Rebirth (Lost Souls #1)

Chapter 29

I return to the prison’s library with one of the jars, his part of the notes, and my new dagger. He raises his head from his book when I appear, eyeing me in a way that gives me the impression I look as crappy as I feel. My face is molded into a painful grimace, and my hands shake when I put the jar and the notes down on the desk. Meanwhile, despite healing the cut, the curse still slightly tugs at me, like an annoying sting in the palm of my hand.

“What are you reading?” I ask him absentmindedly, gritting my teeth and trying to distract myself from the sting that turns into an itch. Anything to not think about how I want to scratch it.

He raises an eyebrow at me before showing me the book. I step over to the sofa he occupies, taking it from him. After a single glance at the cover, I look back at him. Unamused. It’s written in a language I don’t know how to read.

“Very funny,” I say, handing him the book back.

“If you really want to know, then you should learn Russian.”

“I was planning to, someday. It’s on my list for when I get a bit more confidence in my German.”

He seems unimpressed by my reply.

“How many languages do you speak?” I ask, honestly curious now.

“All of them,” he answers dryly.

I just stand there blinking at him, and he sighs, annoyed.

“There are around seven thousand human languages, in addition to Elomadh, Eloghyll, and Hellspeak.”

“Hellspeak?”

“It’s the language most commonly used by inhumans, especially those that roam the human world. They couldn’t stand using Elomadh, so they created their own.” He puts the book aside and turns his full attention to me.

“The curse…” He leaves his thought hanging, clearly annoyed by the fact he even has to ask me.

“I executed it, and everything went as planned. Though I won’t be certain it worked until she gives birth.”

“How long?”

He’s seriously starting to get on my nerves. “A couple of days, normally,” I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. “Like I told you earlier.”

“Normally?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, giving birth isn’t exactly my field of expertise.” My voice gets louder with every word that comes out. “She might give birth today, or it could be another week, maybe even longer. She was at her due time, but that means absolutely nothing. Unless you know of a way to accurately predict when that baby is going to pop out of her, suck it up and wait.”

Heat flushes through my body, my ears are pounding, and I’m about ready to scream. He has no idea what that curse took out of me, yet he sits there speaking to me with that condescending tone of his. My chest starts to heave, and I want to say more, but my throat has become so dry I’m unable to utter another word.

He’s on me before I even have time to blink. His hands grip my waist, then he spins me around and pushes me onto the sofa, trapping me between his arms .

“I’ve been stuck here for an eternity. Yet, I’ve given you the freedom to go as you please, yet you still spend most of your time doing nothing. And even though every second I’m here is literal torture, I let you. But my patience is wearing thin, so I advise you to not push me.”

I’m so fed up with his behavior that, in this moment, I don’t even think about swallowing my words. “You’re the one who dragged me here and imprisoned me with you. What about that makes you think I want anything else? Do you think I like having to come back here?”

“I saved your life.”

My magic rises to the surface, ready to tear him a new one. “For your own selfish reasons. Did you think I was sad to die that day? I cut my own wrists; I was ready to go.”

He searches my face for… something, but I refuse to back down. Not finding what he’s looking for, he grabs my neck and forces me to look away. “Do you think that you can be this ungrateful and I will just let you?”

“What are you going to do about it? You can’t kill me.”

“No,” he says slowly, applying pressure to my neck. “But I can hurt you.”

There is a flash of white-hot pain in the palm of my hand. It takes over and twists my face into a snarl, even if it’s just for a second. He frowns at me, knowing very well he’s not the cause. He releases my neck and breaks away from me fully, tilting his head slightly while he regards me through narrowed eyes.

Shaking, I look at my hand. Even though I healed the cut earlier, it bleeds like a fresh wound.

“I—” I find myself almost unable to speak as I look at him. “I think it’s begun.”

He looks at me, not understanding.

“She’s gone into labor. ”

“How long?” he asks, all traces of anger gone from his voice.

“Again, I can’t say. For some it’s an hour, others need multiple. But it won’t be long before the curse fully activates.”

“How much time do we need to set everything up?”

“Not much, but I believe the closer to the curse’s activation we cast the summoning spell, the better.”

“You believe?” There’s that tone of his again. The one that immediately sets me on edge.

“This is both my first curse and my first summoning spell, meaning nothing is certain, but”—he narrows his eyes at me—“the sooner we get it over with, the better. Or are you willing to take the chance that the blood might be too old?”

He curses, because he knows I’m right. The longer we wait after the first blood is spilled, the greater the risk that it won’t be enough.

“I’ll add an extra sacrifice to be certain, but even then…”

He hesitates for a moment before turning his head to look back at me. “Before I—before we leave here, I need your help with something.” He gestures for me to get up and adds, “Bring the dagger.”

With the dagger in one hand, I heal the cut on my palm and follow him out of the library and to his quarters. When I enter his bathroom after him, he’s already in the process of taking off his jacket. After carefully folding it and putting it on the chair in the corner, he removes his own dagger from its sheath and hands it to me.

I give him a questioning look as I place both daggers on the countertop next to the sink. He continues to ignore me while proceeding to remove the sheath and the leather shoulder holster. He puts these with the dagger, then unbuttons his waistcoat and shirt. Removing both, baring his chest, he looks away as he sees my eyes go over his tattoos—his chains.

Stepping closer to him, I place my hand flat on his chest. He flinches, almost letting out a growl, and I quickly retract my hand .

My eyes widen when I remember how he previously reacted when I touched the ones on his arm. “Do they hurt?”

“Only when the glamor doesn’t hide them.”

“Then why don’t you cover them back up?”

“Because I promised you I wouldn’t.”

I stare at him, blinking. He keeps averting his gaze, and it almost makes me think he’s embarrassed. It fills me up with something I don’t know how to name and, without thinking, I cup his face in my hands. It startles him, but he lets me pull him toward me, nevertheless.

I kiss him softly.

He seems to hesitate for a moment, then he kisses me back as he grabs my waist and presses me closer to him. It lasts only a few seconds before he gently pushes me away. Pain lingers visibly on his face, and only then do I realize my chest was fully pressed against his.

I try to apologize, but he speaks before I’m able to. “I would do it myself, but I literally can’t.”

“Can’t what?” There is a rustling sound, and his wings spring from his shoulders. Involuntarily, I take a step back, my mouth falling open while I look at them. They’re… majestic.

He picks up his dagger and places it back in my hands. “I need you to cut them off and remove the bone.”

My mouth drops open at this. “Why?”

“Because they are broken, dying, and I’ll have no more use for them once we’re out of here. They can burn together with the rest of this place.”

Taking a closer look at his wings, I can tell they’re indeed broken. The bones are cracked in different places, bare and worn, and the small feathers that should cover them are already long gone. Most of the bigger feathers are frayed, missing the tip, burned off, bent, or missing.

How did I not notice this earlier? I gently touch them, running my hand over a few feathers. “They must have been beautiful,” I whisper, trying to imagine them in better days.

“They were.” There is sadness in his voice, deep and undeniable. “But now I can’t stand the sight of them.” He doesn’t look at me, but I understand. It’s a part of him that someone else broke and, even though this is for the best, it’s still difficult.

He sits down on the tiled bathroom floor, crosses his legs, and puts his hands in his lap. His eyes lock with mine, cold as a stone. Determined. “Do it.”

With a firm grip on the hilt of his dagger, I move to stand behind him, my eyes lingering on his muscular back for only a moment. He shifts while spreading out one wing to give me better access, and I nervously bite my lip.

After a deep breath, I start to examine the bone closest to his shoulder, careful not to touch the tattoos. He flinches slightly when I put the dagger against the bone, as close to his skin as possible. He knows just as well as I do that I have to saw through them to make this work. My hesitation makes him restless, so I take another deep breath and do what is needed. The sound of the dagger sawing through the bone is horrifying, and he clearly tries to block it out as best he can.

It takes forever without the right tools for the job. I eventually make it through the first one, and an exhausted sigh leaves me. The wing falls to the floor and the little bones shatter, the sound of it loud in the silent bathroom. Not taking a moment to linger, I get to work on the second wing.

By the time the other one finally falls, I’ve become a sweaty mess. To cut the remaining pieces of bone from his shoulders, I trade his dagger for mine. The smaller dagger allows for finer work, which is exactly what I need for this part. I cut away his flesh to reach the end of the bone lodged in his shoulder. I wipe away the blood with a towel, but most of it still ends up running down his back. It stains my hands as well, covering me from head to toe while I continue to work meticulously. After all the blood I’m faced with on a somewhat daily basis, this doesn’t even faze me anymore.

I find the bone is like a joint, stuck to his shoulder blade with cartilage. That means I should be able to cut the cartilage connecting the bones and hopefully pop them out.

I take a moment to catch my breath and wipe away more blood, careful to dab the towel gently against his back.

His deep breathing fills the bathroom and, when I crane my neck to look at him, I see his eyes are closed. He has his arms wrapped in front of his face. He’s biting down on the right one—so forcefully that he’s bleeding. His left arm supports his right, nails digging into the flesh, blood beading there as well.

Swallowing down whatever I was going to say, I do what is necessary and continue to cut the flesh around the bones in order to reach the cartilage. I keep cutting and digging, growing numb to the sickening sound of skin and muscles ripping, the more fragile, smaller bones breaking, and blood dripping.

Finally, I’m done with the dagger and put it aside. I look from my blood-soaked hands to the loosened bones. I grab one of them with both hands, take a deep inhale, and then pull with all my strength. His muffled scream is followed by a loud pop as the bone breaks free. The bone clatters loudly against the tiles when I throw it away from us.

A few moments and another yank later, two gaping wounds in his shoulders are all that remain of his wing. Panting, I wipe the sweat from my forehead, undoubtedly smearing even more blood all over me. Carefully, mindful of both the open wounds and the tattoos, I place the palms of my hands on the wounds and heal them. The muscles, skin, and bones weave themselves together, closing up until nothing remains of what just happened—of what he had me do.

He remains unmoving, not making a single sound. Worry creeps up on me, so I sit myself down in front of him and gently pull his arms away from his face. Holding them in my hands, I heal the wounds there as well. But it’s as if he’s trapped wherever he went to block it all out. My throat constricts, and I fear that removing his wings somehow broke him.

I take a deep breath to try and calm myself.

Hesitantly and unsure, I carefully drape my arms around his neck. Our foreheads touch softly when I lean into him. Brushing his hair from his face, I place a chaste kiss on his lips. My breath stutters, and I close my eyes for a moment. I try hard to not let despair grip me. Because I’m afraid, so very afraid, that I’ve lost him. The mere idea is enough to close up my throat even further. My chest aches, and I take shallow breaths in an attempt to stave off a full-fledged panic attack. It’s not helping, though, and it doesn’t stop the thoughts.

I can’t lose him. It hits me with a pang. The notion of being without him cracks open my chest, blurs my vision, and causes a sob to escape. Oh, how easy this would be if I still feared him—if there were only hate in my heart for this man.

Leaning in even closer, I open my eyes again and speak. My voice comes out as nothing more than a whisper. “Come back to me, Malakai.”

He stirs, and when a breath leaves him, another leaves me as well. He opens his eyes, and his body relaxes against mine, just as mine relaxes against his.

“Is it… done?”

“Yes.”

His eyes shift and, when he moves, I retract my arms so he can turn to see his broken wings lying on the floor behind him. “Good riddance.” His words are harsh and filled with hate, yet underneath it, I hear that it does affect him. He may be glad to be rid of them, but I know he’ll miss them.

I put a hand on his, and he relaxes into the touch. He takes another second to look at the carnage around us, then turns back to me, leaving it behind him.

“So,” he says, “where were we?”

His grin sets me on fire as he pulls me flush against his chest, visibly biting away the pain that it causes him. He then proceeds to give me that wicked smile that tells me I won’t be able to deny him.

“Mal—”

He kisses me, cutting me off and stealing my breath away until he’s all that I’m able to think about.

“How is it you always seem to bounce back so effortlessly?”

He’s silent for a moment, but when he looks at me, I catch that spark in his eye. “Because of you.”

It’s my turn to be silent, a moment he seizes as he takes my face in his hands and kisses me again. He leans closer to me, kissing my neck, my shoulder, and my breathing gets heavier. He tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling my head back.

He tenses against me, letting go of me while cursing. His hand shakes as he wipes his mouth on the back of it, leaving behind a dark smear. He looks at me, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“We shouldn’t,” I say, even though I really want to.

And so does he, apparently, because he kisses me even harder, making me taste his blood in my mouth. One hand is back in my hair while the other gently pushes me down until I’m flat on the floor with his body blanketing mine.

My hands go to his belt, unbuckling and tossing it aside, the metal clinking loudly against the tile floor. I flick open the button of his slacks and, just as I go for the zipper, he starts to convulse on top of me.

He coughs, and more blood streams from his mouth onto my chest. His eyes are wide as he almost collapses trying to get off me. He lands on his side and starts violently coughing up more blood, his body convulsing.

Scurrying to a sitting position, I swiftly move around him to his back. The wounds in his shoulder blades have ripped open and are bleeding profusely. I start to hyperventilate in my panic to heal him as best as possible, but the wounds refuse to close up and I don’t understand why.

He gestures toward one of the bathroom cabinets. I almost trip over my own feet while hurrying to it. Inside of the cabinet, I find a small medical kit. Seeing the needle and thread, I know what he wants me to do. The only thing I can do.

I prepare the needle, then proceed to sew the wounds shut with great care. My hands shake, worried about doing this incorrectly. Even though I do my best, I know this is most likely going to leave scars.

Finished with the first wound, I move on to the second, stealing a glance at his face in the process. He’s pale despite his red skin, and he’s clearly in pain. I swallow before pushing the needle through his skin once more, the sound and feel of it making my own skin crawl.

Relief washes over me when I’m finally done. He groans in pain when I help him up, trembling in my arms as I guide him to the bedroom and help him into bed. Getting in next to him, I roll him on his side so that I face his back. Putting my hands over the stitched-up wounds, again careful to avoid his tattoos, I start to heal him.

The heat from my magic spreads through his body, and he relaxes under my touch. “Thank you, Aeliana,” he whispers weakly.

It’s the first time he’s used my name since giving it to me, and the sound of it makes my heart jump. It brings a smile to my face, and I place a soft kiss on his lower neck. He mumbles something inaudible as he falls asleep. I shift my body as close to his as possible without disturbing the healing spell. If the spell takes well enough, then the scars won’t be too noticeable.

Somewhere during the process of healing him, I doze off. I only vaguely notice him turning around to face me. He takes me in his arms and holds me close, even though having me directly touch him like this must hurt him.

Still half asleep, I put my hand against his chest and start a new healing spell to take the edge off. He tightens his grip on me, and just like that, we both fall back asleep.