Malum: Part 2 (The Elite King's Club 5)

His eyes close, peace falling over his features. “I missed you too.”

His eyes slowly open onto my mouth. I freeze. With the language barrier, we’ve always gone by what feels right in the moment. He comforted me when I needed it and I lit him on fire when he craved it, but kissing him right now would feel wrong. I can’t lead him into thinking that we can pick up where we left off all those months ago. Too much has changed, so much has hardened. I’m not the same girl I was when he left me, and he’s not the same boy who I knew when I left.

I run my finger down the side of his face, dragging it over his bottom lip. “You need to be free, Daemon.”

“Free,” he mimics, his lips curving with each letter.

I nod. “Free.”

He leans away from me slightly. “I’ll never be free, Puella. Nothing can free me. Not even you.” His eyes bore into mine.

I stifle a laugh. “How could I free you?”

He doesn’t answer me, his eyes staying on mine. I fight the urge to crawl onto his lap. “Did you—” He pauses, searching around the place. “Finish my book?”

Everything fast-forwards and I’m instantly thrown back into the pages of Puer Natus. I shake my head. “Not yet.”

“Finish it,” he orders and then turns to face the wall.

I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t know where it is right now, so I settle on, “Can’t you just tell me how it ends?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s shut off. I slowly stand from his bed and tiptoe to where he lays. Leaning down, I press my lips to his head, holding it there for a second while inhaling the smell of dirt, blood, and something sweet.

“I’m sorry, Daemon.”

I leave, sinking into my bed once I get back into my room.

Why can’t I save him? I want to save him. I can’t save him. No one can save him but himself, and even then, I don’t even think he could save himself.

Wind whisks through my hair, flicking it up into the air as I run down the concrete path. The city is empty, and when I stop and look up, I see I’m directly outside Madison and Bishop’s apartment. There’s no doorman. No cars. No lights. No power. The sun is setting, and the burnt orange hue is slowly dropping into a deep brown. My toes curl against the rusted leaves that have fallen. Why was I running? I turn around to see ten men standing in a line, black hoodies covering their faces. Their heads slowly come up and the Día de Los Muertos face paint comes into view, but then the paint starts to slowly melt from their faces. I scream as the song “Pop Goes the Weasel” starts playing. Slamming my hands over my ears, I fall to the ground and begin rocking back and forth.

“Stop!” I scream so loud my throat throbs from the pain.

Silence finally cuts through the torturous sound. I slowly peel my eyes open, only now I’m in the middle of a cemetery. I recognize it. The stone in front of me catches my eye and I see D A E M O N spelled in Celtic font over it. Nothing else. Just Daemon.

“What?”

“Pop Goes the Weasel” starts again as the grass melts away from beneath my feet and I’m falling.

“No!” I shake my head, darkness enveloping me in the small grave. “No!” I scream, reaching for the walls but dirt fills my hands and the darkness gets more opaque. The ten Kings all circle the grave above, peering down at me.

“Let me out!”

Dirt flies into the grave, hitting my face—

I fly off the bed, but someone is sitting at the foot. Sweat is dripping down my face.

“Daemon?” I clutch the blankets up to my chin, the nightmare still fresh on my mind. It wasn’t real.

“Nightmare?” he asks without looking at me.

I lick my lips. “Yes.” I wonder what the time is, but if I’m guessing by my body clock, I would say pushing close to early morning.

“Are you okay?”

Daemon turns to face me. “No. Finish the book, Puella. For me.”

I gulp. “Okay.”

He stands and makes his way back out the door. He came in here to tell me that? Why does he scare me more than usual since he’s been back?

I rub my temples, closing my eyes while trying to form the right words or thoughts. Exhaling, I flick the blankets off of my body and step all the way down the hallway until I reach the door. I pull on the handle, but it’s locked. Just as I’m about to bang on it, it flies open and Nate is standing opposite me.

He dips his head. “Come on.”

“What about Daemon?”

Nate’s jaw clenches and he shuts the door. “He’s staying down here. By choice. Let’s go.”