“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he growled, not even bothering to open his eyes.
I swallowed my fear. Smiled sweetly.
“To the chamber pot, my love,” I whispered, syrupy and poisonous. “Don’t worry… I’ll be right back.”
His fingers flexed around my ankle once, possessive—and then, after what felt like hours, he let go.
I exhaled softly and crept away, my bare feet ghosting across thestone floor. As I passed through the formal living room, the memory of drugging Malik and Layla surged up like a specter. I remembered where Balthazar kept his potions—I’d seen him stash them in his study. And then, like lightning, inspiration struck.
I wouldn’t run. Not yet.
I would drughim.
Slip from his grasp in silence. Leave the monster dreaming while I hunted the blades myself.
If I stayed, we’d never find them. We’d spiral endlessly in our reckless, obsessive dance of sex and slaughter. I needed more. I wanted everything.
My pulse quickened. My fingers tingled.
I tiptoed to his study.
The room opened like a secret—rich crimson walls, candlelight flickering over ancient tapestries, shelves sagging laden with forbidden tomes. His desk sat like a throne at the far end, littered with open scrolls, broken quills, and glass vials. The scent of ink, parchment, and something darker filled the air.
A crystal decanter glinted atop a nearby table, red liquid swirling inside like blood caught in a spiral. Above it loomed a portrait—long ears, curved horns, crimson eyes. A demon. Or perhaps a mirror of Balthazar’s truest self. It watched me, silently judging.
I turned away and opened the cabinet doors beneath the bookshelf. There it was—belladonna. A small vial of crimson glass. Smooth, cool, deadly. My fingers closed around it like a lover’s grip.
I returned to the bedroom. He was sprawled across the furs, naked and unaware, moonlight painting silver over his monstrous form. He didn’t stir as I knelt and uncorked the vial.
Carefully, I tipped a few drops onto his lips.
He frowned. Licked them.
Then rolled to his side, sighing like a spoiled prince. My heart stopped.
Was it enough?
He shifted again, arms outstretched.
“Get me another fur, Alina,” he mumbled, eyes still sealed shut.
I complied, tucking the fur around him like a mother would achild. His lips curved into a dreamy smile, and he sighed contentedly.
Then I poured a few more drops onto his mouth.
But my hands, traitorous, trembling, fumbled.
A thin stream of liquid splashed straight onto his tongue.
His eyes flew open.
He coughed. Spluttered.
“What did you—?” he snarled, but his words slurred, his eyelids drooping. “Bitch,” he mumbled, before sleep dragged him under like a drowning man.
I stood frozen, heart hammering. How long had Malik and Layla been out after their dose? An hour? Thirty minutes? Fear fogged my memory.
No time to guess.
