“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“You too,” she whispered, blinking back tears.
Marcellious hesitated, then turned away, gripping the reins of his horse. But before he could mount, he caught me watching him.
“What?” he grumbled. “What are you looking at?”
I chuckled. “Oh, nothing… just you being all soft with your wife.”
Marcellious scowled. “Yeah, well, I had to watch you get kissy-faced with Olivia. Consider it payback.”
He swung into the saddle, still grumbling under his breath.
Olivia stepped up to Malik, her expression fierce. “I’m counting on you to protect Roman.”
Malik met her gaze with steady resolve. “I already gave you my word.”
Before he could react, Olivia threw her arms around him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Malik stiffened, clearly caught off guard, but after a brief hesitation, he patted her back.
When he lifted his gaze to meet mine, something unspoken passed between us.
I nodded.
Olivia released Malik and stepped beside Emily, gripping her hand.
The two women sniffled as they watched us set off toward town.
The journey took days, and our pace was slowed by Malik’s unavoidable need to kill to maintain his strength. He always disappeared at night, sparing us the sight of his murders—the way he inhaled the very essence of his victims’ souls.
We dug snow caves for shelter at night, curling into the icy hollows for warmth. Once we descended from the mountains, we set up rain shelters near trees, seeking whatever cover we could find.
I missed Olivia fiercely, but knowing she was safe in the count’s home comforted me. And the thought of becoming a father filled me with something I had never quite known before—a deep, unshakable joy. I wouldn’t let anything happen to Olivia or our child.
Finally, we reached town.
Following Count Montego’s instructions, we tracked down a ramshackle establishment to secure our supplies. With sacks heavy with rope, pickaxes, and provisions, we turned our thoughts to finding shelter for the night.
The sky had darkened, clouds swollen and ready to unleash their fury. A real bed—warm and dry—sounded like a luxury we couldn’t pass up.
We found an inn called Hammer & Cross. Its first floor was bustling with a rowdy tavern, and rooms were available upstairs.
After tying our horses outside, Malik hovered by the entrance. “You two go on ahead. I’ll be inside shortly.”
Marcellious and I exchanged a knowing glance. We didn’t need to ask where he was going—or what he was about to do.
With a silent nod, we left him to his grim work.
Inside, the Hammer & Cross was a chaos of voices, the air thick with sweat, ale, and roasting meat. Patrons shouted over one another, slamming tankards onto wooden tables, laughing in drunken revelry.
Marcellious and I pushed through the crowd, heading for the bar at the back, where the promise of strong drink and a moment’s reprieve awaited.
Dark beams sliced across the white-plastered ceiling, mirroring the black timber that framed the walls. Every table overflowed with men downing ale and whiskey, the air dense with smoke and the tang of sweat. Some played cards, others roared in boisterous camaraderie, and a few merely tolerated the rowdy company.
A plump barmaid sashayed toward us, her reddish hair piled high atop her head. Her ample bosom was pushed high in her bodice, sweat-slicked coins clinging to the flesh between them.
“Evening, gents. What’ll it be?” she asked, flashing a gap-toothed grin. She wiped the bar with a well-worn towel before planting her hands on her generous hips.
