Darling.
The word slithered through my mind, coiling low in my core.
I let my head fall back, thunking against the wall.
His eyes gleamed, dark with something unreadable.
“Your mother lived a tragic life,” he whispered. He traced the side of his finger along my cheek, the touch featherlight. “Life was messy for Alina. It was dangerous and bloody.”
His fingertip trailed along my jawline.
“You must read the journals to find the truth.”
His hand moved lower, gliding down my neck—intentional—then across my collarbone.
He paused at the hollow of my throat, drawing small, lazy circles against my skin.
A long breath slipped from my lips, shuddering.
I should push him away.
I should resist.
But all I could do was stand there, drowning in the heat of his touch.
His fingers spread, his palm curving around my neck—not squeezing or restraining, just there, a whisper of threat and seduction.
Then, he threaded his fingers into my hair, withdrawing them over and over as if memorizing the feel of me.
My lips parted, another sigh escaping before I could stop it.
I felt scared and protected and terrified and captivated.
Caged by his arms, I didn’t want to move—yet I needed to escape.
He’s messing with you. Make it stop.
I shook my head, trying to break his hold over me. “You probably loved my mother. I’ll bet you fucked her, didn’t you?”
Malik’s lips curved, knowing. “Oh, Olivia.”
He lifted a fingertip to my lips, tracing the shape of them.
“You have a very filthy mouth,” he murmured, his gaze dark and unreadable. “But beautiful, kissable lips.”
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Then—his grip on my neck tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of his power.
Oh, God. Is he going to kill me?
“I could turn your life into a living hell,” he murmured. “Just like Balthazar.”
His fingers flexed slightly, but the meaning was tangible, curling through the air like a phantom.
Balthazar was cruel. He took without care, without thought. He wanted to breakme.
But Malik?
