The pale creature’s hollowed and bloodied eye sockets landed on him, as though she could still see him, as her Magical signature spiked with fear. His fingers found her throat, and his turn at torture began.
Maeve found her footing as her fingers pressed into his exposed chest, steadying herself. Power surged through him at her skin on his. Her forehead touched down next, as she expelled a sigh at the momentary reprieve of battle.
Shadow remained locked in Mal’s grip. Maeve had depleted her substantially, and now, with a prophecy fulfilled in his blood, and Dread Magic at his fingers once more, he stood above her in every meaning of the word.
“Tell me, Little Viper,” began Mal, his voice dripping in lethal calm, his free hand at her waist. “Should we make it quick? Or have a little fun?”
A drained sound escaped Maeve, and her neck craned to look up at him. Mal’s determination surged at her attention, but his gaze remained trained on Shadow, on the brutalized carvings at where her stolen eyes should have been.
“I see you already had some fun,” noted Mal, praise seeping into his cold voice.
He looked down at her at last, soaking in his beloved Viper. Red scatterings of Magic that would yield bruises littered her face. Her bottom lip was swollen, a thin crimson slice decorating the pale-pink skin. Despite her battered appearance, it was the proud line of her mouth and slight narrowing of her eyes that made him crave her.
And Mal had never been one to deny himself something he wanted.
Never releasing Shadow, his grip on Maeve’s waist lifted, drawing her up on her toes as his head tilted and he stole her mouth in a slam of fervor with parted lips. It wasn’t gentle. It was fueled by the Magic soaring through him. It was the breaking of the horrors he’d endured for months beneath a monster. He didn’t care that she'd chosen Reeve. He had no concern for the reality he faced.
She would always be his, to him.
And if this was the end of them, he’d finish it his way. No denial. No pretending he was someone he wasn’t. Just her warm mouth after being deprived, denied, and starved of her.
As he stood tall and she lowered from him, her eyes fluttered open as a steady breath rolled through her.
“Take your Dread Magic from me,” he said smoothly.
She obeyed.
The Dread Magic undulating through him swelled with approval at her immediate trust. Shadow began to thrash in his grip. She moved in vain, her efforts ineffective against his hold. Maeve’s palms spread against Mal’s torso, and with a lengthy inhale and the hum of an exhale, she got to work, gently pulling her Dread Magic back into her veins.
It slid from Mal with ease, bringing a sour smile of satisfaction to his lips, especially as Shadow’s attempts to escape him became desperately violent. Maeve’s shoulders rolled back as she stood tall, no longer leaning against him.
She placed a single finger at the center of his chest. Then three more. He felt a shift surge through him, lighter than her own Magic or Maxius’.
It was his.
His eyes shot down to her delicate fingers pressed against him. To the Dread Ring. The black, inky-like veins that ran across her skin writhed. She groaned beneath the strain of her gift as she siphoned his Dread Magic from the ring.
Like a tidal wave, it hit him. Not just his Dread Magic.
All the Dread Magic the ring harbored. His ancestors Vexkari.
It merged with him at once, blossoming beneath his skin. He tasted it on his tongue, metallic and cool. It wound through him in slick and easy paths, coiling like a serpent.
But his Dread Viper, his Little Viper, did not stop there.
He watched as her veins danced with Magic of their own. First flowing down her neck, draining of their darkened color, and down her arms, it emptied into him.
The Magic he’d accidentally scared her with. The Magic that bonded them.
She withdrew it from herself until the black lines running her skin looked like healed scars, pale and flesh colored. Until it was his once more.
“I wanted to give you more, Mal,” she said, her eyes on her own pale fingers. “But your Magic, the Magic she stole, she. . .crushed it completely.”
He already knew that.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I have what is needed to win. All I ask is that you indulge me and fight alongside me one last time.”
Her chest rose and fell in response, and she nodded in earnest.
