He crouched next to the bathtub and propped his arms up on the edge, flicking the bubbles with his fingers. “It’s been a while, Sister.” He lay his cheek on his arm, looking at her sideways with his cat-like eyes penetrating the side of her face. “Care to explain why that is?”
Marina stared straight ahead at the grout in between the tiles, her stomach crawling under his gaze. “Do not answer my question with one of your own.”
Malik pushed her wet hair behind her shoulder, baring the side of her neck. “Of all of our siblings, you have the fairest skin.” His knuckles grazed over her pulse. “Makes your arteries easy to spot. One slice here”—his fingernail edged into the sensitive area of her throat—“and you would bleed out in seconds.”
She swallowed the rising acid back down, clenching her abdomen to suppress her shudder.
Gods, he’d always been a fucking creep.
She snatched his hand and squeezed until she felt his bones crack against her fingertips. “I am in no mood for your games, Malik. If there is no point to your little visit, might I suggest a phone call next time.”
Malik laughed, the vile sound raising the hairs on her nape. “Funny how Mother rots in a cage and here you are, in a damn tub.”
Marina went to release him, but he locked a tight grip around her wrist.
She tugged her arm. He held it firmly. Water sloshed in the tub, rearranging the bubbles. Air chilled her breasts.
Malik leaned forward. Up this close, he smelled metallic, like steel and blood. It turned her stomach.
“Our home was stolen from us.” His eyes were vacant, but the muscles in his neck were corded. His harsh grip bruised the bone of her wrist. “Now, I’m going to need you to get your little ass out of this bath and unleash your nightrazers on thatbitchsitting on our mother’s throne, so we can all go back to the way things were. Sound easy enough,Sis?”
Months had passed since she visited Kaimana. Months since Finnian swooped in and Freya dethroned Mother as the High Goddess. And now that Mother did not reign over Kaimana, thetriplets were exiled from the only home they’d known. Three spoiled little deities without a playground. Take away their toys, and they were bound to throw a fit.
Pathetic.
Marina was in no mood for Malik’s bullshit.
She ripped away from him in a sharp pull. He did not fight her this time.
She rose to her feet. Bathwater cascaded down her naked body.
Malik’s jaws set, the muscles flickering under his skin. His eyes held on her face, proof that she could make him feel just as uncomfortable as he did her.
She wasn’t naive to his manipulative personality. Ambushing her during a bath was meant to take advantage of her in a powerless situation. Anything to make her feel smaller—weaker—than himself. As if baring her body made a difference in her strength.
Idiot.
Malik was no different than all the gods that trespassed her bedchamber, that sought her out in shadow-lit corners of the palace, trying to take when told no.
She teleported across the bathroom to the towel hanging on the wall.
“I never make rash decisions based on fleeting emotions.” She wrapped herself up and weaved the wet ends of her hair into a hairclip. “Perhaps you might learn to do the same.”
“Fleeting emotions?” Through the mirror, he gave her a tense smile as he loomed behind her. “While you are here in your precious village, Astrid, Vex, and I are working to free Mother.”
“Good.” Marina spun to face her brother, her nerves growing frailer the more he spoke. “It is about time the three of you use your heads for something.”
Malik strolled past her to the bathroom vanity, plucking one of her rings from the crystal tray. He held it up and pretended to assess it. “Stop playing with me, Marina.”
He tossed it back down and ran his finger along the row of necklaces hanging on the organizer, coming up beside her. “I’m itching to tear into someone.” He shoved his puffed-up chest against her shoulder as he hovered over her. “Hear their screams.”
She twisted her neck to him, eyes sharpening as a caution. “Make me bleed, and you will wish that you were never born.” The threat came out like second nature, but she could hear how her tone lacked its usual bite—devoid of her inherent severity.
“How odd.” Malik backed away, searching her face, his smirk widening with bloodlust. Her stomach dropped. Of course, he’d noticed it too. “In any other circumstance, you would’ve already chopped my hands off for touching you.”
He referred to the one time in his youth when Marina commanded him to fetch a servant for Mother.
Malik responded by snatching her by the arm and heaving her back before she could walk off. “I am no errand-boy. Do it yourself.”
