Malum: Part 1 (The Elite King's Club 4)

“What of it?”

A small smile comes onto her mouth. “Oh nothing, just that Daemon is… complicated.”

Slowly inching my hand toward the front of my jeans, I squeeze around the handle, keeping my eyes on hers. I don’t care about what she’s saying, just keep her occupied and her eyes away from what I’m doing.

“Oh? And why is that?” I know why and how he is complicated, but the fact that she thinks she knows what she is saying is almost comical. I say almost, but I mean all the way there.

She exhales, her fingers flexing on my neck. “Aw, because he’s sick, dear.”

I yank the knife out and in one movement, launch the tip of the blade into the side of her neck. I watch her eyes pop in shock as her warm blood spills over my hand. Finally, her grip lets up around my throat, going to her own in search of the stab wound.

“You don’t know shit.” I sink the blade in farther and she lets out a small gurgling cry. “About Daemon. And no one fucking likes you—” I shove her body away from me until it falls to the ground in a lifeless heap “—bitch.” Wiping the blood off the blade and onto my shirt, I look up at the two guards who are standing at the door of my cell. “Do you know who I am?”

They both look between each other and then look back at me. “Yes.”

I tilt my head. “And?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

There’s a stretch of silence that seems to vibrate around us at a resonance that’s silent on ears. I wait for them to say something, anything. Maybe grab me and try to drag me out of here to kill me. Or worse, just kill me on the spot. What I was not expecting, was for them both to drop to one knee, their heads bowed.

“No…” I shake my head, panic gripping at my heart.

A familiar body presses against my back. The shadow.

“Just go with it, mea principessa. Do you feel it?” his voice whispers against me and my eyes close. His fingertips run up and down my arms, igniting that same flame. He’s right. This is my world, not just The Kings’. I feel the whispers of my ancestors echoing through my veins. I’ll turn those whispers into roars and bring every man to his knees.

My stomach clenches, goosebumps breaking out over my skin.

His hand travels up my stomach and near my throat. “Turn around, Tillie…” I hear more footsteps. Coming closer and closer. The echoing of heavy boots now a loud pulse behind me.

Then the sound stops. I turn in the man’s grip, my eyes closed.

“Open. Your. Eyes.”

I do as commanded, starting with his hands. Tattoos fill his hands that sneak out from the bottom of his sleeves.

Tattoos I recognize.

The words E L I T E stamped over his fingers on his left hand, and K I N G S over his right.

Fuck.

My eyes go up. I stop breathing. “Nate!” Just as his hand curls around the rim of his hoodie. He shoves it down to rest on the back of his neck. A smirk crawls onto his face, his eyes dark and deadly. This isn’t good.

I turn to face whoever it was that just walked in, finding Bishop, Brantley, Eli, and Hunter, standing guard. “What the fuck is going on?”

Nate’s hand comes to mine and he clenches it enough to cut off the blood circulation there. He yanks me into his chest, wrapping my hair around his wrist. “Perdita is King territory, now.” Then he smirks, his hand coming to my throat. “Everything that you went through to get to this point, Tillie, was planned and orchestrated. You are the last living Stuprum now—but you won’t be for long.” I notice he doesn’t flinch when the words pass his lips. “You are now a queen without a kingdom. A fucking dog without a home.” His eyes search mine, and I know he’s gone. Any part of who I knew as Nate is no longer living in the depths of this man standing in front of me. He is a mere shell of who he was before, a shell constructed of stone.

He shoves me backward until I slam against a cold brick wall. “I hope you like shackles, baby, because you’re our prisoner now.” He steps up to me, licks his lip and grins. He spins me back around to face the cell, the one with the rattle inside. “Open your eyes, mea principessa…”

I do, I open them.

“Look closely,” he whispers, his lips behind my earlobe. “Watch the fireflies…”