He didn’t answer.
“How did you hear that name?” he demanded instead.
“John James told Olivia and me about him.” My fingers continued to probe my throat, the tender skin already aching from Balthazar’s grip—no doubt there’d be bruises by morning.
“When Olivia heard Malik’s name, she reacted like she’d met him or at least knew of him. I wasn’t paying attention when she mentioned it.” A blatant lie. I had hung onto every word, dissecting every detail. But Balthazar didn’t need to know that.
His agitation pulsed through the room, an invisible force that sent an unnatural chill creeping along my skin. And yet, the fire still crackled in the hearth, its warmth swallowed by his fury.
“We went to learn more about Eyan Malik from John James. But all I caught was the name. From what Olivia said, he sounded… terrifying. Like another version of you—capable of the same horrors, the same cruelty. I couldn’t believe that the world could stomach two of you. And yet, here we are.”
I rubbed the stubble along my jaw, shifting to sit upright. My limbs, once weak and sluggish, moved with surprising ease. Whatever was in Balthazar’s necromancer tonic, it worked fast.
I kept my gaze locked on him. He was pacing, carving grooves into the stone floor with every heavy step. His mood was foul enough to make me tread carefully.
“What else did James say?” His question had an edge. “He must have said more.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to drag any missing details from the depths of my mind. My palms were damp, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Balthazar loomed closer, the air thick with his barely contained rage. His presence wrapped around me like a vice, pressing, suffocating—until suddenly, it clicked.
I snapped my fingers. “Oh! Right! James said you raised Malik. Looked after him like your own.”
I met Balthazar’s glowing, reptilian gaze, the tension between us suffocating.
“Is he your son?”
“No!” Balthazar’s voice thundered through the room. “Malik was like a son to me once. I took him under my wing, watched over him, guided him through the darkness.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I cared for him.”
He exhaled, his pacing never slowing. “And what did he do in the end? He betrayed me. He turned against the man who showed him his true nature—who shaped him, made him powerful. The son who carries my blood is alive. Malik is long dead, rotting in his grave.”
I stiffened. Was he lying? Lies came naturally to Balthazar, such as breathing. Did he truly have a son, one who was alive and walking among us?
I dragged a hand over the back of my neck to ease the tension coiling in my spine. “So, who killed Malik?”
Balthazar halted, his head tilting slightly. Then, with a voice as cold as death, he said, “Who do you think?”
A pit formed in my stomach.
“I did,” he said. “I killed him long ago when he became a threat. When I could no longer control him, his anger made him reckless. Untrustworthy. He had to go—just like John James.”
A pulse throbbed in my temple. So, he’s the one who killed James—the one who separated his head from his body.
The silence between us turned brittle. I watched him as one would watch a predator, knowing full well I was standing too close to something that could tear me apart.
Balthazar stopped pacing and turned, his gaze searing into me. “What else did James tell you?”
He loomed over me.
I pushed to my feet, unwilling to let him tower over me like some god of death. “James was a strange man,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “He said a lot of things.”
Balthazar’s eyes darkened with a warning. “Don’t try my patience, Marcellious.”
Before I could react, his fingers locked around my throat, squeezing. His pointed nails bit into my flesh.
“Tell me everything that crazy old man told you and Olivia.” His voice was a whisper of fury, vibrating with power. “I know you have more information.”
I clawed at his grip, but his hold was unrelenting. My pulse hammered against my skull.
