"You heard me." The shadows tighten. "Is this a Light Court agent you needed to eliminate? A loose end?"
"I just saved your bloody life," I snap.
He steps forward, his face a mask of controlled rage even as he sways slightly. "No, you just silenced an enemy. A dead one is no good to me." His gaze sweeps over the corpse, then back to me. "I needed information. I needed to know who sent him, what they know."
The shadows at my feet pulse with his anger, but I stand my ground. "And what was I supposed to do? Let him kill you while I politely asked for his credentials?"
We face each other across the assassin's body, both breathing hard. The dark lines from the poison have spread further up his arm, branching across his shoulder.
Malakai sways suddenly, his eyes widening. The shadows around my ankles dissolve, retreating only to dissipate into wisps. He reaches for the edge of his desk but misses.
"Malakai?" I take an involuntary step forward.
He tries to speak, but only manages a strangled sound before his knees buckle. I lunge forward, catching him before he hits the floor. His body is burning with fever, convulsing slightly. His Alpha scent radiates distress and pain in waves that make my Omega biology respond with protective urgency.
"Guards!" I scream, my voice cracking with desperation. "Someone get the healers! Now!"
Malakai's hand finds my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong despite his weakened state. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see genuine fear there—not of death, but of something else.
"Don't..." he manages, his voice barely a whisper. "Don't let them...take me from you."
The words send a shock through me. Through our bond, even weakened by poison, I feel his Alpha instincts fighting to stay conscious, to stay with his mate.
"I won't," I hear myself promise, cradling his head in my lap. "I won't let anyone take you."
His fangs have descended—an involuntary response to the poison and distress. They're dangerously close to my throat, to my scent gland, and for a terrifying moment I think he might bite me accidentally, might complete the mating bond while delirious.
But instead, he turns his head away with visible effort, even in this state trying to maintain that last boundary between us.
"Stubborn Alpha," I whisper, and I don't know if I mean it as an insult or something else entirely.
His only response is another convulsion as the poison spreads further, and all I can do is hold him and wait for help to arrive, trying to ignore the way my Omega instincts are screaming at me to protect him, to save him, to never let him go.
CHAPTER 15
THE CURSE
MALAKAI
There's a peculiar irony to shadow magic, one that most people never live long enough to appreciate. The same darkness that gives me power can also consume me if I'm not careful.
Right now, it's doing exactly that.
I can feel the curse feeding on my shadow magic, growing stronger with each pulse of power through my veins. I was speaking to Seraphina when I collapsed, accusing her of killing the assassin so I wouldn't get a chance to question him. The poison from the blade worked quickly, completely immobilizing me, which is a fucking shame.
"If this is what dying feels like," I rasp to no one in particular, "I'm deeply disappointed. I expected a more dramatic exit. Perhaps a choir of demons singing my praises or at least some impressive pyrotechnics."
"Stop talking," a voice commands from somewhere to my left. Seraphina . My beautiful mate sounds genuinely irritated, which I find oddly comforting. Hatred is familiar territory. Concern would be far more unsettling.
I turn my head, immediately regretting the movement as pain lances through my skull. She's sitting beside my bed, her golden eyes fixed on me with an intensity that might be unnerving if I weren't already in agony. The candlelight catches in her dark hair, creating a halo effect that seems painfully ironic given our circumstances.
"Ah, Omega," I manage through gritted teeth, "have you come to witness my suffering? Looking for pointers on how to finish the job?"
"I'm trying to keep you alive," she replies, pressing a cool cloth to my forehead. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through me that has nothing to do with the curse. "Though I'm questioning my sanity in the process."
"That makes two of us," I mutter. "Why exactly are you playing nursemaid to your sworn enemy? Couldn't bear the thought of life without me?"
Her hand stills momentarily before continuing its work. "The fated mate bond, remember? If you die from this curse, I suffer, too." She wrings out the cloth in a basin beside her, then returns it to my brow. "Self-preservation is a powerful motivator."
