Exquisite Captive (44 page)

Words, horrible words, threw themselves at her, arrows that hit their mark every time they were loosed:
whore
,
killer
,
liar
,
traitor
. All true, according to her calculations. But one word kept her going, the only one that could matter for the rest of the night—
Bashil.

The house was empty—no sign of Delson or the servants, who had returned the afternoon before. Raif and Zanari had gone to Malek’s loft, to await Nalia’s arrival with the bottle. Or to wait so long that they would know she hadn’t succeeded and that instead of stealing the bottle from her master, he’d put her inside it. Again.

“Looks okay in here,” Malek said.

Nalia nodded. Zanari had done a fantastic job, despite her comparative lack of magical ability. With some pointers from Nalia, she’d restored the chandelier and broken antiques, and there wasn’t even a hint of a crack in the marble floor.

She smiled. “It was an easy fix.”

Malek dropped his bags inside the door and drew Nalia to him. He traced the line of her collarbone, ran his finger over the lapis lazuli pendent, now back around her neck as though she’d never taken it off.

“When I gave you this, I never expected you to react the way you did,” he said. “I thought I’d have to wait decades, centuries, to be this close to you. It wasn’t so long ago that you hated me.”

Nalia wrapped her arms around his neck. “I was young. And you were cruel.” His eyes tightened and she ran her fingers though his hair, then let them slide slowly to his face. “But when you gave me that necklace, it felt like you’d given me back a piece of myself. And then I knew how much you cared.”

The lie was uncomfortably close to the truth. His lips turned up in a soft smile, but his eyes held a hint of sadness. “Someday, I hope you’ll truly know how much.”

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

Does he know? Oh gods, please, please don’t let him know.

He shook his head. “Nothing,
hayati
. Nothing at all.” His hands slid around her waist and he pulled her closer. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you’re alive.”

“That makes two of us.”

His forehead creased with concern. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Would I lie to you?”

She held his gaze, waiting.

“No,” he said softly. “I don’t think you would.”

Malek had seemed so eager to see her when they’d spoken on the phone, but now he seemed pensive. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was grieving.

Nalia forced a bright smile. “Let’s go swimming,” she said. Anything to stay out of his bedroom, away from the huge four-poster bed, fit for a king and his consort. “Because I think you need cheering up and I am tired of being stuck in the house all by myself.”

He let go of her and picked up his bags. “All right. I’ll meet you out there.”

He started toward his study, then stopped. “Oh—did everything work out all right with Sergei?”

Her meeting with the Russian client felt like it had happened in another lifetime.

“Sure. He wanted the Cayman Islands, so now they’re his.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie; she’d thrown the islands in as a freebie, to cover up Sergei’s real wish.

“And the payment?”

“In the safe.”

“Perfect.”

She smiled and went up to her room, the long way because she couldn’t evanesce. Once inside, she changed into her swimsuit, thankful that Zanari had thought to glamour Nalia’s new scar along with her eyes and tattoos. She never would have been able to explain it to Malek. He’d seen her in a bathing suit before, and nothing—especially a large scar across her abdomen—ever escaped his notice. She grabbed the bottle of wine and the sleeping powder, then hurried down to the kitchen and poured two glasses, emptying the vial of powder into Malek’s glass. Sweat bloomed on her upper lip as Nalia strained her ears, terrified he would sneak up behind her and see what she was doing. She prayed to all the gods as she stirred the powder and watched it dissolve. Prayed that it was enough, that he would drink it, that it would work.

She grabbed the glasses and went outside to the kidney-shaped pool inlaid with a colorful mosaic. Zanari had done wonders with it: the ash from the fires had disappeared: except for the faint scent of smoke in the air, it was as if multiple disasters had never occurred. A tiny waterfall tumbled into the deep end from a rocky wall, and honeysuckle grew all around the edges of the patio, sweetening the air. Lounge chairs lay spread around the stone floor, but she knew Malek always preferred the thick, flat futon piled high with colorful silk pillows that sat beside the pool, under an intricately woven wooden roof held up by four carved pillars. The few lights around the patio were already on, but the rest of the property remained in shadows. Nalia glanced at the dark outline of the conservatory and tried not to think about how Raif must be feeling, knowing what Nalia had to do. A dozen thick candles surrounded the whole structure, and Nalia sighed and set down the glasses, then lit each candle manually. She missed how a snap of her fingers could have had them all blazing at once.

Finished with her preparations, Nalia eased into the water, mindful of the pain that still pulsed under her skin. Though it was November, it wasn’t too cold outside and the pool was heated. It was almost like being in an oversized bathtub; under different circumstances, a swim would be relaxing. But tonight it was just a prelude to gambling with her life.

Nalia wanted to be obliterated, to become the water, but she had to keep her skin and bones so that she could give them away to a man who’d bought them. The highest bidder. Nalia wanted to scream with fury that killing Haran wasn’t enough, that he had somehow won in the end. The trace was his last laugh, and it was cruel and loud and long.

When she resurfaced, Malek was strolling over, two thick towels in his hands. He wore a pair of expensive, black swim trunks and the button-down shirt he’d worn on the plane. When he got to the futon he unbuttoned the shirt and threw it across the back of a lounge chair, then took off the chain holding the bottle, just as Nalia had hoped. It made a tiny
clink
as it hit the glass-topped table beside the futon. Nalia forced herself to look away from it, to focus her gaze on Malek as she walked up the stairs, out of the water and onto the patio. He stared at her hungrily, not even bothering to disguise his want.

“I brought us some wine,” she said, crossing over to the table. “I made it myself. Well, not the wine, but I added spices so that it takes like the kind we have in Arjinna.”

She handed him his glass and took up her own, careful to give herself the one with the blue-tinted stem.

Malek smiled. “Since when are you domestic?”

Fear bit into her and she took a long sip of the wine, then brought her mouth close to his. “Since you left me all alone.”

The cloves and cinnamon and nutmeg were spicy on her tongue and Malek looked at her wine-red lips and took the glass out of her hand, setting them both on the table. Panic erupted in her chest like wildfire, but then he leaned down and brought his lips to Nalia’s, tasting her. His kiss deepened, his hands roaming across her back, in her hair, pressing her against him.

“Delicious,” he said, and Nalia’s blood froze, hearing Haran’s words.

They weren’t so different, she realized, the ghoul and her master. Both wanted to consume her, to take everything she was and leave nothing left to call her own. She pulled away from Malek and affected a pout.

“You didn’t even taste my wine!”

Malek grinned, his eyes glazed with want. “Sure I did.”

Nalia slipped out of his hands and picked up the wine glasses. “Tell me this isn’t the most amazing thing you’ve ever tasted—better than your absinthe.”

He took one sip and rolled it around in his mouth. “It reminds me of you,” he said.

“Of me? Why?”

He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “It’s warm.” He kissed her forehead. “Smells wonderful.” He kissed her neck. “And it makes me want more.” Kissed her lips.

He took another sip and Nalia leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his shoulder, wiping her wine-soaked lips on his skin. If the sleeping powder worked on her, the whole endeavor would be pointless.

“Come,” he said, pulling her behind him and down the stairs, back into the pool.

Nalia prayed Malek wouldn’t fall asleep in it. She dreaded having to drag him out and risk waking him in the process. She watched his eyes for any sign of sleepiness, but they were alive, bright. Drinking her in.

The stars glittered faintly above them, diamonds set against an obsidian sky. The mosaic on the pool’s floor shimmered in the pool lights, like an abandoned treasure. Nalia floated on her back, gazing at the constellations. How many nights had she done just this, but alone and desolate, believing she may never escape Earth? She felt the water gently roll as Malek floated beside her. He reached out and grasped her hand, and they stayed like that for a long time, listening to the waterfall, watching the planes flying into LAX. Her eyes grew heavy. It’d been hours since she’d used the medicines the healer had left beside her bed, and Nalia’s body was beginning to shut down.

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she felt the cold air. Her eyes flew open and she gasped, disoriented by the weightlessness of her body, but Malek held her tight as he carried her out of the water and laid her down on the futon.

“You’re all right,” he said. “You just fell asleep.”

She saw the glasses and the bottle and it all came rushing back. After he set her down, Malek crossed to the table and picked up his glass of wine. He sipped it, his eyes on the shadows that danced around the pool in the flickering candlelight and stretched their fingers toward the makeshift bed. Nalia longed to cover herself up; all this skin, out in the open. For sale.

That’s the point,
she reminded herself.

Sadness filled her. This is what had become of Arjinna: the rightful empress, nothing more than a scantily clad slave.

“Before you came, I was so alone,” Malek said, his voice soft. “I’d spent years amassing my fortune, telling myself I didn’t need anyone.” He sat on the edge of the futon and fixed his eyes on her.

“I was horrible to you at first, I know. Atrocious.” He took a long sip—the glass was nearly finished and he set it on the floor and sat back against one of the futon’s pillars, keeping a distance between them.

“You made me so angry, wanting to escape.” He shook his head. “We were like two snakes, circling one another all the time. You were much too young, and I was thoroughly unaccustomed to having someone thumb their nose at me.”

Nalia sat up, bracing herself with her palms against the mattress. “Then what happened?” she asked.

Malek closed his eyes. “You made me laugh.” His lips turned up in a soft smile. “It was at one of my parties, maybe six months ago. I was miserable—the kind of mood that makes you start a world war. There was a man there who was making an ass of himself—had far too much to drink. And he’d been walking around, grabbing women’s backsides. I was about to call security when I saw you in a corner, watching him. Your lips were moving and you did something with your hand, and then—”

“His pants disappeared,” she finished. Nalia hadn’t been able to resist.

Malek chuckled. “You had this smile on your face, so self-satisfied, like a cat with a mouse. I think it was the first time I’d laughed in . . . I don’t even remember.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I realized you were good for me. That whenever I was around you I felt more awake, more alive than I had in decades. That night, it felt like I’d finally seen you and once I had, I couldn’t stop looking.”

Nalia’s eyes snagged on his and she held his gaze. This Malek was so different from the man who had ruled her life these past three years. She’d seen a side of her master she hadn’t known could possibly exist, a gentleness that held her after nightmares, a starved passion that called to her, a siren song. Something inside him—something fundamental—had changed.

But he’s still a slave owner.

“Malek,” she whispered, reaching out her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to lie during his heartfelt confession, to say that, yes, he was good for her, that she needed him, too. She hoped saying his name was enough, that it was all he needed to hear.

It was.

Malek moved toward her across the thick mattress, the wood creaking gently under his weight. His eyes were soft, more brown than black, and the wind had dried his hair so that he looked less polished, more like a man and less like a god. Somehow that made her feel better.

His lips fell on hers, kisses full of a yearning so deep she knew it was impossible to fill, even if she’d wanted to. He was in no hurry, his fingers trailing across her skin in slow loops and swirls. She could almost forget he was her master, with his bare chest free of the bottle, and the way he touched her, as if she were priceless. Each caress asking permission to be closer.

His lips left hers for a moment and he looked down, his eyes intent. “Nalia.”

“Yes?” she breathed. His lids were heavy, she could see him fighting the sleep that was stealing over him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice a tremulous whisper. “More than anything else in the world.”

She opened her mouth, knew she was supposed to say it too, but she couldn’t. She
couldn’t.
Because she only wanted to say those words if she meant them. Because she couldn’t bear to say them, then let him wake up alone, tricked and drugged. She didn’t want that untruth stinging her lips, poisoning the moment when she said them for real, to someone else.

His love made her hate impotent. It sagged before his adoration like a wilted flower.

“You don’t have to say it back yet,” he said, his eyes growing heavier. “I’ll earn it.
Hayati—my life—
”

Malek’s eyes closed and he slumped onto the pillows. For a moment, Nalia just stared. The candlelight threw bits of gold onto him, like offerings from pilgrims come to see a slain legend. Regret whispered in her ear, settled between her ribs. Regret for the man he might have been, had he not been half Ifrit. So much gentleness and violence warred under that skin.