John James scanned the tree line, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, as if something—or someone—was listening.
Then he turned back to me, his grip on my arm tightening.
“You must travel back in time and deliver your journal to Eyan Malik,” John James said with urgency in his voice. “He’s in 1582.”
I froze, my breath catching.
“Malik isdead,” I snapped. My throat constricted around the words, memory, and disbelief crashing together.
John James held my gaze, unwavering. “No. Eyan Malik is very much alive.”
I staggered back as that revelation settled in. The last time I saw Malik, he rotted in Balthazar’s dungeon. I had tried to poison him—and failed. Now he wasalive? Somewhere in time? How?
“Go!” he barked. “Find him. And get these cursed items as far from here as possible—before Balthazar arrives and leaves nothing but corpses.”
Fear wrapped around me like a noose, tightening with every second. But there was no time to hesitate. I had to go. I had tobelieveI could find Malik before Balthazar found me.
And yet… doubt filled my thoughts.
“How do you evenknowMalik is alive?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
John James hesitated. “My sources say he’s in another timeline. Italy. The late 1500s.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course. You and your damn secrets.”
Frustration welled up, hot and bitter. “Fine. I’ll go to the 1500s. But maybe—just once—you could tell me your mysterious ‘sources’?”
His face went ghost-pale. His hands trembled at his sides.
“I can’t,” he whispered. “If I speak their names… I’ll die.”
I took a step closer, anger flaring. “Curse you—and your brother. You’re both fools. Playing with forces you barely understand.”
John James winced like I’d struck him, pain and panic flickering in his eyes. But then something shifted. He straightened, his voice hardening with resolve.
“Balthazar is hunting us all,” he said. “And you’re wasting time.”
He grabbed my arm again, his grip iron-clad.
“Take the blade to Zampa. Then find Malik. Give him the journal. He’s the only one who can stop what’s coming. He is our last hope. For the love of God, Alina—do this quickly. Or everything we know will be lost.”
Chapter 42
Alina
In a blinding flash, I landed on the sun-drenched cobblestone streets of 1582 Italy.
The world exploded around me in color and motion—too vivid, too alive. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread drifting from nearby ovens, sweet and tempting like a siren’s call. People bustled through the narrow lanes with purpose, their chatter rising like a distant chorus. Warm wind brushed my skin, but the ache in my chest was cold.
This was where I first met Balthazar.
A shudder tore through me at the memory, followed by an unbearable wave of yearning that nearly buckled my knees. It burned, that desire. Scorching and cruel. I hadn’t felt it since the moment I left him. No touch had come close to igniting the fire he did. But entwined in that hunger was something far darker—terror.
I had betrayed him in the deepest way imaginable.
I had taken another man to my bed—Raul. And I had fled Balthazar without warning, abandoning him to his fury. He’d made it painfully clear—if I ever gave myself to another, his vengeance would be swift and absolute.
Even now, despite the threat, I ached for him. Craved the madness, the danger. But I had to bury it.
