I felt myself leaning in, my body drawn to his like a ship caught in the pull of an unseen tide.
I wanted to fall into him.
To sink into that voice, into that touch, into the inexplicable longing unfurling inside me?—
No.
Roman.
Remember Roman.
Your husband.
Malik was nothing to me. He was tricking me and luring me into his world. I was betraying Roman.
I shoved him away.
“Stop,” I gasped, horrified by my reaction. “Where is Roman? Where are you holding him?”
The warmth of Malik’s touch vanished, but his intensity never wavered.
He only stared at me.
The silence thickened, pressing down on my chest. The air between us felt charged, vibrating with something I couldn’t name—something that made my heart pound for all the wrong reasons.
“I don’t have your husband. He’s not here.”
The words struck like shards of broken glass—sharp, unforgiving, painful.
I seized his lapels, desperation igniting in my veins. “But you know where he is! I saw you take him! I saw you through my dagger—holding him!”
Malik rocked backward, forcing me to release him. He swayed, his body moving as if stirred by a wind only he could feel.
And once again, he said nothing.
The silence threatened to swallow me whole.
I snapped.
“What have you done with my husband? Did you kill him?”
My fury boiled over. I cocked my arm back, ready to strike?—
Malik caught my wrist.
His grip was firm but not punishing. He unfurled my fingers, smoothing my palm with deliberate strokes.
And just like that, I was caught again.
My breath hitched as my body betrayed me, swaying in rhythm with his. Back and forth. Back and forth. A breeze neither of us should have been able to feel, yet somehow, only we could.
Then he spoke, his voice deep, soothing, lethal.
“I took him to a place to heal, Olivia. You will see him soon.”
I stopped breathing.
Roman was alive.
