Summary: Tensions reach a volatile peak, with the potential for explosive consequences for several people.
He had not kept his distance from Vicky.
Not entirely. Despite his firm resolution after their ill-advised kiss, Malbonte couldn't stop himself from monitoring her movements. She was clearly gathering intelligence for the Order. While cautious and protected by the Stone, Plague's growing suspicions about the Order were becoming a problem.
Plague was still in the dark about the Order's members and objectives, but their interference had thwarted the Horsemen on multiple occasions. Some of their maneuvers had even preempted her strategies, hinting at a likely leak within her inner circle. Malbonte, who knew the identities of the leakers, continued to maintain an air of ignorance.
One glaring instance was the removal of certain ancient documents from Hell's library—records detailing the locations of ceremonial horns needed to release the Mother of Life. Seven horns were required after breaking the seven seals. The Horsemen held four, but one that had been kept at the Citadel had vanished. Malbonte suspected it was now secured by the Order. The locations of the last two horns were shrouded in mystery, although some hints suggested one might be hidden among humans. Without the assistance of the Guardian of the Earth Eye, locating it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Donny had concealed himself within hidden bunkers among the immortals, and Plague's agents were still hunting him. Their failure added to the simmering tension within the Horsemen's ranks.
This tension was palpable as Malbonte attended yet another Ball that evening, held to celebrate the Horsemen's "victory" at the Citadel. Seated with Plague, Torendo, and Satan, he noted the strained dynamics. Plague was noticeably less pleased than usual; she was forced to share the glory with her brother, whom she felt was unjustly credited with their success. Torendo fawned over Plague with his usual flair, though only Malbonte knew where his true loyalties lay. Satan maintained a veneer of obedience that failed to mask his deep-seated disdain.
The moment Vicky entered, Malbonte sensed the familiar pull of her presence and the weight of her gaze settling on him. He kept his expression impassive, forcing his focus to remain on the table's conversations. Yet, the ghost of their kiss lingered between them, thickening the air with tension despite the distance.
Before the silence could deepen, the ballroom erupted in applause as War made his entrance, basking in the crowd's adoration. Plague seethed, barely concealing her jealousy. War's presence overshadowed hers; his charisma framed battle as something glorious, unlike Plague's reputation for cold, indiscriminate cruelty.
Malbonte kept his distance from War whenever possible. Since the Horseman's arrival, Malbonte's battle to suppress the torment inflicted by Shephamalum had become almost unbearable. War's presence dredged up buried memories, stoking the searing flames of hatred that fueled his relentless drive for vengeance.
Plague's voice shattered his thoughts as she summoned Vicky to their table. Malbonte tensed.
"Vicky, do you know Torendo?" Plague's smile was a thin, mocking curve.
Torendo's eyes slid over Vicky with practiced indifference. "I missed the privilege of witnessing Rebecca's daughter in action. It's a pity to see you at the bottom again."
Vicky's smile was pleasant, unfazed. "It's probably as safe at the bottom as under Plague's thumb."
Plague laughed—a rare, genuine sound quickly stifled with a gesture. Malbonte's lips twitched with restrained amusement. There was the Vicky he'd known over the past ten years of leadership.
Torendo's expression soured. "You're so witty," he muttered, unamused.
Satan interrupted the badinage, eager to move on to practical matters. "You requested my report, mistress," he said, the word mistress laced with disdain. His hatred was transparent, but Plague relished his helplessness.
He launched into a summary of his recent actions in Hell, including the closure of its gates to mortal souls. The Horsemen's contempt for humans was absolute; they viewed the Unclaimed as undeserving of existence, let alone immortality. Plague's decree ensured that deceased mortals would be condemned to Nonexistence, unable to reach the immortal realm.
While Satan had locked Hell's gates, Shepha's key was still needed to seal Heaven. Souls continued to arrive—some Unclaimed, others destined for Paradise.
"I have a lead, mistress," Torendo said confidently. "Soon, we will find the key to Shepha's gate."
Malbonte remained expressionless, knowing Torendo's search would be in vain. The key had been in Malbonte's possession since he'd stolen it before the war with Shepha. After Plague's decree, he retrieved the hidden key and destroyed it. He couldn't prevent the Horsemen's rampage on Earth, but he could thwart their plan to condemn human souls.
Malbonte had never shared the immortal world's disdain for the Unclaimed. His escape from Shephamalum's dungeon had hinged on the existence of one capable of becoming a Seraph, not to mention Vicky. Over time, he had come to see humanity's resilience and potential as more than just a means to an end. Perhaps his occasional visits to Earth with Vicky had deepened this sentiment. Additionally, the memory of Shepha banishing his parents to Earth, where they were stripped of their immortality and faced Nonexistence upon death, still haunted him. That wound had strengthened his quiet resolve to shield humans from a similar fate, especially as it thwarted Plague's quest to inflict misery and empower herself through the despair of every condemned soul. Plague should have turned her attention to him for the missing key, but her growing dependency on the alcohol-infused cocktail had dulled her judgment, sparing Malbonte from scrutiny for now.
As if to confirm Malbonte's thoughts, Plague tapped her empty glass impatiently, signaling him to refill it. As Malbonte rose with practiced composure, Plague added with a sneer, "I know what you are up to."
Malbonte's response was measured, cold. "It's good that you understand."
Plague looked at him with amplified hatred, but she said nothing further, letting him leave as the conversation shifted focus. Like any addict, she believed she could stop at any time. Malbonte suspected she might indeed have the strength to quit, but as long as she felt in control, she wouldn't bother trying. He was careful to let her maintain that illusion.
Plague dismissed the other immortals from the table on Torendo's insistence before he gave his report. While Satan and Lucifer left without protest, Vicky lingered at a distance, her posture deceptively casual as she strained to catch snippets of the conversation without drawing attention. She had moved far enough away by the time Malbonte returned with a waiter trailing behind him, carrying a full tray of the special cocktail. Plague downed a whole glass in one gulp before reaching for another.
When Plague drunkenly asked for Kira, Malbonte's heart tensed involuntarily at the mention of her name. He had kept the half-breed girl, yet another select seal-breaker, away from the Ball on purpose—an impulse he struggled to rationalize even to himself. Kira reminded him of his own younger self—vulnerable, orphaned, at the mercy of beings far more powerful than she could comprehend. Initially, he had intervened to prevent Plague from adding Kira to her collection of leashed "pets." However, the horsewoman's growing fixation on the girl had thrown Malbonte off-guard, leaving him uncertain of her intentions.
She's really drunk. What is he doing to her? Vicky's thoughts filtered into Malbonte's mind, as they did whenever her thoughts turned to him, even when he wasn't actively listening for her voice. I was stupid to think he was ever really Plague's slave. Malbonte has always been a lone wolf, following his own path, whatever it may be. She was finally beginning to grasp the true nature of his alliance with Plague. He must have a plan of his own. And for that, he needs to be close enough to Plague that she depends on him and won't get rid of him in a fit of rage. That drink… She doesn't know how to make it; she can't read the recipe from Malbonte's mind… But she's become addicted to it, and therefore to Malbonte.
A secretive smile crossed Malbonte's lips as he glanced in Vicky's direction, acknowledging her insight. Her understanding, although incomplete, was impressively accurate.
What are you up to? she asked, their gazes locking, without the usual hostility that came when she realized he was in her mind.
Plague snapped her fingers, beckoning Vicky back to the table and cutting off their silent exchange. Malbonte's body went rigid as Plague leaned in and murmured something to Vicky before leading her to War, who stood tall and watchful near the dance floor. With a sly smile, Plague whispered to War and offered Vicky as his dance partner. Vicky hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and accepted War's extended hand. Malbonte's jaw clenched as he watched them move onto the dance floor. His eyes tracked their every step, scrutinizing Vicky's expressions and War's shifting demeanor.
What began as a display of mild disinterest on War's part shifted to a keen focus as he grew intrigued by Vicky's defiance and composure.
Malbonte's grip tightened around his wine glass until it nearly shattered. When the dance ended, War escorted Vicky back, a glimmer of curiosity lingering in his gaze.
Malbonte's mind raced, the implications gnawing at him. Had Plague used Vicky as bait to provoke War, or was she planning something far more sinister—turning Vicky into War's "pet"? The very thought sent red hot spikes searing through his chest.
Vicky moved to a balcony, her posture sagging under the weight of exhaustion. The isolation, the loss of allies like Mimi, and the strain of constant deception had taken their toll. Malbonte found himself following her after a while, drawn like iron filings to a magnet.
Sensing his presence, she turned and caught sight of him leaning against a nearby column. Her eyes swept over him before she quickly looked away, a faint blush warming her cheeks.
Malbonte's lips pressed into a thin line, quelling the warmth that rose within him. He turned his gaze to the night sky and said, "You shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."
"Are you threatening me or looking out for me?" she asked, a wry smile playing on her lips.
"I'm warning you," he said, his tone grave. "Plague has suspicions about the Order of Resistance."
She stiffened, fingers gripping the balcony rail. "What Order are you talking about?" she asked, breathless.
Ignoring her pretense, Malbonte leaned in, the space between them charged. His eyes searched hers, a flicker of turmoil passing over his features before they hardened. "Stay out of my way," he said, the words biting but heavy with contradiction, as if warning her against the very danger he was struggling to avoid himself.
"So you're…" she drew closer and whispered, "…part of the Order?"
Malbonte's lips thinned. "No. I'm on the Horsemen's side."
Vicky frowned, confusion clouding her eyes. "But then, why are you…"
Before she could finish, he seized her wrist, not hard enough to hurt but enough to demand her attention. Perhaps he would use this opportunity to reverse the damage he had caused by his kiss. "Do you remember the time we fought each other and I asked you to join me?"
"Yes…"
"It was all about your strength. I needed it. Now that the power is restored, you shouldn't get in my way." He tried to sound cold and indifferent.
"And what about those ten years afterward?" she pressed, skeptical.
"It was for the same reason," he said, his tone robotic even as a shadow of regret flitted across his eyes. "I couldn't trust you with my power out of my oversight."
"I don't believe you," Vicky stated flatly. His weak protest was admittedly not very unconvincing. She continued, "You wanted me to be on your side for more than just my power."
"That's not true." The words hung between them, defensive and hollow.
"You never lied to me before," she insisted. "When we led the Council together, you said you'd destroy anyone who stood against equality. You kept that promise when we found those behind the half-breed attacks."
Malbonte's eyelashes fluttered at her words, wondering if she mentioned the half-breed attacks deliberately, seeking confirmation about their relevance to the Horsemen's current goals.
"Then here's my next promise to you." He stepped closer, looming over her, the grip on her wrist tightening. "If Plague tires of you playing detective, she'll kill you or ask me to do it. You will die. No one will save you."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were worried," she said, baiting him, her voice testing, daring. "I remember when you listened to me and lessened the sentences for the younger angels who committed the same crimes. So, don't tell me our relationship was just about your power."
A shadow darkened his expression, and he stepped back, releasing her. This encounter had been a mistake.
But Vicky wasn't finished. "Do you want the Horsemen to destroy the whole world? Why would you need that?" She gripped his arm, her fingers urgent, trembling against the fabric. Their eyes met and held, the touch searing even through layers of clothing.
"You're looking at everything in black and white, just like those angels. Don't be like them. It's not that simple." He placed his hand over hers, squeezing it firmly. Her eyes glistened, and her emotions filtered through—raw, yearning for his reassurance and comfort. The impact nearly shattered his resolve. He roughly pried her fingers from his arm. "Enough," he said, turning away from her and the temptation to pull her close and spirit her away from the madness. But even if he took her to the edge of the immortal world, Vicky would still find a way to defy the darkness poised to swallow them whole.
***—***
Malbonte sat in the dim, cold silence of the Earth Observatory, his eyes fixed on the swirling, ethereal images conjured within the Eye. Though Donny, the Guardian of the Earth Eye, had finally been captured, Malbonte was able to use the device to a limited extent on his own. When he learned that War was leading a contingent of immortals to Earth to incite conflict among humans, a sense of unease pricked at him, stirring memories of Vicky's last disastrous mission. But what he witnessed now unsettled him more than he liked to admit.
Unlike the hesitant participant he had observed before, Vicky now moved with a frenetic energy. Her presence was electric, her movements precise yet feverish. She darted through the human crowd, igniting anger and chaos with a touch. Each contact seemed to trigger a chain reaction: anxiety morphed into aggression, tranquility into conflict. The battlefield was a cacophony of screams, the acrid tang of smoke and blood filling the air. And Vicky was at the heart of it, an agent of disruption.
Malbonte's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. He knew War's aura had a way of infiltrating the mind, amplifying violent instincts, and making combat feel thrilling. Yet, Vicky's fervor seemed to go beyond that. He noted her brief exchange with War before she resumed her work. It reminded him of that moment at the Ball, when Plague had paired Vicky with War. Something significant had transpired then, and whatever it was, it now seemed to be influencing Vicky's actions. The need for answers pricked at him, but approaching Plague or War would expose his interest. For now, he could only watch and wait.
When the mission ended, Vicky returned to the Academy through the Vortex. Malbonte left the Observatory and trailed her silently through the corridors. The sight of her on Earth, swept up in War's fervor, had disturbed him more than he anticipated. The brief exchanges he'd observed between Vicky and War, both during the mission and at the Ball, hinted at a hidden scheme—one that could involve Plague, the Order, or both. The ambiguity urged him to seek answers without revealing his interest. He told himself it was tactical—that observing her would help him gauge War's influence over her and decipher Plague's deeper plans. But seeing Vicky so entwined with the Horsemen stirred an unwelcome mix of regret and protectiveness in him. It wasn't just concern for her safety—it was a growing fear that she was slipping further away from herself on some perilous mission for the Order. He knew—none better—that once you gave the darkness a toehold, it could easily consume your entire being.
He found her at last, leaning against the cold stone wall, her breath ragged. Before he could speak, she fell to her knees, trembling as dry heaves shook her frame. The frenzy had worn off, leaving her vulnerable and hollow.
He reached into his pocket and extended a handkerchief. Vicky's eyes met his as she hesitated, then took it with a whispered, "Thank you." Malbonte nodded, intending to leave, satisfied that she was physically unharmed—and perhaps a little relieved that she hadn't been entirely unaffected by the carnage left behind on Earth.
But then, she called out to him, his name echoing softly through the empty corridor, "Mal…bon…te…"
Reluctantly, he turned around and looked inquiringly at Vicky. "Yes?"
"I'll return your handkerchief," she said, color rising in her cheeks.
"Don't." He turned to leave but paused. The urge to caution her was irresistible. "War is dangerous to those fueled by anger. Control yourself."
"So, you need to be wary of him too," she countered.
Malbonte stepped closer, his eyes scanning for potential eavesdroppers. "That's true," he admitted, reluctantly.
"But if you're on their side, you shouldn't need to fear him…right?" Her voice was probing, baiting him for an admission that he was working against the Horsemen's agenda.
He met her gaze for a long moment but said nothing, refusing to fall for her provocation.
"I think Plague is also affected by War's abilities," Vicky continued, thinking out loud. "Perhaps they can influence each other in the same way as…"
"Stop it!" he interrupted, his voice sharper than intended. She was perceptive, alright—one of the many reasons he had valued her insight during their time as co-rulers. She had an uncanny ability to see through chaos and discern patterns others overlooked. Despite her limited exposure to the intricate dynamics between the two Horsemen, Vicky's intuition had pierced straight to the core of their volatile relationship. Plague loathed War and seemed constantly influenced by his presence, while War relished goading his sister into losing her temper.
"What?" Her eyes widened in confusion.
"You don't quite seem to understand what's between us," he said, his voice low, charged.
But there's nothing between us… Her thoughts rippled through to him, filled with regret, hope, and longing.
Malbonte suppressed a sigh of frustration at the persistence of her hope despite his coldness. "I am not on your side, Vicky. I'm on the Horsemen's. You shouldn't share that kind of information with an enemy."
She pursed her lips, annoyed. "Thanks for the tip."
Malbonte studied her trembling form, noticing the exhaustion etched across her features and the nervous way she kept twisting the handkerchief. Despite his efforts to maintain a cold detachment, a tug of empathy surfaced within him. He understood what it meant to be surrounded by power yet feel isolated, forced to play a role that alienated him from everyone around him. With the return of his power came the return of his solitude—he was more untouchable, more alone, than ever.
Vicky's recent mission, the way she had thrown herself into the fray only to end up retching in an empty corridor, reminded him of his own burden. He saw in her that same weariness, that desperate resolve to uphold a facade. Working for the Order had left Vicky stranded between loyalty and deception, isolated her from her friends and former allies, and forced her to feign subservience to the very people she despised.
Before he could check himself, he spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "You're lonely," he said, and watched her reaction.
Vicky stilled, surprised by the question, her eyes searching his. She finally replied, "I don't think my enemy needs to know that."
A rare smile ghosted across his lips. "You're a fast learner. Well done."
Her posture straightened, the subtle lift of pride evident even as she blushed. The strength of their connection moved both ways, and deep down, he knew she felt that he would never use her openness against her. But the moment was dangerous—dangerous for them both in different ways. He nodded once, breaking the connection, and walked away, his mind spinning with thoughts that refused to settle.
Unbidden yet vivid, memories of their time together surfaced in his mind: glances filled with unspoken understanding, late-night discussions that drifted from strategy to meandering reflections on anything and everything. Their connection was forged not merely from power or necessity, but from mutual support and the quiet certainty that, as long as the other was near, neither was truly alone.
But now, the comfort they had once shared was only a memory. They were each left to trudge their separate paths alone. A small part of him still hoped their journeys might reconnect someday, but he resolutely forced that thought aside as he continued toward his chambers.
***—***
Malbonte sat on his bed, his breath shallow and strained. Sweat clung to his skin, and his head throbbed with a relentless, pounding ache. Shephamalum's growing pressure bore down on him, urging him to hasten the seal-breaking and release the Mother. Yet, they still lacked all the horns, and Rebecca remained in hiding.
A knock sounded at the door. Malbonte dabbed his face with a towel and opened the door a crack. An acolyte informed him of Plague's summons. With a simmer of unease twisting in his stomach, he slipped on his tunic and followed.
The moment he stepped into Plague's office, he saw that she was in a flaming temper. War stood by the window, his face marked with displeasure.
"What's wrong?" Malbonte asked, though he could already tell by the charged atmosphere that Plague's mood was dangerous.
In response, Plague bared her teeth, snatched a glass ornament from her desk, and hurled it against the wall, shattering it into a thousand glittering fragments. Malbonte waved a hand, deflecting the shards as he lifted an eyebrow. War's lips twitched with faint amusement, though his eyes flashed amber.
"My dear sister regrets letting that girl die before wringing her secrets out of her," War drawled. "And she can't seem to pry them out of Dino, either."
Leeloo's attempt on Christopher at tournament's end had forced the Horsemen to confront an uncomfortable truth: someone within their ranks—whether a spy or merely an eavesdropper—was privy to secrets never meant to reach outside ears, knowledge so precise it could only have come from deep within their circle.
"I don't know how he's doing it, but part of his mind is locked to me," Plague snapped, clenching her fists. "I can't find a single trace of why Leeloo targeted Christopher."
"Maybe there's nothing to find," Malbonte suggested dryly. Yet he knew that wasn't true. Dino was one of the Order's most loyal members, and with the Stone of Secrets shielding him, Plague could flay his mind as ruthlessly as she liked and still find only empty echoes.
Plague exploded up from her chair, her eyes flashing. "Do you all think I'm a fool?" She paced the room in agitation, muttering imprecations under her breath. "First it was Mammon, now Dino. I tested Fencio, but his mind is as open to me as ever." Malbonte had to give Fencio credit—he had concealed his allegiance masterfully.
She swiveled toward Malbonte, her gaze sharp and cutting. "But you know who else is hiding little secrets?"
Malbonte knew what was coming, and he didn't relish it one bit.
"Vicky," Plague spat, a malicious glint in her eye.
Malbonte allowed a faint, mocking smile to curve his lips. "Her? She doesn't have the strength to keep anything hidden from either of us."
"That's what I thought," Plague said. "But no matter how deeply I probe, I can't find the source of her information on Mammon's whereabouts."
Malbonte's breath hitched. That had always been a weak spot, one that the Order ought to have anticipated and accounted for. The Order's house of cards was tumbling down, and it threatened to take Vicky along with it.
"Bring her to me," Plague demanded, her voice venomous. "Let's see what other secrets she's keeping."
Malbonte's hesitation was almost imperceptible as he replied, "We still need her to break the final seal."
Plague's smile turned cruel. "What's this? Worried about the little bird, are you?"
Malbonte narrowed his eyes, taking a step forward, but before he could speak, War interjected, surprising them both.
"I'll ensure she remains unharmed," he said, his voice unusually serious.
Malbonte cast a brief, measuring glance at War, then gave a curt nod. "Very well," he said, and left the room, his mind in turmoil.
Malbonte strode down the winding corridors of the Academy, his thoughts churning as he approached Vicky's quarters. There was absolutely nothing he could do to protect Vicky this time—he was reduced to trusting War, of all people, to ensure Plague didn't push things too far.
He reached her room and knocked. No answer. He knocked louder, then, when silence persisted, pushed the door open, his eyes narrowing at the empty space. A flicker of frustration mixed with an uneasy intuition. Vicky's absence didn't feel accidental; she was likely up to some mischief.
Then he felt it—a ripple in the energy domain under his control, one that extended across the prison quarters. Someone had breached the outer barrier, and given the circumstances, Malbonte was certain it was Vicky, likely on a clandestine visit to Dino. Moving swiftly, he let his senses guide him to the prison, tracing her aura to the cell where Ulyssa and Titu were held.
Arriving at the scene, his jaw tightened as he saw Adi and Sammy outside the cell, standing over the prone form of a guard. They straightened at his arrival, trying to mask their alarm, but Malbonte's glare cut through any pretense. As they attempted a futile struggle, he subdued them with ease, and grasped each by the collar. With a forceful kick, he opened the cell door and entered, dragging Adi and Sammy with him.
Inside, Vicky rushed toward them in concern, but Malbonte's expression remained hard. With rising temper, he shoved the two companions toward her, sending them all sprawling to the floor in a heap.
His gaze fell on the infant in Ulyssa's arms with a cold, calculating recognition—this was the baby fated to open the third seal, the key to Hunger's release. Ignoring Vicky's protests, he addressed her with a clipped tone. "The only reason they're still alive is because they're too weak to pose a threat." And grabbing her arm, he pulled her up in one swift movement.
"Don't touch her!" Sammy yelled after them as Malbonte turned to leave.
Vicky reached for his sleeve, her voice a mix of defiance and desperation. "It wasn't their fault; I led them here."
Malbonte's gaze was hard. "I know. And you'll answer for it."
"Bastard," muttered Adi from the floor.
"Perhaps," Malbonte replied coldly, "but you're lucky it was me and not the Horsemen who found out." He motioned for the guards to detain Adi and Sammy before dragging Vicky down the hall, ignoring Sammy's shouted reassurances to her.
"Where are you taking me?" Vicky asked apprehensively.
"To Plague. She's waiting for you."
"Because I broke into that room?" Vicky sounded incredulous.
"She doesn't know about that," Malbonte replied coolly.
"But Ulyssa said that Plague could feel…"
"This room is within my energy domain, not hers," he elaborated. "Plague is too impulsive to focus her energy."
Vicky looked at him with cautious curiosity, clearly wondering why he was divulging this information. "Why are you helping me?"
A difficult question to answer, under the circumstances. "Maybe I'm paying tribute to the time that we ruled hand-in-hand.
She looked at him carefully, as though trying to judge the truth of his statement. "What will happen to Adi and Sammy?"
"You ask too many questions," he said, annoyed. Plague wouldn't appreciate the delay.
At that moment, a jolt of pain lanced through his mind, Shephamalum's whispers sinking into him. Have you broken Hunger's seal yet? What are you waiting for, my boy? Malbonte's face contorted, and he sensed Vicky recoil, frightened. Yet, he clung to her shoulder almost instinctively, his grip tightening. He turned her toward him, blazing with a rage that was amplified by War's proximity.
Her fingers brushed his cheek, hesitant and trembling. The sheer liberty of her touch stole his breath—and sparked a flare of anger. "Remove your hand," he ordered sharply, the command slicing through the tense air between them like a blade. Slowly, as if afraid to set him off with any abrupt movement, she lowered her hand.
"What's wrong? Are you having more visions of Shephamalum?" she persisted.
The concern in her eyes only deepened his anger. His lips curled into a cruel grin. "The darkness never lets go if you've fallen into its trap even once." Another wave of pain surged through him. I am waiting… Set me free…
Sweat beaded on Malbonte's forehead and ran down his temples in rivulets. His eyes blazed with the fire of madness. Malbonte's hands trembled, and his fingers dug into Vicky's shoulders, his grip barely controlled.
"Why is Shephamalum contacting you?" Vicky asked.
Malbonte gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "You pity me," he mocked, "How sweet." His grip tightened on her shoulders until she squeaked from the pain. "Don't you understand that I'm willing to let the whole world be destroyed to get rid of his snares?"
"It didn't seem like that when we ruled together."
Malbonte gave a mirthless laugh. "You wanted to see the best in me, and you ignored the rest. You judged me according to your own expectations." He brought his face closer, his voice dropping to a barely audible, furious whisper. "There's no need to feel sorry for me, because I won't feel sorry for anyone."
He tried to release her, but another jolt from Shephamalum's dark influence rooted him in place, his fingers locked around her shoulders.
"What bad timing!" he exclaimed, closing his eyes as intense pain washed over him. He turned his head from side to side, as though that might somehow dislodge Shephamalum's grip on his mind. The dungeon's piercing cold wrapped around him like a suffocating cloak, cutting him off from the outside world and imprisoning him in a haze of venomous whispers.
Then, unexpectedly, he felt her lips on his—soft, trembling, like a butterfly drawing nectar from a flower. Vicky would only find poison in the black obelisk of his soul. Yet, her reckless audacity cut through the chains, releasing him from Shephamalum's hold.
For an instant, he felt unbound, and the memories of all the times she had held him in the comfort of her arms flooded his mind. He was overtaken by a fierce hunger for the return of their former intimacy. He fought the urge to pull her into one of the empty cells, lose himself in her, and forget, if only for a moment, the darkness that weighed on his soul. He could sense, almost tangibly, that she wanted him too; her gaze, flushed and unwavering, held a thrumming intensity that mirrored his own.
He bit her lip, hard, until he tasted blood—a sharp sting against the softness of her touch. It was as if he needed to push back against the vulnerability she had drawn out of him. Slowly, he grazed his teeth along the velvet curve, a blend of punishment and temptation, letting her feel the sharp edges of his psyche, daring her to recoil, daring her to want him still. He ran his tongue over the bleeding lip, stroking it, then drew back. He reached behind her and gripped her hair, tilting her face toward him.
"Did you like that?" he taunted, his voice a dark rumble.
Her eyes dropped to his lips, and she unconsciously licked her own, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. Malbonte wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his thumb, as if trying to clear away the taste of temptation. But with that single kiss, Vicky had revealed her faith in the strength of their connection—it both unnerved and drew him nearer than he dared to admit.
"Go," he commanded, the word gentler now. He gave her shoulder a soft, almost reluctant squeeze, knowing that if he didn't send her away now, he couldn't trust himself to hold back.
They reached Plague's office, and he motioned for her to enter. The whispers clawed at the edges of his mind, waiting to engulf him once more. Vicky hesitated, casting a lingering look back at him, seemingly unwilling to leave him in his torment.
"Go," he repeated firmly. "She's waiting."
As she turned away, Malbonte staggered, gripping the wall for support. She paused, concern flickering in her expression. He raised a hand, cutting her off sharply. "I said, go to her."
At last, Vicky stepped into Plague's office. As the door closed behind her, Malbonte slipped into the shadows, retreating before she could change her mind and come after him.
***—***