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EVANGELINE GRAVES

M alachi kept me firmly under his control as we flew, long enough my lips turned blue, my fingers went numb.

I kept my thoughts firmly focused on my hatred, on the foul words he’d forced me to repeat before we’d vanished, on the hurt on Blake’s face, and the rage in Riordan’s. Malachi thought he had the advantage, and until the moment I ended his life, I wouldn’t let him believe otherwise.

We landed hard, Malachi taking the brunt of the impact, the scent of cedar and ice so strong in my nose it took a moment for the new smells to filter in.

Lemon and sunshine and something pleasant, like the books in Darkmore’s library, all dust and parchment and old memories. Gentle, calming music played as I shoved Malachi away, surveying my surroundings, my stomach cramping with despair.

My new prison, for the foreseeable future.

I knew Draven had a flair for the dramatic, but this…this place was a bloodsucker’s wet dream.

Towering pillars of polished obsidian rose to meet a vaulted ceiling inlaid with veins of silver that shimmered like moonlight. Massive chandeliers, adorned with black crystals and flickering candles cast soft, dancing shadows that made the grand room come alive. A grand piano, with yellowed keys carved from ivory, gleaming curves lacquered in jet-black, occupied the center of the sprawling chamber, where the haunting melody played, echoing around the cavernous room.

“Can you not stab me until I have a chance to explain?” Malachi plunged his hands into his pockets, hooded eyes giving away nothing, like the impenetrable darkness looming outside the windows at his back.

I unclenched my locked fists, the music growing louder, each note ringing off the soaring ceiling. “By explain, I assume you mean twist reality into a string of lies that suits your motives?” If I actually had something to stab him with, he’d already be dead, but I was busy shielding my thoughts and coming up with a game plan.

He was paler than normal. Maybe flying through the air for hours took a toll even on the indefatigable Malachi Draven.

Good, he’d be easier to kill when I got my hands on a weapon . At this point, even a butter knife would do. I could hack him apart, one dull slice at a time. I glared at the piano. “Does that thing ever shut up?”

“It’s spelled,” he glanced to the piano, still playing that mournful tune, “to begin playing whenever I cross the wards. It chooses the songs, not me.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll bet the fucking piano has better taste than you.” Malachi’s lips quirked, and with a wave of his hand, the music cut off, leaving us staring in silence.

“Where are we?”

“You know I can’t tell you that, Vicious. Not until we reach an agreement.”

I didn’t even try to contain my snort. “If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath. I’ve never been the agreeable sort, and right now, I’m inclined to be quite… disagreeable .”

His smile deepened into the kind I’d once seen on a wolf, right before it tore a rabbit to pieces.

“Nonetheless, know you are safe. I will not harm you, and the protections around this property will keep you hidden from the king and your mate.”

“Well, that means you get to keep your head a few more days, I suppose.” I pursed my lips, eyeing a heavy gold candelabra well within reach. “Lucky me.”

“This is not a joking matter. Our situation is dire. I need your assistance to…” I lifted a brow at his utter audacity to expect me, kidnapped and pissed off, to help him with anything . Then I lunged, a reckless, wildness urging me faster, grabbed the candelabra and swung.

I missed cracking his skull open by an inch—the ancient fuck was quicker than he looked—but the flash of surprise in his eyes was priceless.

He retreated and I followed, gripping my weapon like a baseball bat.

Picturing his head as a soft, squishy melon.

“We must arrive at a truce, Evangeline.” He put his hands up as he backed away. “You don’t understand how narrow our window of opportunity is to stop Ravok. And he must be stopped.”

“Oh, you mean the monster you kept prisoner all these years, who’s now escaped?” I hefted the candlestick to test for balance as he rounded the piano, putting it between us. “This is on you , Malachi. And the moment Ravok’s strong enough, I know who he’s coming after first, and it’s not me.”

That patronizing, dimpled smile disappeared, replaced by sharpened eyes and a wild, almost-feral gleam on his face.

“I hope your glamour,” I waved my free hand at the ridiculously over the top room, “can keep him out. Otherwise, I expect Ravok is packing a metric shit ton of resentment over being locked away for eons. So good luck staying alive.”

“I could force you to help me.”

“You could.” I agreed. “There’s nothing stopping you.” But my stomach clenched at how helpless I’d been, locked beneath his dominant power. I never wanted to feel like that again. Never .

“I don’t want to,” he admitted softly and somehow, I thought he was telling the truth. “I want you to see Ravok as a threat to everything we both value, and help me willingly. I want us to work together, Vicious, as we once did.”

“Like with Tyrell?” I needed to keep him talking, let down his guard, give me an opening.

“Yes, like Tyrell.” His wary expression shifted toward relief. “But Ravok…he’s like nothing you’ve ever faced before, a monster with voracious, endless appetites. But you’d only have to get close to him long enough to destroy him.”

“With my magic?”

“Your magic is…” he cleared his throat. “It’s not only your blood that is precious. The magic flowing inside you is every bit as powerful a weapon, and in you, the first female born of your bloodline in a thousand years, that magic runs strong. I assume that is why your mother bound you, when you were very young?”

A small, delicate flame cupped in two chubby hands, a deafening roar of sound, Angel’s blue eyes, wide with terror…

I looked away, guilt gnawing at my stomach as greedily as I chewed my lower lip. “There was an…incident. I was too young to understand much except I’d done something terribly wrong. Mom cried the entire time, telling me it was for my own good, and somehow, Silas never found out. He would have killed me.” A blatant lie, because the truth was much uglier, but Malachi looked down at me with a softer expression than I’d ever seen from him and the truth hit me.

We hadn’t kept anything from Silas.

My father had known, because he’d told Tyrell about my powers.

How else would I have ended up in that little red book? My secret written down in black and white for Malachi to leverage? I cut my spiraling thoughts short. Plenty of time later to worry about how I got into this mess. Now was the time to figure a way out.

But the candelabra felt too heavy for me to lift again. I’d been fighting for so damn long, and it seemed like the battles never stopped. They only got bigger.

I couldn’t decipher Malachi’s expression, but I swore the shadows in the corners of the room darkened as he asked, “Your life with Silas…was harsh?”

“I was his eldest daughter. I was expected to…” Unbidden, my throat dried up; my next words got stuck. “Like my mother, Angel was sweet and beautiful and pampered. I was none of those things. At White Chapel, everyone served a purpose, and mine was not to look pretty.”

“Silas and your uncles taught you to fight?” Something glimmered deep in his pale brown eyes, pity, maybe. “To hunt vampires?”

“They did. My training began when I was seven and continued until we went on the run. Angel was too young to learn, but I…” I cleared my annoyingly dry throat. “My skills have served me well, despite how I came by them.”

What the hell was I doing?

Telling this asshole secrets I’d never told another living soul? I was supposed to be spying on him—killing him—yet here I was, blabbing away like some amateur.

“Have you ever used your magic?”

“Not since I was five.” I squeezed my fingers tighter around the heavy candlestick to stop them from shaking. “I expect it’s grown stronger these past twenty-some years.”

“We need to find out.” For the first time since I’d met him, Malachi looked unsure. “Put down your weapon and I will remove the blocking spell, but only for one minute. That should be sufficient to get a read on your magic before I replace the block. I will surround you with a shield of glamour, just to be safe.”

“Good plan. Then I’ll only incinerate myself and not your fancy castle.” I cocked my eyebrow at him, but set the candelabra on the floor with a dull clunk. “So. You planning to do this in here, or…?”

Beyond the main hall was another equally grand room draped in sumptuous velvet curtains and decorated with relics—a gilded chalice from some long-lost empire, a cracked shield and a sword from a forgotten battle, ancient books stacked neatly in towering bookcases that reached to the ceiling. This entire castle paid homage to Malachi’s ageless sophistication, a hidden refuge where he could plot in solitude, filled with the spoils of a hundred battles won, a hundred kingdoms conquered.

“Outside,” he decided. “There is a walled garden which will offer some shelter, and my glamour should be enough to contain your power.”

Not will be enough, and I dipped my head to hide my smile at the uncertainty in his voice. No, his glamour most certainly wouldn’t be enough, but who was I to tell the all-knowing Malachi Draven what to do?