Chapter 4
Throughout the night, I didn't sleep.
I spent the remaining hours of the dark sitting in the armchair across from the bed, watching the rise and fall of Malakor’s chest. The storm outside eventually subsided, but the silence inside my chamber was far more dangerous.
The ticking clock had strangely formed a perfect rhythm with my beating heart each time my I took my gaze from the prince for a split second and returned it back to him. He looked very calm and peaceful and at some point, his eyebrows would furrow and his nose would flare. I didn't know what to make of the sight. But I would rather have a stake driven through my heart than to call it cute.
By dawn, he was awake long before he opened his eyes. I could tell by the subtle shift in his pulse, the way his shoulders imperceptibly squared under the heavy furs.
The feverish flush on his skin had ebbed, replaced by the pale, icy perfection typical of high nobility. His breathing had smoothed out. The shadow-rot was completely gone-healed by the very venom that should have dissolved his organs.
I shook my head slightly, still in disbelief at such a miracle. And then I made a mental snort. His survival would have to be classified as an anomaly. The next person that would ever dare to take that risk of ingesting my blood again will be given a trip to the afterlife as usual.
Malakor’s golden eyes snapped open. They were no longer hazy with delirium; they were sharp, piercing, and clear.
He sat up with a fluid grace that betrayed none of the near-death agony he had suffered hours prior.
"You're alive," I blurted. "A pity for your enemies. And here I was thinking you would have made a fine servant for the ruler of the underworld."
His gaze swept over the room—the arched stone, the black velvet drapes, and finally, me.
"Belladonna." His voice was deeper now, rested, but carrying a strange edge that sent a strange jolt to my chest.
He looked down at his bare chest, tracing the clean, unblemished skin where the black curse had been burning him alive.
"It worked." His eyes shone with glee.
"Indeed, it worked," I agreed, rising from my chair. "Which means you owe me your life, Malakor. And now that you are no longer bleeding on my antique rugs, you can take your crown, your enemies, and get out of my mountain."
Malakor swung his legs over the side of the bed, flexing his shoulders as he tested his regained strength. He was thoroughly unperturbed by his bare torso or possibly still occupied with the miracle of his survival
But as he stood up, he paused and his nostrils flared. At that moment, a sudden tension filled the room.
"What is it?" I asked, my hand instinctively dropping to the dagger hidden in the folds of my robe.
"My throat," he responded, his eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, wild intensity. "It feels... hollow. Cold."
"That is the residual venom." I took a step back. "Your body survived the purge, but your veins are still adjusting to the toxicity."
"No," His voice dropped an octave as he shook his head. "It’s not adjusting. It’s starving."
A strange growl rumbled through his chest and his tongue darted out to trace his lower lip. "And I know just what would quench my hunger."
His gaze followed the movement of my hand to my hip, reaching for the blade. His eyes locked onto mine and a challenging, yet predatory grin curled his lips
Before I could draw my blade, he moved.
He was faster than any vampire I had ever encountered. In a blur of shadow and raw motion, he closed the distance between us. My back slammed hard against the cold wall, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. His massive frame pinned me in place, one of his palms slamming against the wall beside my head, the other gripping my chin with unbelievable force.
"Malakor!" I hissed. With his focus on my face, I utilized the chance to retrieve my dagger and brought it up toward his ribs.
He didn't even look at the blade pressing against his flesh. His eyes were ablaze, the pupils dilated so wide the golden irises were mere rings of fire.
"I've tasted the finest blood from court concubines and ancient lineages." His voice lowered to a husky whisper as he leaned down until his lips were a breath away from the pulse pounding in my neck. "Nothing compares to yours. It’s pure, liquid dominance. It’s a drug."
"It’s poison," I snapped, digging the point of my dagger into his side, drawing a thin line of red. "And I will fill your belly with enough of it to finish the job if you don't stop this stupidity and release me this instant."
Rather than pull away, he leaned even closer and his tongue darted out to taste the air right above my skin, inhaling the scent of my venom. My toes curled and my lips tightened to prevent a traitorous sound from escaping my throat.
"You think you scare me with your poison?" Amusement danced across his features. "I just survived your worst. And all it did was make me somehow stronger."
I nearly jumped out of my skin as his finger made contact with my thigh beneath the robe. If he dared to trace his finger upward, he would make the scandalous discovery that I was not wearing any underwear.
"All it did was make me crave more," he added, pulling his finger away to my half relief.
"You're out of your mind," I seethed.
"I'm addicted." His gaze dropped to my lips. "And you... you are going to give me another taste."
His grip tightened, his forehead resting against mine as we breathed the same static-charged air. The sheer power radiating from him was intoxicating, a dark force clashing against my own lethal pride.
We stood suspended on the edge of a knife—a prince bound by a deadly craving, and a queen holding the blade that could undo him.