His hold on my ankle tightened, making me squirm. ‘That could have been a rash decision.’
He wasn’t wrong, but— I held my arm out and released Ascalon. The silver of the sword gleamed in the moonlight. ‘I have this, remember.’ He’d seen the sword once before.
‘That sword will not protect you from everything, Genevieve.’
‘Yeah, I know that,’ I said, a little of my exasperation lacing my voice as I let Ascalon slide back into my ring. ‘But waving a magic sword around does usually make people think twice. And I’m not totally stupid. I wasn’t planning to do anything other than observe from a distance. Plus, I left a blood trail for you to follow, if needed, and I stayed off the “likely to be ambushed here” path.’ I winced as his fingers again dug none too gently into my foot. ‘Which was when I lost them. If I hadn’t seen you, I’d have gone back to the mosque. And I told Tavish what I was about too.’ Sort of, anyway.
Wariness crossed Malik’s face. ‘The kelpie knows where you are?’
‘More or less.’ I lifted the tiny blue bottle from where it dangled on its chain around my neck. ‘He also gave me this. It’s werewolf repellent, and believe me, this stuff will clear a crowd.’ I let the bottle rest back between my breasts and, as Malik’s gaze followed and lingered, couldn’t resist a little back arch, then almost swore as I remembered— ‘Oh, and I need to let Tavish know I’m okay before midnight, so he doesn’t come rushing to my rescue.’
The boat rocked again as Malik lifted his gaze back to mine; the dangerous, dark look in his eyes sent a frisson of desire spiralling through me. ‘Then perhaps you should call him and tell him you are safe.’ His words carried a hint of question as he offered me his phone.
I kept my eyes on his as I reached out and took it. A tension I’d barely registered left him as I did; he hadn’t been sure I’d put Tavish off. Inwardly, I smiled; good to know Malik didn’t think anything between us was a done deal.
I sent Tavish a text, not wanting to get into a discussion as to why I was with Malik when Tavish had warned me off seeing him, then handed the phone back. ‘Thanks.’
It chimed with an answer a moment later. Malik’s enigmatic expression didn’t change as he read, then sent a short reply.
‘Do I want to know?’ I asked.
He pocketed the phone with a grim twist of his mouth. ‘The kelpie cares greatly for your wellbeing, Genevieve.’
So it had been a warning, then. Not such a surprise, really. The pair weren’t friends, and only allied with each other because it mutually benefited them both, mostly to do with keeping me safe. And their alliance wasn’t something I was going to jump in the middle of. ‘So, anyway,’ I said, getting us back to business, ‘I was planning to go back and ask the ambassador about Janan—’
‘Janan, Beloved of Malak al-Maut?’ Malik’s stunned question interrupted me. I opened my mouth to say yes, only before I could speak red flames of power lit his pupils and he pulled me on to my knees before him. His mouth met mine in searing heat. Startled, I froze, as his lips met mine in a burning kiss.
Show me your memories, Genevieve. His voice came in my mind, almost an order until he added, Please.
Disappointment flew through me as it clicked that this was the memory kiss, the Red Shamrock blood power kiss he’d asked permission for in the hotel function room. But hey, this was Malik, and it was still a kiss.
I pressed my body to his, eagerly returning the kiss and murmured, See them, in his mind.
Then I was falling, twisting like a leaf in a high wind, images from my past swirling around me in an ever-changing montage, until one particular memory hit as clear and sharp as if it was yesterday, and not more than twenty years ago.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I was four.
My father, tall and blond and aristocratic, was dressed in his special black suit with the satin lining, the one that matched my stepmother Matilde’s sapphire-blue eyes. We were in the great hall of some ruined castle that was our latest home; an empty, echoing acre of grey flagstoned floor, lit by a distant fire. I stood between Matilde and my father, his hand a restraining weight on my shoulder, fearful as I sensed their unease about the strange vampire who visited us.
The stranger faced us. Shadows writhed around him like angry spirits, shredding and reforming in a non-existent wind, shrouding his face in darkness. Only now I could see past them. The stranger was Malik, but he was still a stranger. There was none of the warmth or humour or humanity I was used to seeing; instead a vicious cruelness sharpened his beautiful features.
‘Is this the child, Andrei?’ Malik’s low disdainful voice, with its not-quite-English accent, ran a shiver down my spine, then and now.
‘Greet our guest, Genevieve.’ My father’s hand pressed on my shoulder.
I stuck out my black patent toe, clutched the slippery green satin of my dress and bent my knee in a trembling curtsey.
Malik’s insistent fingers gripped my chin, jerking my face up. ‘The eyes are truly sidhe fae,’ he murmured, his expression as cold and hard and brutal as his fingers. ‘I am sure my master will be pleased. All that is left is to confirm the contract. I am to take a sample.’
‘Niet.’ Matilde spat out the word.
My father hissed. ‘It is but a taste, Matilde; no harm will come to the child.’ My father offered the stranger a low bow. ‘My apologies. You have my permission.’
Malik knelt on one knee before me, avarice and an alien anticipation filling his eyes, and held up a silver dagger. ‘Janan, Beloved of Malak al-Maut. Forged by the northern dwarves from cold iron and silver. Tempered in dragon’s breath.’ The blade gleamed red in the firelight. ‘The handle is carved from a unicorn’s horn.’ Pale light bled from between his fingers. ‘And set with a dragon’s tear.’ An oval of clear amber winked against his palm.
The part of me still in the present recognised the silver dagger. It was the one from the tarot cards. The Bonder of Souls.
In the memory Malik’s hand clamped around my left wrist, his power freezing me so I was unable to move, but I heard my bones crack, felt the pain lance through my small body. His nostrils flared with pleasure.
The blade traced a slow, icy-path down my inner arm.
I cried, though no sound came out, my tears mixing with the thin rivulets of my blood to pool on the flagstone floor . . . as Malik used Janan to bond my soul to his.
‘Genevieve!’
The memory fled, leaving my tongue coated with the sickly sweet taste of strawberries. The taste of the Morpheus Memory Aid potion. Just my bad luck I’d have another adverse reaction to the damn spell. Not that the memory of Malik taking my blood for his master, the Autarch, when I was four was new. I’d just never experienced it with quite such clarity before. Or remembered Malik being quite so detached and pitiless before.
I realised we were kneeling together in the small boat, my hands balled in his T-shirt and his arms tight about me as if he thought I was about to jump. He wasn’t far wrong. My heart thudded in my chest as I looked into his obsidian eyes, now inches away from my own, seeing the flickering remnants of the past in their black depths. ‘You hurt me deliberately,’ I whispered, hearing both my four-year-old’s fear and my current shock in my voice. I swallowed back the ache in my throat. ‘You enjoyed it.’