Page 48 of Autumn Queens & Shadows

His shoulders rose faster when I ran the tip of my finger over a few of the jagged marks, his breathing turning shallow.

The only parts of his body that were not inked were his face, part of his hands and his scars. He’d never covered them, always had marked his body around them.

Bored out of my head, I reached for a pen and filled it with ink, starting to trace lines over those scars, drawing over them. Though the colour of the ink was starkly darker than those of the tattoos, my drawings blended quite nicely. Branches. Silly little flowers. Arrows and even some squiggly lines that from an odd angle somewhat resembled birds and wolves and deer.

Very proud of my work, I smiled down at them.

A sudden strange bone chilling sensation raised the hair on my neck, and I startled when I glanced up, catching him watching me, dark amber eyes half shut and drowsy. They first fell on the pen I held and then on his skin before they rose to mine again. Staying there a while, locked on mine.

“It will wash, it’s just ink,” I said quickly, standing so fast the chair groaned loudly against the tiles, the emptiness making the sound echo down the rest of the quiet library. “I’ll grab a cloth.”

His hand wrapped around my wrist, stopping me. “Sit and go on.”

I blinked fast. “What?”

“Go on,” he said, his words slurring like he’d been drinking even though he didn’t smell much like alcohol. “I’ve got loads of them for you to draw on.”

Something heavy settled on my chest and his mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Feeling bad for me, little bird?”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled, pulling me to sit down. “Love it when you boss me around. Don’t you like that, Thora, taking control from me? I know I do,” he murmured low. “But I am a little fucking twisted in the head.”

“I hate every word you say when you are like this.”

That grin turned cruel, only how he knew to be cruel—drained of emotion and drenched rancour. “Then go.”

Never. I wiped a sleeve over my eyes and settled on the chair next to him, dabbing the pen in ink again with shaky hands and blurry eyes, refusing to let this side of him win.

He began undoing his shirt, not taking his eyes off me. “Have fun,” he said, throwing it off and sprawling on his seat, looking the most aware I’d seen him be when he was like this.

He watched me intently through that drowsy look that made my insides twist with something worse than sickness. His head rolled back, and he let out a small groan when I lowered my hand to his stomach. His chest rising and falling fast then faster and faster the more I drew on him, the more of him I touched.

But so did mine. My heart was erratic. My lungs were strained. I wouldn’t weep. I wouldn’t allow myself to cry at the sight of his scars. At the cruelty behind them. At his cruelty to me.

His hand reached forward, his thumb swiping under my eye to wipe tears I didn’t know were pouring. His hand slipped through my hair, and he leaned forward, his lips pressing to my cheek, then closer to my eyes. He kissed each tear away and I sobbed harder, my sounds grew hoarser and louder, they bounced so eerily around the empty library walls. I felt hands ripping me apart from the inside.

“Sooner or later, I knew you’d cry because of me, too.”

“It’s not.”

“Then who are your tears for, Thora?”

I smacked his chest and pushed back to stand. “Not you. You don’t deserve my pity or my tears.” They were for another Malik, the one who’d been too young and innocent to be cruel or hateful.

He got up to follow after me as I weaved through the dark library corridors lit only by some faint distant lantern and the glistening tiny stars on the ceiling.

“Stop it,” I said, stumbling in the darkness.

“Can’t let you be swallowed up by some dark monster.”

I hit him with a book, quickly moving backwards. “You’re the only dark monster in here.”

“Correct. Only I can eat you up, little bird.” He backed me into a corner, caging me in between arms.

“Pleas—”

His hand pressed against my mouth, his body pressed against mine. “Scream, Thora. Bite and scratch and cry, but never beg. Don’t allow anyone to see you at their mercy.” Bringing his face closer, he pressed his brow to mine. “No one.”