A hot wind sprang up from nowhere tangling my hair across my face. When the wind dropped, Malik was standing before me. I shuffled a few feet back up the grassy bank and he sank elegantly down into a crouch before me. He held something grey out. When I frowned at it, he wrapped it round my shoulders and tied it gently. As I watched, he nicked a finger on one fang and let it bead with dark, almost black blood.
He offered it to me. ‘Freely given, Genevieve.’
The scent of liquorice and dark spice drew me and I leaned forward eagerly, sucking his finger into my mouth. A brief glorious taste burst on my tongue then, disappointingly, his finger was gone. I blinked as the aches and pain vanished and the fuzziness in my mind cleared.
His blood had healed me.
I frowned as I realised his hair was dry, as were his leather jeans, and the grey thing around me was the pashmina; also dry. My backpack was on the grassy sand next to me; the spell Sylvia had put on it to keep my things safe had obviously worked to stop its contents getting wet, which explained the pashmina. But not Malik’s dry hair nor the trousers . . . Unless that had been the wind . . . some sort of vamp power . . . something to think about later.
‘Thanks,’ I said, placing my hand on his arm. ‘For helping me.’
‘You are welcome, Genevieve.’ He smiled, then his mouth thinned as he added, ‘Though I fear your clothes are unsalvageable. I did not know how much silver the potion held, so I was primarily concerned with removing them before they could do you harm.’
I gave a lopsided grin. ‘Seems to be a habit you have, ripping my clothes off.’
His mouth twitched. ‘I will replace these as I did the others.’
‘’S’okay,’ I said. ‘Think Tavish owes me, not you.’
‘The kelpie did not tell you there was silver in the potion.’ Condemnation edged his statement.
‘Nope,’ I agreed. ‘But even if he had, neither of us would have thought I’d end up wearing more than a drop at a time, or virtually drinking the stuff. Anyway, I didn’t think silver worked against werewolves?’
‘It does not. I believe silver can be used as a magical carrier for other ingredients. The sidhe do this, so I have heard. It concentrates them, giving them more potency.’
Figured. My lack of knowledge when it came to sidhe magic was almost as frustrating as my lack of magical ability.
‘How about you?’ I asked. ‘Did the silver do you any damage?’
‘Nothing I could not heal.’
‘So, I guess I should say I’m sorry for’ – headbutting you in the balls; nice subtle sophisticated moment, Gen! – ‘um, landing on you like that.’
Malik’s eyes lit with amusement. ‘It was not a . . . landing I had imagined.’
‘Me either.’ I gave him a wry smile, then rolled my shoulders. ‘But finding out you’d used an Angel of Death’s personal blade to bond our souls was a shock.’ I raised my voice slightly in question. We were still in the open, but maybe he could tell me something . . .
He dropped his gaze, broke off a strand of rough grass and twisted it tight around his finger, then let it fall. ‘I did not use Janan to bond our souls, Genevieve.’ He lifted his head. Sadness darkened his eyes then was gone. ‘Your soul was bonded to mine by proxy; mine was not tethered to yours. Your future was not mine, but belonged to the Autarch.’
The usual panic rippled through me. I stamped on it. ‘Yeah, well, the Autarch can go whistle,’ I said flatly. ‘That’s never gonna happen.’
‘No, it will not,’ he replied, moving so he knelt before me.
‘You have nothing to fear.’
I hit him with a sceptical look. ‘Seriously? But you owe him your Oath. What if Bastien orders you?’
Malik’s pupils flared with power. ‘He cannot.’
My gaze caught on the fading scar on his forehead where the Autarch had branded him with delta, meaning slave. Actions speak louder. ‘Fine,’ I said, ‘you might believe that, but I don’t. The Autarch is a sadistic psychopath, nothing’s going to change that no matter what you think.’
‘We have come to an agreement, Genevieve. He has given his word.’
‘C’mon, Malik,’ I said, denying the flicker of hope that he might be right. ‘You know Bastien better than me. Sooner or later he’ll work out a way to get around whatever he’s promised.’
He regarded me for a moment, then repeated, ‘He has given his word, Genevieve.’ But his hesitation told me my suspicion was correct. That he too thought that whatever Bastien had agreed, there was a chance he’d find a way round it. The flicker of hope snuffed out.
‘If you say so,’ I said flatly.
He frowned. ‘Is this why you changed your mind about my invitation?’
‘What invitation?’
‘To meet with me tonight.’
I shook my head, perplexed. ‘I didn’t. I told the woman at Sanguine Lifestyles I’d meet you at the Blue Heart as she requested. I said so yesterday.’
His frown deepened. ‘I sent a text message today to ask you to meet me at sunset instead. Your exact reply was, “Any meeting must be private at office or not at all.”’
‘Huh? Well, it wasn’t me. My phones went kaput this morning and I’ve been stuck with the police on a closed crime scene all day . . .’ I trailed off. I’d left my phones at work to be fixed. Had someone at Spellcrackers been checking my messages? And answering them? But who the hell would do that? Damn it, whoever it was, was due a bollocking.
‘You did not have your phone all day?’
I focused back on Malik. ‘No.’
An odd hesitation showed in his eyes, then he said, ‘After your refusal the other night, I thought you had changed your mind about my invitation.’
Oh. He thought I’d got cold feet. ‘I hadn’t— still haven’t, but . . .’
‘But what, Genevieve?’
Looked like now was the time for our chat. I took a breath and drew the pashmina closer. ‘I’ll be honest, asking me on a date to a vamp club when you had to know I wouldn’t accept’ – I gave him a candid look – ‘well, it smacks of playing games.’
He treated me to a considering look, then nodded. ‘Yes, you are right. I am sorry. I should have stated my concerns plainly and not attempted to force a decision from you. I find your insistence in allying yourself with the witches and fae, to the point where they can dictate your decisions for you, while distancing yourself from the vampire side of your heritage, troubling. And I allowed my disquiet to compromise my good judgement; such a misstep can occur when I am somewhat . . . volatile.’
I gave him an ironic look. ‘You don’t say?’ The corner of his mouth twitched, then his amusement faded as I said, ‘It also made me think the Autarch was behind the invite.’
‘I appreciate why you may have thought that, Genevieve.’ His gaze turned thoughtful. ‘I have given you my assurances that you are safe from Bastien. I understand that you still have some anxiety where he is concerned, but there is no need for it.’
‘I wasn’t anxious about me,’ I said. ‘But you. I thought he was doing some strange possession thing with you.’
Amazement crossed his face. ‘You were concerned for me?’
‘Yes. So once I had time to think about it, I realised I had to accept.’
‘You did?’
‘I thought you needed help.’
One elegant brow rose. ‘You would risk the condemnation of the fae and the witches, and put yourself in danger, to help me?’
‘Don’t act so astounded,’ I said, peeved. ‘For one, as you’ve pointed out, I shouldn’t be toeing the witch and fae line. And two, I’ve helped you before. That time at the Blue Heart with old Elizabetta.’