I yanked my arm, trying to wrench it from Malik’s grip, but it was like pulling free from solid stone.
“Let me go!” I hissed.
“No, Olivia,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, unyielding as steel.
I whipped my head back toward the dagger’s vision?—
Gone.
The image of Roman and my father had vanished, swallowed by the darkness.
“What did you do?” A sob wrenched from my throat as I lashed out, pounding against Malik’s chest with my free hand.
He caught my wrist effortlessly, raising both my arms above my head.
The air between us crackled. Thick, electric.
My lips parted. My chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
I was clad only in a flimsy nightgown, the thin fabric useless against the heat rolling off his bare skin. His muscles flexed beneath the moonlight, every ridge and plane of his body moving with effortless power.
“I need to heal your palm,” he explained. “You cut too deep.”
My gaze dropped downward to where the dripping blood bound our hands. It ran down my wrist, across his hand, trailing along his arm, twining us together.
A shudder racked through me. I wrenched away, stumbling backward until my legs hit the bed.
Remember Roman, your husband.
This is a trick. Malik’s trying to seduce me with his power.
Malik moved—swift, fluid, unstoppable.
One moment, he was several steps away.
The next, he was in front of me, his hands firm on my shoulders.
Heat curled through my body, melting me from the inside out.
I clenched my fists, desperate to resist the way his emerald eyes shimmered, pulling me in.
“You don’t need to fear me,” Malik said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”
But his presence alone was too much. Too close. Too intoxicating.
I tilted my head back, fighting against his allure. “I don’t know anything about you—except that you’re a demon.” My voice wavered, my pulse thrumming in my throat. “John James told me you’re just like Balthazar. A darkness that can torture and maim me.”
Malik’s lips quirked into something between amusement and challenge. “Then why did you come to me if I’m so dangerous?”
His words slithered around my resolve, tightening, coaxing, demanding.
“I didn’t come to you,” I whispered, my mind scrambling for logic, for control.
But when I tried to pull away, his grip held firm—not cruel, not painful, but commanding.
I had no answer.
I couldn’t answer.
