“I am repaying a debt.” Zenna snatched the quilt from the floor and wrapped it over her shoulders, then sat on the far end of the sofa, eyeing him with curiosity and a touch of fear.
“A lifetime is a hefty debt.” He removed the shirt, refolded it, and placed the clean side against his lip, a groan accompanying his movement.
“I’ve almost paid it back.” She tucked the quilt over her legs, shoving the edges underneath her thighs.
“Is my father aware of that?” Malik asked through closed eyes.
“I have recorded everything.” She indicated a small leather-bound journal beneath the shelves of vials with a jerk of her head. “He cannot deny me.”
“How much was the original debt?”
“Four hundred thousand.”
He whistled, his eyes opening. “That’s quite a large amount.”
“It was my parents’ debt. When my mother was pregnant with me, she fell gravely ill. My father was so desperate to save her life, he made a costly error. After I was born, Mother came to collect, and my father couldn’t pay.” Her voice trailed off. She picked at a loose thread on the quilt.
“When did he take you?” His gentle tone caused her to glance up.
“I was five.”
Malik rose with a groan and stumbled backward, steadying himself against the wall. He gagged, pressed his hand to his mouth, and inhaled a deep breath.
“Have you ever used Votras Alute?” he asked, his tongue thick.
“Once.”
“Only once?” Malik shoved off the wall, lumbered across the room, his gait akin to a drunkard, and collapsed beside her. Leaning his head against the back of the sofa, his eyes fluttered closed again. The heavy aroma of petrol and leather assaulted her.
“It doesn’t work for me… because of the secret ingredient.”
“I thought it was a plant.”
“Mother changed the recipe.”
“What is it now?” He opened his eyes and turned his penetrating icy-blue gaze on her.
Zenna swallowed. If Mother didn’t trust Malik with the formula, should she? She had no experience with Malik and could only draw from rumors, hushed conversations that drifted up from the courtyard from the mouths of men too terrified to confront Mother’s son.
“I…”
“You can’t say?”
She licked her lips. “If I tell you…”
“I swear not to say one word to my father.” He lifted his hand and slapped it over his heart, offering her a half-grin.
“As he and I are the only people who know, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to figure out who told you.”
“And you think I’ll steal the formula and manufacture it myself?”
“Not exactly.” Zenna wound her fingers together and glanced over her shoulder at the shelf of empty vials. “But you might kidnap me.”
Malik’s unusual scent intensified as he moved closer. Hooking his fingers under her chin, he dragged her face toward him, the pad of his thumb sliding across her lower lip, sending a tremor zipping through her body.
“And you believe my father is a better warden than I?” His soft question caressed her skin, a second shiver rippled down her spine.
“I don’t know you. I can’t trust you.”
“You can’t trust my father, either,” Malik replied. He twisted around, hung the blood-stained shirt over the edge of the sofa, and turned back to her with a half-smile. “What would put your mind at ease?”
“A kiss.” The words burst from her lips before she could stop them.
Malik paused, clearly thrown by her request, and peculiar expression washed over his face.
“You do know who I am?”
She dropped her gaze, her fingers winding together in her lap, and the edges of the quilt pulled apart. This was the stupidest idea she’d ever had, but she could think of only one way to prevent Malik from revealing he knew the formula, and that was to put his own life at risk. He didn’t need to know he would be her first kiss. A strange ache to spread through her chest. What if he thought her ridiculous?
“Mother will kill you if he learns you kissed me,” Zenna said to the floor. “This way, I have your silence.”
“Aren’t you a smart one?” Malik laughed, the delightful baritone sound rumbling around the tower. “Alright, you have a deal.”
Before Zenna could react, Malik leaned forward, lifted her chin, and pressed his mouth to hers. His arms wound around her waist, drawing her body against his solid chest. Increasing the pressure against her mouth, his lips parted hers, and his tongue dipped into her mouth. Her body felt as though it was aflame as if the heat from her skin would burn through her tank top and set them both on fire. She moaned, longing to drag her fingers through his hair.
Malik released her and moved back to the opposite side of the sofa, his bright eyes glowing with hunger. Zenna sucked in a shaky breath, trembling under the memory of Malik’s sensual caress.
“I have put my life in jeopardy at your request. What is the secret ingredient?”
“Me.”
“You?” Malik frowned.
Zenna gestured at the hair piled at the base of the staircase. He blinked several times, his gaze flicking between her and the pile of golden hair. He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead with his hand.
“Give me a moment, I’m trying to process what you said. This drug makes it impossible to think.”
“Is that why you don’t use it?” Zenna asked.
“Well that, and apparently, it’s made from human hair!” He glanced up, anger darkening his features. “How long has your hair been in the formula?
“Ever since I was taken.” She scooted away from his ire and drawing her feet beneath her, pressed herself against the far end of the sofa. He reached out, his hand hovering just above her forearm. When she shrank away further, he retracted his arm with a sigh.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He placed his hand on the sofa halfway between them.
“You look just like Mother when you’re angry,” she replied, glancing at his hand.
“I’m not him.” His fingers tapped the sofa cushion.
“Your reputation claims otherwise.”
“And how did you come by this damning information?” Malik turned to his left and then his right in an exaggerated movement, drinking in the austere furniture in the tower. He stroked his chin as if contemplating her words. “Do you receive your gossip by carrier pigeon?”
She giggled, then clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes rounding. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“I don’t mind.” Leaning over, he reached out and placed one gentle finger on her hand. Lowering it from her mouth, he smiled. “It’s not a sound I’m accustomed to.”
“Your mother…” He flinched at the word, and she sank her teeth into her lip, stopping the question.
“Dead.” Malik rose and trudged to the open window. Staring out at the courtyard, he slammed his palm flat on the right side of the wall. The sound startled Zenna, who leapt off the sofa, abandoning the quilt, and retreated behind her worktable. He glanced back, his face softening.
“I won’t hurt you, I swear.”