Page 13

CHAPTER 13

Raven

The room is too quiet now.

The candlelight flickers, sending shadows dancing across the cracked walls, the old wooden floor cool against my bare skin. There is an omnipresent tension around us, like the echo of what just happened is lingering, waiting for me to say something.

I don’t. Because I don’t know what to say.

I sit up slowly, pulling the toga around me like it’s some kind of shield. My legs feel shaky, my breathing uneven, but the heat curling inside me is already fading, replaced with something colder. Something uneasy.

What the hell did I just do?

Malakai is still lying there, propped up on one elbow, watching me with that smug, lazy grin like he’s got me all figured out. Like he knew I’d end up right here, tangled up with him, gasping his name into the dark.

Cocky bastard.

"You gonna overthink it now, Lamb?" His voice is low, rough from everything we just did, and fuck, it makes something deep within me tighten again.

I shoot him a glare, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips at the way he’s looking at me. "I’m not overthinking anything."

His smirk deepens. "Yeah? Then what’s with the look?"

I hate that he’s right.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. "I just..." I glance down at my fingers, curling and uncurling in the sheets. "This isn’t me."

Malakai shifts, moving before I even realize it, and suddenly his fingers are under my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. "It is now."

I gasp, but it isn't as loud as I thought it would be.

His eyes, those sharp green eyes that have been messing with my head since the moment I met him, hold me there. Not just my body—my fucking soul .

"You think this changes something?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

His thumb brushes my bottom lip, slow, teasing. "It already did."

I should be panicking. I should be throwing up walls, reminding myself that this was just a heat-of-the-moment mistake.

But I can still feel him on me, inside me, like his touch is burned into my skin.

Malakai Vega doesn’t just touch people. He claims them.

And I let him.

Shit .

I clear my throat, pulling away, gripping the sheet around me, and preparing to get up. "I should go."

The second I sit up, his hand snaps out, wrapping gently—but firmly—around my wrist.

"Not happening."

I turn to face him, and he’s sitting up now, completely unbothered, his messy dark hair falling over his forehead, expression unreadable.

I narrow my eyes. "Malakai?—"

"You’re mine for the night." His grip doesn’t tighten, doesn’t force—it just holds. A silent reminder. A promise. "Stay."

The way he says it makes my throat go dry.

This is a game to him. It always has been. But this feels... different. Like he’s not just claiming me for the sake of winning.

He wants me to stay.

Maybe that should scare me more than it does.

I hesitate, feeling my pulse thudding against my ribs. "I’m not one of your playthings, Malakai."

His lips twitch. "Never said you were."

I don’t move.

Neither does he.

Then, slowly, he tugs me toward him. I let him.

Just this once.

I lie back down, still wrapped in the sheet, still pretending I have some kind of control here, and he just watches me like he’s already won.

Fucker.

I roll onto my side, my back to him, my heart hammering. I hear him shift and then warmth presses against my back, his arm draping casually over my waist like this is the most natural thing in the world.

My body reacts before my brain does.

I should move away. I should. But instead, I stay still, listening to the sound of his breathing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my spine.

"You’re overthinking again," he murmurs.

"Shut up."

His chest shakes with a quiet chuckle. "Go to sleep, Lamb."

I don’t argue.

Because for the first time in a long time, I feel safe.

And I don’t want to think about what that means.

So I close my eyes and let Malakai Vega hold me through the night.

Malakai falls asleep before I do.

I can tell the exact moment it happens—the slow, even rise and fall of his chest against my back, the way his grip around my waist loosens slightly but never fully lets go.

He sleeps like he’s never had to be afraid. Like nothing in the world can touch him. And maybe that’s true. Malakai isn’t the kind of person who loses sleep over things. He does what he wants, takes what he wants, and doesn’t look back.

I wish I could be like that.

Instead, I’m lying here wide awake, staring at the cracked ceiling, my thoughts spiraling so fast it’s making me feel sick.

I cheated on Alex.

The thought threatens to crack me and break me into a million pieces.

Alex, who trusted me. Who has always been there for me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from creeping in, curling around my ribs like a vise.

I let Malakai touch me. Let him ruin me. I gave myself to him. That should be the worst part, but there's something even worse—I don't regret it. Not as much as I should, anyway.

I exhale slowly, pressing my fingers to my forehead. Maybe I am the villain in this story. Maybe this was selfish and reckless and a thousand other things I don’t want to admit.

But then my thoughts shift, twisting in a different direction.

Alex. Does he actually care about me? Or was I just convenient? The answer sits heavy in my chest.

Alex didn’t bring me here because he wanted me beside him. He didn’t ask me to do this ritual because he thought I could handle it.

He did it because he needed me to. Because I was his safest bet. The girl who would say yes. The girl who would sacrifice for him.

And now, where the hell is he? Not here. Not with me. He probably thinks I’m tucked away in some spare room, waiting for this whole thing to be over so I can go back to being his quiet, obedient support system.

He has no idea that I’m lying in his enemy’s arms.

I let out a bitter laugh, so soft even I can barely hear it.

I should be furious at myself.

And at Malakai.

Especially at Malakai.

He’s an arrogant, cocky, infuriating asshole . A bully who gets off on power plays and on watching people squirm.

But the second I think it, my mind betrays me. I remember his hands—how they didn’t rush, how they waited for my reactions. How he could’ve pushed but never did.

I remember how he made me feel.

Like I was wanted .

Like I was more than just someone’s obligation.

And that’s what scares me the most.

Because I don’t hate him the way I want to.

I should —God, I should. But something has already shifted, cracked open in a way I can’t fix.

And I don’t know how to come back from it.

Sleep isn't going to be an option tonight, I assume. Not after everything. So, my mind obviously decides to mess with me, taking me back to a time when I wondered if Alex and I were going to disobey the megachurch rules.

It was late, past curfew, and we were in Alex’s dorm room. The glow from his desk lamp was the only light in the room, casting long shadows over the walls.

He was kissing me—something we’d done a thousand times before. But this time, it was different.

Deeper. Hungrier.

For a moment, I thought— maybe .

Maybe he wanted me the way I wanted him. Maybe this was the moment when all of his restraint, all of his carefully constructed control, would break.

His hands skimmed my sides, my breath hitched, my fingers curled into his shirt. Pull me closer , I remember thinking.

And then?—

He pulled away.

Just like that.

His lips barely left mine, his breath warm against my skin, but his body—his energy —was already retreating.

I tried not to let the disappointment show when he pulled back completely, smoothing down his shirt like we hadn’t just been tangled together.

He smiled, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to my forehead.

Like I was holy .

Like I was something to preserve, not something to crave.

“I should probably get some sleep,” he'd murmured, voice even, unaffected.

I nodded, forcing a small smile, even though my heart was hammering in my chest.

Even though I knew what had just happened.

Or rather—what hadn’t .

He had never wanted me like that.

Not really.

Because even in that moment, when my body was practically begging for more, when I had looked at him and thought please, just let go ?—

He didn’t.

He wouldn’t .

Because this?

This was never about me .

This was about his image. His purity. His vow and his promise to his father. And of course, all of that wasn't really about religion or anything else—it was about his father and their family's influence.

I was just an accessory to that fake righteousness. He didn't think about righteousness when he had to send me here on this chase. I had probably always been a prop to him.

Nothing more.

The contrast between then and now is sharp, brutal. Because Malakai? He wanted me. Not as some symbol, not as some box to check off on his list of moral obligations. As a woman . As someone he craved, someone he couldn’t fucking resist.

And I realize—I don’t miss the way Alex treated me. I don’t miss the hesitation. The restraint. The half-measures.

I want this . The fire. The hunger. The damn certainty .

I turn my head, my gaze landing on Malakai, his bare chest rising and falling as he lies beside me, his eyes half-lidded. I recall how he was watching me when his hands were all over me. He wasn't pretending to worship or idealize; he genuinely wanted me. At least when we had our moment.

And for the first time in my life?—

I finally know the difference.

I fall asleep to that thought. It's comforting in a way. There's a sense of relief flooding through me, helping me step away from the seriousness of my reality to the world of dreams.