Page 44 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

Wincing, he rubbed where it smarted. “If it was someone else pointing out all my deficiencies, what’d you do?” he asked, indulging his curiosity and his pride. “Toss them into a pit of vipers? Head on a spike?”

“For insulting my mate?” She didn’t have to think on it long. “I’d have to crush their bones to mush,” she said definitively.

His heart ballooned in his chest. “All of them?”

“I don’t do things in half measures, Malcolm. Yes, all of them. Now, come along, and keep up. If you fall behind, I’ll have to hit you again.”

Malcolm couldn’t tell if she was teasing, but it didn’t matter. The threat had him grinning at the back of her head like a fool. She’d bound all her hair up in one thick plait. Her feet were back in boots. She wore buckskin breeches that were cuffed at her knees under a loose linen shirt which swallowed her well-muscled frame.

Hrafn took off at a jog, circling the courtyard, her pace light and breezy, wings tight against her back to keep from catching the air. A sheen of sweat soon coated Malcolm’s skin. The sun worked to bake his leathers onto his body, and the late summer humidity made him feel like he was drinking his breaths, but he kept pace with her as she’d ordered him to.

The shadow babies tried to jog after them, but they couldn’t keep up long. They became easily distracted and wandered off to explore the courtyard.

The demon hawk, Ezra, joined them thereafter, swooping overhead, calling down at his mistress. Whatever it was he was saying, it encouraged her to pick up her pace. Soon they were sprinting, and an impromptu race broke out between the three of them.

Malcolm dashed ahead, rounding in front of the ruined sandstone tower, following the great walls. He felt a pull of air near the tops of his pointed ears, and he peeked over his shoulder. Hrafn flew at his side, wings propelling her in front of him.

“Cheat,” he grunted.

“It’s not cheating to use the gifts the divines have given you,” Hrafn said, and it annoyed him that she spoke so clearly, still as fresh as she was before they started the exercise.

Malcolm, on the other hand, couldn’t suck enough air into his lungs. His thighs burned.

We have gifts from the divines,Solis reminded him.

Do it,Malcolm said.

Solis joined with Malcolm, lifting off the ground like a smoky cloud and filtering into his body, and for a brief moment, Malcolm felt lighter, like he’d been filled with air and beams of sunlight. Because he didn’t trust the powers he’d inherited, he often kept his shadows separated from him, an added layer of protection he insisted upon to prevent his father’s fate from befalling him. He vowed never to be as reckless as the Mad Maker had been. Losing his sanity and dying would not be the end of Malcolm’s story.

But duty called. Here and now, he embraced his shadows, hugging his soul tight.

Ghostly black wings erupted from his back. Thick dark tendrils flapped in one big powerful, soundless wave, and Malcolm shot into the air. Hrafn let out a gleeful cheer, and a small game of chase ensued.

Malcolm pursued her. They cut through the courtyard and circled the large granite tower until they could reach out and touch the battlements at the top. Ezra perched amongst them and squawked excitedly. Malcolm had a moment’s pause to consider whether he was pushing himself too far too fast after such a long hiatus. One daring look from her, and he was after her again, the thought gone, like mist in the wind.

He caught up to her near the battlements, catching her by the ankle and yanking her down.

She chased after him next. They glided back toward the center of the courtyard. He swooped and sailed, turned loops and made a show of his skills, but his acrobatics didn’t last long. His blood roared in his ears. He felt alive again, but his tiring body was catching up to him. He slowed. She cut him off at the next bend in the wall, tackling him to the lawn.

Malcolm’s shadow retreated from his body when they landed. Solis lay in the grass in a pool of darkness, looking murky and spent. The use of so much glamour had been exhilarating, but it had come at a cost. Malcolm’s overworked muscles felt like soup. Hrafn scooted off his back. He climbed to his feet, took two steps forward, and collapsed.

Clapa’s cackles echoed in the air. The little fairy fell to her back, laughing.

“I . . . I didn’t just fall,” Malcolm said, disbelief muddying his words, his head full of confusing fog.

“Of course not,” Hrfan said drolly. “You attacked the ground most nobly.”

“It had it coming,” Malcolm rumbled, a headache brewing behind his eyes.

“I saw. It got right in your way,” Hrafn said, her tone flat, the sarcasm subtle. “How dare.”

With some effort, he rose to his feet again and his head spun. He felt the color draining from his face. Stomach knotting up, Malcolm made it another few paces before he vomited in the grass. Hands clasped to his knees, hunched forward, he felt bile burn in his throat. When he fell next, he managed not to land in his vomit. A small blessing.

Rolling onto his back, he groaned at the sky and clouds whirled above him.

Clapa flew in, wings buzzing. “Attaway Mal Mal?”

Malcolm made a pained noise. “Not attaway.”

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