Malum part 2

Tillie

My skin swells with heat. An arm tightens around me. The smell of old whiskey is being breathed into my hair. My eyes pop open and the room is bright, the morning sun coming through the small window at the top of the wall.

“I’m trying really hard to be sensitive because I’ve just told you something dark as fuck, but your ass is pressing into me and if you wriggle it one more time, my dick is going in whether you want it or not—but let’s be real, you’d want it.”

I turn in his arms, ignoring the typical Nate antics. “You slept in here with me.”

“I did,” he agrees, his sleepy eyes searching mine, but they’re guarded. I don’t know if he’s always been like this and I haven’t noticed before, but he’s more shielded than before. It’s troubling.

“Why?” I ask, my voice husky and desperate. “Why did you sleep in my bed?”

“Because knowing you’re okay is worth the pain that having you in my arms causes.”

I wince, my heart twisting in my chest from his words. “I don’t want you in pain, Nate.”

“It’s just the way it is. I’m used to it.”

My head thuds as I turn to face the ceiling. “He really did this?”

Nate’s silent, so I turn to face him, desperate for answers that I’m not sure I want.

“Yeah, we think he did. I need to ask you a few things about that night. Do you think you’re up for that?”

My brain blurs like a television cha

He inches up onto one elbow, studying me. I ignore the way the sun sets behind him from the window, highlighting his dark blond hair, or the fact that first thing in the morning Nate is always a nicer version than the afternoon Nate.

“When you went to bed that night, was there anything that felt odd? Out of place? Anything.”

Pain grips onto my heart, squeezing while not letting go. I don’t want to think about this. I don’t want to let the memories seep into my already unstable soul. But it’s too late, because images are flashing through my head a hundred miles per hour, blinding me with their speed.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes, there was something.” The words come out softer than I intended.

Nate remains quiet.

I shut the door that night, the cool wind brushing through my hair as I closed it. I climbed into my silk sheets. I fell asleep. I woke up in a sweat, my face drenched. Why did I wake at this time?

No, I didn’t.

Did I?

My eyes snap open and I fly off the bed, tearing the covers from my body. “I don’t think I locked the door, Nate…”

He searches my face. “That’s not your fault. My house is safe enough to be able to do that. No one would set foot on King soil without given access. No one except Hector. He would have found a way in even if you did lock the door.”

I start pacing back and forth, my legs tingling with speed. I need to exercise or I’m not going to make it through. “What does this mean? Is that why you kept me locked up—” The color in my face drains and my blood turns cold. “What about the masquerade party…”

“Don’t know,” Nate mutters, climbing out of the bed and removing his shirt, making his hair stand all over his head again. “But we’re finding out tonight.”

“How?” I ask, once again needing to stretch my legs. Surely Brantley has a gym in this house.

“There’s another di

I nod, rubbing my sweaty palms down my legs.

“Oh.” Nate pauses at the threshold right before he disappears. “And this is a bigger di

I pause. “Why would I care? I know your ho past.”

“That’s the thing, it’s not really a past. I’ve known these people since I was little. There’s someone there who I haven’t seen since I was fourteen and she is the one that took my virginity.” He watches for my reaction, but my poker face is too good, because he’s not going to get one.

“Why are you telling me this? We’re not together, Nate.”

“Well aware of that, but just so you know, she’s meeting me there—”

“—You’re disgusting, and you can leave.”

Which he does.

I want to ignore that once again, Nate has hurt me. But it’s my own fault for having emotions. Feelings. I’m curious to know who this girl is, but as far as he and I are concerned, we’re obviously finished. I need to remember that the only reason why he’s being civil with me about this is because of Hector. Because he wants revenge, and so do I. Once that’s done, he will throw me away like a bad memory—I know this.

I exhale a shaky breath. “Pull it together, Tillie. Just play the game.” I flash a fake smile to myself, because you know, practice. If he wants to bring his ex—whatever she is—that’s fine. I’ll play, but I’m playing to win, and my first move after rolling the dice is being the hottest bitch in the room.

I’m walking past Daemon’s room when I peek in, wanting to ask if he will come with me. He’ll be wearing a mask and Madison most likely won’t be there, so what’s the harm, but his room is empty.

Again.

The space looks untouched, the bed covers are neat, like no one has so much as sat on the bed.

Maybe he’s clean and he makes it tidy. He must be out again doing God knows what, or maybe The Kings have him back on Lost Boy duties.

I sigh, marching up the stairs and heading straight for the kitchen. I’m hungry and I want pancakes.

No one is in there when I arrive, so I start searching through the cupboards to find all of the ingredients I need.

Flour, eggs, butter, milk. I fucking love pancakes.

I turn the sound dock on and push play. I need something to make me feel better about Nate and his stupid confession this morning. I hit play on Halsey’s “Young God,” tossing all of the ingredients into the bowl and stirring it together. I start beating it fast until my hair comes out of its bun.

I stop, swing my head over by bending at the waist and rake all of it to the front before knotting it into a high bun. When I fling back to standing position, Brantley is standing directly in front of me, leaning against a cabinet.

“What are you doing?” he yells over the sound.

“Making pancakes!”

I swipe some of the batter with my fingertip, just as Halsey sings, “if you want to go to heaven then you should fuck me tonight,” and I keep my eyes on Brantley, sucking the batter off my finger. This will be fun.

His eyes narrow, and mine drop down to what he’s wearing. Loose sweatpant shorts and no shirt. Sweat glistens off his chest.

“Did you just workout?” I ask, pointing down his body.

He removes the blender cup, slowly dragging his eyes from mine. “Yeah. Why?” I can see the side of his cheek turning up in a smile.

I carry on. “I need to.”

He nudges his head toward the stairs. “Level three.”

“Isn’t that where your room is?” I ask, stirring the batter again.

“Yeah, just my room and the gym. You should do it before pancakes, and anyway, the batter needs to sit in the fridge for an hour.”

“What?” I glare at him. “Since when?”

Brantley stares at me, hitting the blender off after mixing his shake. “Since forever. Everyone knows that pancake batter needs to sit in the fridge for an hour before you cook it.”