She is infuriating and selfish and awful.
Aerin takes a long pause as her eyes travel over Malice’s bare chest and thighs. Her gaze trails over him, leaving his skin humming with awareness.
“Areyouever going to put some clothes on?” Her features morph into a smirk as she turns back to her reflection, beginning to brush through the nest that is her hair.
“After I get some answers,” Malice retorts. He will not let her scrutiny get to him. She shrugs as she untangles the strands.
“I guess you’ll be naked for a while then because I’m not telling you a damn thing. Don’t forget that I don’t want you here.”
Malice knows it’s a stupid thing to say, but it falls from his mouth anyways: “It’s not your choice.”
The Princess laughs, though its forced and aggravated. When she finally stops, she stands and strides to him. She halts her approach a few inches too close to him, looking up through her thick lashes. In exactly one breath, all the anger that gripped his body leaches out.
Replaced by something else, something like a taut string drawn between them, begging to be plucked. Aerin licks her lips, her eyes catching on Malice’s.
Then she speaks, and the moment is shattered.
“Being my personal guard is your problem, not mine. Good luck keeping up.” She pats his bare chest with a few terse taps before slipping by Malice once again.
If Aerin Tolvare wants to play games, then he is ready to play.
13
MALICE
Play they do.
Whether it’s a game of predator versus prey or a game of chicken Malice can’t tell, but over the next two weeks he does his best to keep up with Aerin Tolvare. In turn, Aerin does her best to shake him: sneaking out of the apartment, leaving events without warning, slipping into crowds at school. Every time she evades him, Malice uses one of his many skills to find her. And each time he does he feels a rogue sort of pride.
Of course, Aerin Tolvare is exceptional at turning this pride on its head. She lashes out at him with snarky comments or painful come-ons meant to make him uncomfortable. She becomes more precise in her escapes, leaving less clues, seen by fewer creatures in the streets. There are a few times when Malice doesn’t find her, searching and searching only to head back to the apartment in defeat and find her there: smirking wildly, asking him if he enjoyed his afternoon.
Malice will admit, only to himself, that he’s enjoying their games. Aerin is a formidable opponent and though chasing her around Valtara isn’t what he expected to be doing with his time here, it’s certainly more entertaining.
When he woke this morning, Aerin was already gone, though a few minutes later, his phone alerts him that Aerin swiped her keycard at the Royal Village gym. This part of Aerin’s routine is generally predictable, and Malice is not surprised to find Aerin lifting weights across the massive gym space when he arrives. Her blonde hair hangs down her back in a braid, her bare shoulders already glistening with sweat.
Malice gives her a nod when she glances in his direction. Aerin gives him a mock smile before flipping him off and turning back to her machine. He bristles but grabs a band to warm up his muscles anyways.
As the morning passes, more creatures trickle into the space, chatter overlapping with the loud music. Aerin is running sled pushes, one of Malice’s own personal levels of hell, on the turf across the gym. Meanwhile, Malice has convinced a Lion Shifter in the Royal Guard to spar with him.
After landing flat on his ass for the fourth time in a row, the Lion laughs uncomfortably. “I think I should find someone closer to my level,” he says, rubbing his ribs where Malice landed a hard blow.
Malice barely grunts in acknowledgement, shuffling off the mats. Aerin should be done soon, so instead of searching for another partner he chugs water and starts stretching.
“Hey, Dragon!” A voice calls across the gym.
It comes from Bryer, or perhaps Kallan. The fire-Fae twins stand on either side of the bench where Bruin Tolvare is doing chest press. They are identical in almost every way: bronze-colored eyes, brown hair with a slight red tint in the sunlight, lean with muscles, and wide, white smiles.
Bruin racks the weight as Malice approaches, standing up from the bench. One of the twins, the one Malice thinks is Bryer, drops down onto it, starting his own reps.
“Hey,” Bruin greets him, hand slapping Malice’s shoulder. “How’s it going?” Bruin’s smile is big and friendly, his demeanor kind.
“Fine,” Malice answers in the same brusque manner he always addresses the Prince.
“She’s not giving you much trouble, is she?” Kallan asks from where he spots Bryer, his hands hovering around the bar as Bryer rhythmically brings it down to his chest then up into the air again.
“Aerin. Is. Heaps. Of. Trouble,” Bryer says on the up of every rep. Finally, Kallan guides the weight back to the rack and Bryer sits up.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Malice assures Bruin.
