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I’m in my own bubble of happiness, right up until the last fork full, when a gruff voice almost knocks me off my stool.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
I just about keep myself grounded, and I’m proud as hell that I at least managed to remain seated at his arrival, before I turn a lethal death glare at the man I know is behind that tone. That rich, blunt, pained tone.
Malik.
My eyes drag over him from head to toe when I finally pull my glare from his. His combat boots and black combat pants make his thighs look thicker, which makes my own thighs clench in appreciation. Continuing up, I notice his black tee tucked into his pants—and doing nothing to hide his bulging biceps—before my gaze settles on his face.
His mouth is pinched, his jaw tight, and his eyes are squinting in confusion as he takes me in at the same time. His red hair looks like he’s raked his fingers through it a time or two, and every fiber of my being wants to cut the distance and fluff it out. Just like I used to.
Somehow, I manage to refrain, crossing my arms over my chest as I give him a defiant look of my own. “I was eating, what does it look like?”
He shakes his head at my comment, not appreciating the added sass I pushed through as he quirks a brow at me. “I mean, why the hell aren’t you in your cage?” he asks, rephrasing his original question, and this time it’s my turn to shake my head.
“Because I was hungry.” I turn my back to him as I grab the Tupperware and cutlery and make my way over to the sink.
I almost think he’s left the room when I don’t get a response, but as soon as I place the items down, hands grab my shoulders, spinning me on the spot and plastering my ass against the cabinet.
“Not what I meant.” His eyes are searching mine now, our bodies pressed together as I blink up at him in surprise. My fingers are curled around the countertop at my sides as I stare at him, reluctantly giving him the explanation he wants.
“I used my magic, duh.” I roll my eyes at him as my chest heaves with each breath. I’m not doing well with him this close. Nope, not even a little bit. When he doesn’t respond, I find myself rambling further. “You’re not the only ones with abilities, you know. We live in a supernatural world for goodness sake, and I’m almost twenty-three.”
I manage to loosen my hold on the countertop to fold my arms over my chest, adding a barrier between us that I desperately need to keep my head on straight. But when I tilt my head back, pursing my lips at him as I give him a pointed look, I only find confusion waiting for me in his eyes.
“But you don’t get magic until you’re twenty-four at Saints Academy.” His brows knit together, like I’m lying and he’s trying to figure out why I would, but he clearly hasn’t been clued in on what’s going on at Saints Academy.
“Ah, you’ve been too busy to keep up with the news, I see.” I attempt to use my elbows to nudge him back a step or two, but he doesn’t budge an inch, continuing to keep me trapped against the cabinet. I consider using my telekinesis, but think better of it, wanting to save that special skill for another time.
“What news?” His blunt tone matches the pinched expression on his face, and I have to fight back another eye roll.
“That young supernaturals were having their magic suppressed. My friend, the one you tore me away from, is the daughter of Nyx, and her arrival at Saints Academy brought a shit ton of carnage along with it.”
“That doesn’t explain how you have magic now,” he interjects. My pulse quickens under his observation, and it takes everything in me to remain calm, confident, and unfazed by his proximity.
“It means I had my magic given to me early to face a test of skill and ability. Which led to even more bullshit. None of which you need to know.” A scoff falls from my lips along with my disbelief, but still, Malik just stares at me.
“So you’re a full angel now.” It’s not a question, but a statement, one I find myself nodding along with as I struggle to find the right words. I know I’m not explaining any of this properly, but who the fuck could? “Why would they do that?”
The question is almost to himself, but I offer him an answer anyway.
“Because there’s a war coming. A war that involves my friends and threatens their safety. A war I should be preparing for beside them. Instead, I’m here, locked in a fucking cell like a prisoner,” I grumble, my emotions bubbling to the surface.
“You’re not fighting in any fucking war.” Before I can argue back, he takes a step away, and my body slumps as I gasp in my first full breath since he announced his presence.
“That’s not a decision you get to make.” I brace my hands on my hips, staring at the back of his head as he walks around the kitchen island.
“Follow me.”
My glare turns into a frown when he doesn’t glance back, heading for the doorway I stepped through earlier.
“Why? Malik, I’m not going back down there,” I state, close to stomping my foot like a child as he shakes his head at me again.
I remain frozen in place until I see him heading for the stairs. Against my better judgment, I race after him. I don’t manage to catch up until he’s at the top, but even then, he doesn’t look back at me. He proceeds to march down the hallway, bypassing two doors on the left and one door on the right, before entering the last door in the far right corner.
Too busy being jacked up with intrigue, I realize all too late that I’m stepping into his bedroom as I move inside and the door closes behind me.
A large bed sits in the center of the far wall between two windows. A navy comforter matches nicely with the pale gray walls and wooden flooring. Someone definitely decorated for them, this sure as shit wasn’t their idea. I refuse to believe it.
