She waited for his reply, and when it didn’t come, she pressed him further, her voice demanding and her heart fast. Too fast.
“How did you get this—”
Mal cut her off, his voice deadly calm. “I did not answer the first time.”
Maeve groaned, a mixture of pain and anger, as she pushed off the wall and made to slam her hand into his chest. The corridor tilted slightly as she attempted to push him away. Electric Magic burst from her fingers as she made contact, sending her back into the hard wall.
He pressed another vision forward. And another. Each one was more intimate than the last. Each one showed time that couldn’t possibly have passed, private moments she was certain were lies. His protection. His possession.
His hand in hers at her father’s funeral.
Despite her knees buckling beneath her, Maeve threw up what little energy she had to force the vision away. Mal loomed over her once more in the darkened corridor at Castle Morana.
Just a little blood, Maeve, please. Please. Please!
“Get out, get out, get out,” she cried, gripping the sides of her head as dozens of his words filled her mind. Some tender and some furious.
His fingers pressed against her throat, tracing her dark veins.
“And one more, for good measure,” said Mal, his voice too calm. Too sinister. Too deadly.
With ease, he forced another vision into Maeve’s mind. The darkness around her vanished and was replaced by a hazy morning light.
Mal held Maxius, moments after his birth, in one gently cradled arm, as Maeve remained collapsed against him in the large bed. He continued to hold her tight, sending visible, calming, and healing Magic through his fingertips.
“A boy, Malachite,” said Irma Mavros with pride. “Just as you said. Congratulations.”
Mal didn’t tear his eyes away from the small life in his arm.
“Well done, Astrea,” muttered Irma, giving her daughter, who had delivered Maxius and kept Maeve completely calm, a soft smile.
Mal looked down at Maeve and adjusted himself to press a kiss to her hair.
“My Little Viper,” he praised. “Look what you have given us.”
The vision shattered like glass, falling in a hundred reflective pieces and plunging her into darkness.
Chapter 9
Herpale eyes darkened as she went limp against the wall. Mal caught her smoothly, scooping her up into his arms. In all his visions, her eyes were a signature Sinclair blue. Another mystery to solve. Her head rolled against his shoulder as her eyelids slipped closed.
“That was too easy, Maeve.”
He fed his Magic deep, calling for Astrea through the brand of Magic on his healer’s chest. He felt her on the move at once, successfully beating him to their destination, just as he hoped she would. He carried Maeve across Castle Morana, staying in the shadows until he reached The Healing Wing.
The doors were already swung open. Astrea swore under her breath as she took in the sight of Maeve.
“She collapsed in the corridor, outside the ball,” said Mal, keeping his voice smooth and even. “I came upon her just as she nearly hit the floor.”
“Lay her down,” instructed Astrea gently.
Mal draped her limp form across the exam table, watching as her head rolled to the side. Her Magic was unstable, erratic, and so,sovery dull. His lip curled at the feeling, just how dampened she was from the poison Astrea and Alphard had been forcing down her throat for fuck knows how long now.
He knew little of her, but he didn’t need to know her to feel the Magic that once poured from her. It lingered on her skin like perfume. It begged for release.
“How long has she had these episodes?” he asked Astrea, knowing her answer might still be a lie, through no fault of her own.
“Since we left Earth,” replied Astrea.
