man. He stopped and turned towards her.
“Take off your coat.”
“May I try something?”
His face scrunched together. “What-”
Maeve stepped closer to him. “It’s just that you’re going to die soon anyway.
And I’ve struggled to enter minds for months now.
Only once recently but I was, truthfully, under duress.
But you. . . You’re scum. I don’t feel guilty.
If I accidentally hurt you with this little experiment, it won’t matter. Because your time is up.”
“You’re fucking crazy. I enjoy them a bit-”
Maeve snapped her fingers, sending jolts of magic through her whole body. She pushed into his mind. She had never been in a human’s mind before.
And this one was a horror show. The alleys there were littered with his sins. Crimes no man should be permitted to commit even once. Let alone over and over. He sold poison and murdered men and-
Mal appeared there with her. Gently pulling her out of his mind. She had done it. And she was fine. Just like with Kietel and Nicklefrost. But the things she saw. . .they prevented her from celebration.
The human stood there, hunched over, his hands on his knees. Mal appeared behind him, circling to his side. He bent to the man’s ear.
“Now what was that you said you were going to do to her?” His voice was sinister and slow.
The human couldn’t speak.
“Your friends are already dead,” said Mal. “Funny. I needed only one. Now I’ll have two.”
The human dropped to his knees, his hands in a prayer motion, shaking them up at Mal. “Thank you,” he cried. “I -I promise I won’t speak a word of their death-”
“You misunderstand,” said Mal. “Just because I’m not going to kill you, doesn’t mean she isn’t going to ensure you live a horrible half existence.”
The human trembled. He turned towards Maeve, falling over onto his elbows. “I beg of you.”
Maeve looked up at Mal. His hands were in his coat pockets.
“You know what to do,” he said. “You’ve been thinking about it for a long time. You’re capable.”
She swallowed. “How do you know?”
“Because I see you, Maeve. We are going to ensure all of that Pureblood of yours is harnessed.”
Maeve looked down at the weeping man before her. “Can you image what it must feel like? To be broken in such a way? I wonder what it will do.”
The ally was silent save for the human’s prayers. She pointed two fingers at him.
“Frangere,” said Maeve.
The word rolled off her tongue like silk. A spell that had never been used to her knowledge. But spells were merely the will of Magic. The possibilities endless. And Maeve’s will was strong.
She slammed through his mind, like a sharp blade slicing through butter.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t jerk forward or even fight. He fell limp to the ground, over on one shoulder. His fingers jittered. His chin shook back and forth. His eyes were wide, glossed over as he stared into nothing.
He was breathing. His body alive. But his mind was shattered. His soul trapped to exist in between life and death. Never finding release.
Maeve sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands trembled and her legs dipped. Mal was in front of her suddenly, his hands on her arms as he Obscured them to his room at the Inn. Maeve broke away from him and turned her back.
The floor felt soft beneath her. The fire in the corner was too hot.
“What did you see?” Asked Mal.
Maeve didn’t meet his gaze. Her mind looped at the image of the man’s broken body. “All the women he’s raped. The children he hurt. The innocent he sold disgusting substances to and the dying families he stole food from.” She took a moment and turned towards Mal. “He never will again.”
“Congratulations on your new magic,” said Mal, his voice strained.
“You were right,” she said. “I have wanted to try that for some time.”
Mal nodded. “A Magical’s mind will not break so easily.”
“I know.”
He stepped away from her and discarded his cloak across the back of a chair.
“It was difficult not to kill him too,” said Mal. “I can’t image letting anyone live after speaking to you in such a way.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at the ceiling. “Even now, I want to return and finish him.”
She jumped at a knock at the door. Mal’s finger tip swarmed red. Maeve recognized the Inn Keeper’s voice.
“No,” she mouthed, motioning for him to relax his hand.
He shook it out, and the red sparks vanished.
She opened the door, and the Inn Keeper stood smiling. He had an arm full of blankets for them.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the blankets from him.
“Naten e mire,” he said with the bow of his head.
“Goodnight,” said Maeve.
She placed the blankets on the chair and turned back to Mal. He was preparing himself for the second cost.
He brought his pointer finger to his hand. Without hesitation, he sliced open his palm.
“Hoc aliquid do,” said Mal three times.
Bright red blood splattered as he cut deep across his palm. The Magic took hold as three spiraling strands of blood wrapped around the others, twisting above his palm. They turned black.
Mal’s focus was strained, intense as he gripped his palm.
The fire in the room evaporated with a hiss. The walls began to crawl with black vines, inching their way from the corners.
Maeve didn’t dare step towards him. The last time she stepped forward to intervene in dark magic she was slammed back against the wall at the Peur family home.
Blood was pouring and pooling at his feet.
His jaw tightened. The veins along his arms and neck protruded. The black swirls of blood retreated towards his palm as he pulled his fingers closed around them and the wound. With a shake the room swirled back to life. The fire puffed back into existence.
Mal breathed heavily and his arms dropped to his side.
The second cost was done.
But the wound wasn’t healing; it was only pouring blood from his palm faster.
“It’s not going to stop, is it?” Asked Maeve.
Mal starred at the blood running down his fingers.
“No,” he replied.
Maeve stood silently. They were both fully aware of the implications of Ismail’s instructions for the third and remaining cost.
A mark on something innocent. There were many ways to get it done.
But there wasn’t time.
And there was only one thing left about Maeve that was innocent. She had broken sacred Magical laws. She had offered her blood for Magic. But the part of her that had never-
“I can find another way, so you don’t have to-”
“I want to,” said Maeve, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.
She did want to. She had wanted to for some time.
Mal’s head turned slowly to her.
She willed her legs to not falter, and they did not betray her as she crossed the room towards him. Each step felt like wading through honey. Chills blistered across her arms. Their eyes never broke away.
She took his hand in her own, examining the wound. Blood spread over onto her pale skin, dripping to the floor.
Mal’s bloody fingers wrapped around her wrist.
She anticipated the tug that followed. But he hesitated. He searched Maeve’s face for any sign of second-guessing. She looked up at him, darting between his eyes. She swore they were darker.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered.
She boldly reached up and grazed her free hand across his face. Magic, icy and electric, trickled at the places where their skin met. She had longed to touch his face so tenderly. His perfect face with a jawline made for treachery.
His skin was smooth as cool stone. His cheekbones rolled sharply under. She ran her finger across the dip slowly.
Blood now soaked the sleeve of her dress.
She peeled her eyes away from his mesmerizing skin and looked up at him. “I come willingly, My Prince.”
His grip on her wrist tightened, and he pulled her close as his other arm tightened around her. She winced as his arms pressed against her bruised ribs. His nose brushed across hers, and she opened her mouth for him. Their bottom lips grazed one another as they lingered on the edge of temptation.
“Take me,” she whispered into that temptation. “Take all of me.”
And then his lips pressed into hers fully. She immediately opened her mouth wide, begging for more. His kiss was intoxicating. Reviving. Thrilling. It pulled her to the tips of her toes. His lips parted from hers only for a moment, pushing her hair away from her face.
Blood, warm and slick, slid across one cheek as his hands held her in his grip. She looked up into his eyes, his mesmerizing eyes that constantly swirled with a wicked desire.
Her fingers wrapped through his raven hair, tugging his lips back to hers. His hands moved across her chest, down her back, soaking her clothes in blood. Her skin shot to life. She gasped into his mouth as his cold fingers found their way under her blouse.
He gripped the waistband of her skirt and whirled her around to his other side. The back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. In one swift movement, he pushed her down onto the bed.
She crawled backwards, and he stalked over her, forcing her flat on the bed. His eyes were on hers as he slowly lowered himself onto her, pressing his chest into hers.
Their lips met. And her legs spread.
He pushed against her, and Maeve swelled beneath him. She pushed herself into him as heat rose between her legs.
She moved her hips across him, selfishly. But Mal responded in full. He grew hard beneath his clothes. A soft moan slipped from her as his bulge pressed against her. His hands moved to her face, spreading more blood and holding her in place as they writhed together.
He nipped at her bottom lip as he broke their kiss and pulled up from her. His hands, bloody and calm, slipped apart every button on her blouse until it fell open.