Exquisite Captive (30 page)

“Who’s Haran?” Malek asked. “You kept saying his name, just before you woke up.”

She shivered a little, and Malek pulled the blankets over them.

“Someone . . . bad,” she said. “From Arjinna.”

“The one who hurt you in the dream.”

“Yes.”

“And did he hurt you in Arjinna, too?”

Malek’s voice was quiet, but he spoke in the same voice he’d used after killing the client. She looked up at him and gave a slight nod. In the darkness of the room, his eyes flashed red, just for a minute.

“How?” he asked quietly.

It didn’t matter if he knew—Nalia’s game of hide-and-seek with the Ifrit would be over in a matter of days. Hours.

“He killed everyone I loved. And he shot me five times, then filled the wounds with poisoned fire.”

Malek stared.

She curled on her side, facing away from him, exhausted.

“Tell me how to make it better.”

She turned a little, to look into his eyes. “Let me grant your third wish. Then I can go home and kill him.”

The truth—it felt like casting a pair of dice off the side of a cliff.

Hurt lashed across his face, but it was so quick that she could almost tell herself she’d imagined it. Malek tucked a strand of Nalia’s hair behind her ear. “You know I can’t do that.”

She was suddenly aware of her shackles, heavy and binding.

“Can’t?”

“Won’t.”

She turned away from his resolve, but Malek pulled Nalia close to him and kept his arm around her, his palm against her stomach. “Go to sleep,
hayati
.”

It was a command she was too tired to fight. Nalia closed her eyes, lulled into sleep by the sound of Malek’s breath and the steady thrum of his heart against her skin.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

WHEN SHE WOKE UP, NALIA WAS ALONE IN HER BED. ALL
that remained of the night before was the rumpled pillow next to her own. She stared at it for a long moment, as though she could divine the future among its creases and folds.

She didn’t know if Malek had stayed all night—her sleep had been dreamless and deep. For the first time in days, she felt rested. She suspected it was because he had commanded her to sleep; her body obeyed the master-slave bond even if her mind didn’t want to. For once, it had been a good thing.

But no bottle.

She’d been so close. But it did no good to have Malek fall asleep next to her if the bottle was still around his neck. She couldn’t see the barrier of magic that protected the necklace while Malek wore it, but she knew it was there. It was literally impossible for her to touch the chain. And even if the bottle had remained on the floor, she wouldn’t have been able to stay awake long enough to take it. That command to go to sleep had been unexpected—what if he did that next time? Disappointment settled over her, its sticky, too-tight fit on her skin unbearably familiar. Hope seemed like a distant light that had slowly begun to fade.

Nalia forced herself out of bed and opened the window to let a breeze into the room. Even though Malek wasn’t there anymore, his scent lingered: clove cigarettes and the dark promise of something that was too awful to contemplate in the light of day.

Her room didn’t feel
hers
anymore. She had to get out.

It was too late to go to the beach to perform her
Sha’a Rho
exercises, so she threw on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, then evanesced to the farthest reaches of the garden behind the house, where the gardener never bothered to go. Nalia blinked in the strange brightness of the overcast day. Not a bit of blue peeked out of the granite sky, and a dismal hush seemed to have fallen over the city, as though the whole world were holding its breath until Haran arrived. The faint scent of burning hung in the air—the wildfires had started a few weeks ago, as they did every year. Soon, whole swaths of the city’s hills would be reduced to ashes. Last year, the flames had crept toward Malek’s mansion and Nalia had held them back with storms she pulled out of the air. This year, though, she might just let them come.

Burn it,
she thought.
Burn it all.

She closed her eyes and whispered a short prayer to the gods, then centered her
chiaan
: it was a small, blazing sun in the pit of her stomach. In preparation for the first pose, she raised her arms. Just as she was about to begin, the air around her shifted and she knew: a jinni.

Her eyes flew open. Raif stood a few paces away. His thick, dark eyebrows were pulled together, his lips set in a frown. The sandalwood scent of his smoke wafted toward her as the thick plumes of green vanished.

Nalia lowered her arms.
“Jahal’alund,”
she said.

She felt silly, like she’d been caught dancing alone in her room. She’d only ever performed her
Sha’a Rho
among the Ghan Aisouri, the gryphon trainers the only witnesses to their ancient art. It felt wrong, somehow, for Raif to see it. Like she was whispering the secrets of her race because there was no one there to catch her.

“Nalia, where’s the godsdamn bottle?”

Raif made no effort to keep his voice down. She glanced at the mansion, then grabbed his arm and dragged him under a large willow whose long branches brushed the grass in a lover’s lazy caress.

“I’m
trying
,” she said. “Do you think I want to stay here a second longer than I have to?”

Raif shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you do.” He crossed his arms and glanced at the pendant around her neck.

Nalia’s face burned, but she forced herself to keep his gaze. How would Raif feel if, in order to be free, he’d had to sleep with his overlord, with the Ghan Aisouri, with
Calar
? She had to ball her fists to keep her
chiaan
inside her—it shoved against her fingertips, so she crossed her arms across her chest. It was that or send it all streaming into Raif’s face.

“How
dare
you insinuate that I want to be here or with
him
one second longer than I must?”

“I don’t care about how hard it is, or how you feel about him, or anything else you have to say.” His green eyes were catlike, full of hostility. “We made a promise to each other. We’re bound to one another, whether you like it or not.”

A promise Nalia would carry on her skin for the rest of her life in the form of that tiny crescent scar on her wrist.

“You think I don’t know that?” She heard the high note of panic in her voice and swallowed it down. “I was trying to get it last night, but one of Malek’s clients nearly killed me and then I found out Malek can hypersuade and, also, he drowned the guy right in front of me and then after that, Haran attacked me in my dream, so excuse me for not adhering to your schedule,” she snapped.

“Wait,
what
?”

Nalia leaned against the tree trunk. She gripped the smooth bark as a wave of emotion rolled over her—fear, rage, helplessness, shame. For a second, she forgot Raif was there. She held on to the tree and let her
chiaan
flow into it.

“Hey,” Raif said, his voice soft. He leaned close to her and she caught that scent of his, fresh grass and sunlight. The earth after it rains. “Nalia.”

He touched her, hesitant and soft. Just his hand on her shoulder, but it was enough. His calm flowed into her and she was suddenly back in control of herself.

When she opened her eyes, his hand fell away. All around her she could see that the low-hanging willow branches had turned a bright, glimmering purple. She lifted her hand to change the tree back to its Earthly shade, but then decided against it. She was tired of pretending she was human. Or Shaitan. She was Ghan Aisouri and she liked purple things. Trees. Eyes. Smoke.

Raif took one of the thin, sweeping branches in his hand and ran it between his fingers. “Did you do that on purpose?”

Nalia shrugged. “Sometimes there’s too much
chiaan
and I have to . . . get rid of it.”

Raif snorted. “I’ve certainly never had that problem. Must be nice.”

“Sometimes.”

It was silent for a moment. Just the wind skimming over the willow branches, filling the air with the soft sound of rustling silk.

“Does Malek’s hypersuasion work on you?”

Nalia shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably not—the gryphons trained us to repel psychic attacks. But I was never very good at it.” She sighed and ran her hands over her face. “I think he was telling the truth when he said he would never do that to me.”

“And this dream—did Haran say anything to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. He knows I’m in America, that’s all that really matters,” she said. When Raif’s eyes widened, Nalia frowned. “Your sister’s psychic. She hasn’t picked this up?”

“Zan knew he was getting closer, but . . .”

“Yeah.” Nalia bit her lip. “Do you know if . . . would sleeping pills work on someone with Draega’s Amulet?”

“What are sleeping pills?”

“They’re like a sleeping potion that humans eat. It’s a kind of medicine.”

Raif ran a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. You’re the one with the magical education.”

Nalia let the dig slide. “There’s a Shaitan girl that sings at Habibi. Can you and Zanari track her down? She’s a healer—one of the best. I don’t want to risk giving something to Malek unless I know it will work. Maybe she can make something stronger than human pills that will knock him out for a while.”

It had seemed too risky, such an easy way for Malek to know she was up to something if the pills had no effect on him. But if Malek was really serious about being a “gentleman,” she had to try.

He nodded. “Okay. But if it doesn’t, what’s your plan?”

“I’m working on something else.”
Working on whoring myself out.
“I have to be careful so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

“If it doesn’t work and he puts you in the bottle, how long would you stay in there?”

Nalia shook her head. “I’d rather face Haran than go back in the bottle.”

“You could die,” he said quietly.

“I’ll take that chance.” She walked past him, ducking under the willow branches. “I need to train. I’ll come by Jordif’s later today.”

Raif followed her. “You really shouldn’t be going out, Nalia. There’s a
bisahm
on the house to protect you—”

“You mean that pathetic thing you conjured up a few nights ago?”

His face darkened. “It was the best I could do. I assumed you would have strengthened it by now since my poor magical skills are not up to your standards.” He gave a slight, mocking bow. “Forgive me,
My Empress
.” He infused those last two words with a crackling, seething hatred.

Nalia blanched. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

“No, it didn’t. You meant exactly what you said.”

She threw up her hands. “You make me so godsdamn angry, Raif! How do you do that?”

His lip curled up. “Special talent of mine.”

Nalia grabbed his hands. He tried to pull away, but she held on tighter.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Helping you make the
bisahm
stronger.” If she transferred some of her
chiaan
to him, Raif should have enough power to build up the shield against Haran’s impending visit, leaving her free to focus on getting the bottle.

“Close your eyes,” she commanded. He frowned. “Just
do it
.”

Nalia waited until his eyes were closed, then she shut her own and concentrated on her
chiaan
, the shape and feel of it. She sent it into his skin, pushing it through as though it were a new shadow Raif could wear. Nalia heard Raif’s soft gasp and she shivered as his
chiaan
responded to hers, weaving itself into the strands of her magic, into her veins. A soft smile played on her face as his bright, dancing magic filled her. This, she thought, was the real Raif. A secret he kept so that he could be the coldhearted leader his
tavrai
wanted him to be. When she let go, his eyes were open and he was staring at her with such longing, such naked want, that she blushed.

Before she could say a word, Raif reached his hands up to her face and pressed his lips against hers. A jolt traveled through her, starting at her lips and moving down to the tips of her toes. She didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, Stars were born and died as she breathed him in and pulled him closer. For the first time in her life, she felt
known
.

The sun burned through the clouds, and as Raif gently pulled away, she felt its warmth on her face. When she opened her eyes, he stepped back and cold air rushed between them. He looked lost, as though he’d stepped through a portal into an unknown realm.

“Raif—”

“I apologize,” he said. The regret in his voice was unmistakable, plain as her purple willow tree. “It won’t happen again.”

Nalia swallowed. “Agreed.” Her words came from far away, as if she’d snatched them out of someone else’s throat. She couldn’t bear to look in his eyes. “I should have the bottle tonight.” The words were a dismissal.

He stood straighter, as though he were about to salute. “Good luck.”

“There’s no such thing,” she said. Either the gods were on her side, or they weren’t.

Raif gave her a curt nod as his smoke began to swirl around him. As he evanesced, Nalia felt a familiar tug behind her belly button. She didn’t have time to feel hurt or angry: Malek was summoning her.

Oh gods,
she thought, looking at the mansion.
Did he see what just happened?