Page 75 of The Maleficent Faerie
This is a full-body transformation, something not even the most gifted Fae in our realm can accomplish on their own without great effort—and Malec did it easily, with the power of the Void.
He rises above Ru Gallamet, a sinuous scaled form flanked by dragonesque wings. Shadows gather around him in great smoky clouds, and green lightning rips across the sky, flashing luridly on the approaching soldiers below.
When he dives, I rush to the parapet and lean over it, holding my breath.
Malec wheels over the incoming Caennith troops, sending out spears of green lightning and whips of shadow to sear and flay the winged faeries who attack him. Bright pulses of their magic burst through the dark, but though he screeches at the impact from a few of them, none seem to seriously injure him. One after another he blasts them from the sky. Some of them spin out into the Void and vanish, while others fall to earth like severed leaves in the storm of his rage.
Then the shadow-dragon swoops lower, opens its throat, and vomits rivers of green fire over the riders.
The fire blazes up, unquenchable, while the shrieks of the dying soldiers and their mounts echo into the Void.
I press my hand over my mouth, holding in a scream.
He’s slaughtering them.
I want to condemn him for it, but how is it any different than what I’ve done, killing the kidnappers and assassins who came after Dawn? This is war. And if Malec did not kill the Caennith, they would slay everyone in Ru Gallamet, including me. He can’t risk imprisoning them all, not with so many Fae in the group who could perform magic to escape. He needs to end them quickly so he can proceed with the ritual to save the realm.
My blood chills with the sudden realization that I have mere hours left until my hundred-year sleep. A sleep from which I may never wake, if the ritual fails.
Malec does another pass over the last few Caennith invaders, spraying more lurid fire before skimming back up to the top of the tower. He alights, his claws clasping the parapet, and his shape convulses briefly as the scales evanesce and the wings revert to their usual feathered state.
He’s himself again, a tall, masculine figure—stone-white muscle, long legs, glossy black hair, and a pair of storm-dark wings. Naked, because his robes were shredded during the change. As he steps onto the roof he sways, and I step forward impulsively, catching his arm. His wingtip brushes along my back.
When he meets my eyes, I glance away. The memory of the screams and the burning soldiers is too fresh in my mind.
“I understand,” he rasps, a trail of smoke issuing from his lips. “You can’t face me after that. But I’d do it again—I’ll be the monster over and over until this is done, until our realm is saved, do you understand?” The green light in his eyes has faded; there’s only darkness in them now, and the glitter of tears. His voice is hoarse, fervent, violent. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Sacrifice anything and everyone. Myself. You.” He grips my shoulders, teeth bared.
I jerk away from him, my combative instincts kicking in. “Do it then. Chain me to the Spindle right now. Pray to the Abyss, and beg it to come feed on the future Conduit. I’ve been nothing but a pawn in everyone’s game all along, and I have no moves left.”
“You’re not a pawn to me,” he grits out. “You’re the Queen, the King, the entire endgame. You’re the answer to your own salvation, because if this works, you’ll wake to a world you can enjoy for decades. A world in which your heirs can live safely, without fear of the Edge.”
Fists clenched, I stare at him, struggling with clashing waves of hope and anger.
“You believe me now, don’t you?” he murmurs.
I vent a frustrated hiss through my teeth, whirl away from him, and stalk toward the metal staircase leading up to the Spindle. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Don’t you want a last meal first?” he says wryly.
On the third step I pause and turn back, raking my gaze along his toned body, up to his handsome face.
Awareness flares in his eyes, and he strides forward, sinking to one knee at the foot of the steps, his wings draped against the smooth black stone. He bows his head briefly, then lifts his face to mine. “I’ll be your last meal, Princess. Yours for an hour, to use as you please.”
I can taste my heart on my tongue, a pulsating weight.
The last time we did this, I was half-drunk with wine, grief, and rage. Desperate for relief.
This time, I am desperate for him.
One hour is not enough. And I want to weep for its ending, before it has even begun.
Malec turns an ornate hourglass upside down on the bureau. Then he comes to me and unlaces me gently, opening the front of the gown, revealing my breasts. Pushing the fabric off my shoulders. With my face turned aside and my eyes brimming, I let him slide the dress from my body.
He has locked the doors of his suite with bolts and with magic. We won’t be disturbed. We can do anything we like in here, for a single hour. And then I will bleed, and I will sleep.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Malec asks again, softly. He asked me once already on the way down the stairs from the tower, and I snapped, “Yes. I’m going to make youhurt.” But my anger has ebbed and left me strengthless. I want that rage back. It’s better than this yearning sorrow.
“Do things to me,” I whisper. “Be cruel to me, so I’ll want to fight you.”
