Chapter 13
1385 Words
Elowen's composure annoyed her.
She’d expected tears. Rage. A dramatic exit.
Instead, Elowen had stayed still. Quiet. Composed.
Too composed.
Talia’s lips curved as she brought her phone up and sent a single message:
Bring him up. The pretty one. The one who doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.
She hit send.
A minute later, she felt it: the shift in the party’s pulse. The new arrival.
He moved through the crowd like temptation draped in black velvet tall, lean, and exquisitely fanged. Malric. One of the youngest rogue-bloods in the city. Unaligned, ungoverned, and insatiable.
Talia met him near the bar, placing a hand lightly on his chest.
“See the girl by the railing?” she asked, nodding toward Elowen.
Malric smiled, slow and feral. “Pretty thing.”
Talia leaned in, her voice a purr. “She’s special. Fragile. Tastes like magic. I want you to get close. Charm her. Touch her. Make Kaelen see.”
Malric raised an eyebrow. “And what do I get out of it?”
She pressed her lips to his ear. “If she bites… I’ll let you finish what she starts.”
He grinned fangs gleaming and started moving.
Talia stepped back, watching him approach Elowen like a predator approaching prey. Her fingers tightened around her wine glass.
Let Kaelen see it.
Let him see her letting another man touch her.
Let him see her flirting, distracted, reckless.
Let him doubt her.
Talia didn’t need Elowen dead.
She just needed Kaelen to stop believing she was worth saving.
Elowen pressed through the crowd, her breath tight in her chest. Lights blurred at the edges of her vision. Her heels clicked too loudly against the stone rooftop. Everything felt… too much.
She found a quieter corner near the edge of the rooftop lounge candlelit and semi-private. She leaned against a pillar, exhaling slowly, trying to shake the pressure Kaelen left behind.
“Rough night?”
The voice was warm. Velvet-smooth with a twist of danger.
She turned and found herself face to face with him.
The man was beautiful in a way that should’ve been illegal: tall, lean, with tousled dark hair and lips curved in a smile that didn’t quite reach his cold silver eyes. He wore all black, sharp and elegant, with the confidence of someone who knew how to hunt without ever lifting his hands.
“Sorry,” Elowen said cautiously. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet,” he said, offering his hand. “Name’s Malric.”
She hesitated… then shook it. His skin was cool.
“Elowen.”
“I know,” he said with a smirk. “Kind of hard not to notice the prettiest girl on the roof.”
Her guard went up immediately. “Are you always this forward?”
“Only when it works,” he said, leaning slightly closer.
Elowen stepped back not out of fear, but instinct.
“Look,” she said. “I’m not really in the mood for ”
“Whatever he said to you,” Malric interrupted smoothly, “he’s an idiot.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Tall. Brooding. Moody demon hunter type?” Malric gestured toward the space Kaelen had just occupied. “The ones with walls for eyes and tragic haircuts? Always think they know what’s best.”
Elowen arched a brow. “You know Kaelen?”
Malric’s smile didn’t waver. “Only by reputation. And let’s just say, his type don’t usually appreciate someone who shines brighter than they do.”
Elowen frowned, unsure what this man wanted but too tired to keep deflecting.
She crossed her arms. “You always psychoanalyze girls you just met?”
“No,” Malric said easily. “Usually I just dance with them.”
He offered her a hand again.
And this time, he waited.
Elowen stared at Malric’s outstretched hand for a heartbeat too long.
He was bold. Too smooth. Definitely not her type.
But she was tired of playing it safe. Tired of being watched. Judged. Protected.
She slipped her hand into his.
Malric’s grin widened. “That’s more like it.”
He guided her effortlessly into the crowd, weaving past couples and dancers until they reached the center, where the music pulsed low and slow, a rhythm more sensual than frantic.
She let him draw her close one hand on her waist, the other clasped gently in his. His touch was cool, firm, practiced. She moved with him, surprised by how easily her body remembered rhythm despite the storm in her chest.
Malric leaned in, voice barely brushing her ear. “See? Told you I was good at this.”
“You talk too much,” Elowen murmured back, but her lips quirked.
He chuckled. “You’re not like the others.”
“Good.”
“No, I mean it.” His tone shifted more serious, more curious. “There’s something… different about you.”
Elowen tensed slightly. “You don’t know me.”
“Not yet,” Malric said. “But I’d like to.”
They spun slowly. Lantern light caught the edge of her hair. Her runes buzzed faintly beneath her skin, but not in warning just aware.
She wasn’t sure if it was the music, the exhaustion, or the sheer thrill of stepping out of Kaelen’s shadow, but for once… she didn’t pull away.
But Malric’s fingers had crept just slightly tighter around her waist.
And his smile had become a shade too sharp.
Unseen, near the rooftop entrance, Kaelen stepped into the light and stopped cold at the sight of them.
His jaw locked.
Elowen, laughing. Spinning in the arms of a vampire.
Not in danger. Not struggling.
But not safe either.
And Kaelen could feel it.
Something was wrong.
Malric’s hand lingered on Elowen’s lower backfingers brushing too low, too possessive.
She stiffened.
“I said,” she warned, her tone steel-edged, “that’s enough.”
Malric didn’t listen.
Instead, his other hand slid up her arm, slow and intimate, his lips dangerously close to her ear.
“You don’t even know what you are yet,” he whispered. “But I do. And I could show you ”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Because Kaelen’s fist slammed into his jaw with a sharp, brutal crack.
Malric flew backward, crashing into a table and taking half a dozen glasses with him. They shattered against the rooftop stone.
Gasps rose from the crowd. The music stuttered into silence.
Elowen staggered back, breathing hard. The runes across her skin glowed faintly, pulsing with raw energy. Her palm was still hot, the Blood Glyph near her wrist nearly flaring.
Kaelen stepped in front of her like a wall of fury, breath controlled, fists still clenched.
Malric coughed once and stood, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.
“Well,” he rasped, voice slick with laughter, “that escalated.”
Kaelen didn’t answer.
“Is this how the Agency greets guests now?” Malric went on, tilting his head. “A little possessive for someone who’s just ‘protecting’ her.”
Kaelen’s voice was low and lethal. “You touched her without permission.”
“She didn’t say stop,” Malric said, baring his fangs. “Not at first.”
“She did,” Kaelen growled. “And you ignored her.”
The crowd had backed off now, a circle forming. Ciara and Belle had moved toward Elowen, flanking her protectively, but no one interrupted.
Malric licked the blood from his lip, eyes dancing. “You always hit first, Kaelen? Or just when it’s a girl you’ve been pretending not to want?”
That nearly earned him a second punch but Kaelen held back.
Barely.
“Get off this roof,” Kaelen said coldly. “Now.”
Malric smiled. “As you wish.”
But before he turned to leave, he looked straight at Elowen.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he said smoothly. “You’re in deeper than you think.”
Then he vanished into the stairwell smiling, even as blood stained his teeth.
Kaelen didn’t look away from the spot Malric had disappeared.
Not until Elowen whispered, her voice trembling but steady:
“You didn’t have to do that.”
His jaw tightened. “Yes, I did.”
- Writer
