Exquisite Captive

by Heather Demetrios

  19

  WHEN SHE WOKE UP, NALIA WAS ALONE IN HER BED. ALL that remained of the night before was the rumpled pillow next to her own. She stared at it for a long moment, as though she could divine the future among its creases and folds.

  She didn’t know if Malek had stayed all night—her sleep had been dreamless and deep. For the first time in days, she felt rested. She suspected it was because he had commanded her to sleep; her body obeyed the master-slave bond even if her mind didn’t want to. For once, it had been a good thing.

  But no bottle.

  She’d been so close. But it did no good to have Malek fall asleep next to her if the bottle was still around his neck. She couldn’t see the barrier of magic that protected the necklace while Malek wore it, but she knew it was there. It was literally impossible for her to touch the chain. And even if the bottle had remained on the floor, she wouldn’t have been able to stay awake long enough to take it. That command to go to sleep had been unexpected—what if he did that next time? Disappointment settled over her, its sticky, too-tight fit on her skin unbearably familiar. Hope seemed like a distant light that had slowly begun to fade.

  Nalia forced herself out of bed and opened the window to let a breeze into the room. Even though Malek wasn’t there anymore, his scent lingered: clove cigarettes and the dark promise of something that was too awful to contemplate in the light of day.

  Her room didn’t feel hers anymore. She had to get out.

  It was too late to go to the beach to perform her Sha’a Rho exercises, so she threw on a pair of yoga pants, then evanesced to the farthest reaches of the garden behind the house, where the gardener never bothered to go. Nalia blinked in the strange brightness of the overcast day. Not a bit of blue peeked out of the granite sky, and a dismal hush seemed to have fallen over the city, as though the whole world were holding its breath until Haran arrived. The faint scent of burning hung in the air—the wildfires had started a few weeks ago, as they did every year. Soon, whole swaths of the city’s hills would be reduced to ashes. Last year, the flames had crept toward Malek’s mansion and Nalia had held them back with storms she pulled out of the air. This year, though, she might just let them come.

  She closed her eyes and whispered a short prayer to the gods, then centered her chiaan: it was a small, blazing sun in the pit of her stomach. In preparation for the first pose, she raised her arms. Just as she was about to begin, the air around her shifted: a jinni.

  Her eyes flew open. Raif stood a few paces away. His thick, dark eyebrows pulled together, his lips set in a frown. The sandalwood scent of his smoke wafted toward her as the plumes of green evanescence vanished.

  Nalia lowered her arms. “Jahal’alund,” she said.

  She felt silly, like she’d been caught dancing alone in her room. She’d only ever performed her Sha’a Rho among the Ghan Aisouri, the gryphon trainers the only witnesses to their ancient art. It felt wrong, somehow, for Raif to see it. Like she was whispering the secrets of her race because there was no one there to catch her.

  “Nalia, where’s the godsdamn bottle?”

  Raif made no effort to keep his voice down. She glanced at the mansion, then grabbed his arm and dragged him under a large willow whose long branches brushed the grass in a lover’s lazy caress.

  “I’m trying,” she said. “Do you think I want to stay here a second longer than I have to?”

  Raif shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you do.” He crossed his arms and glanced at the pendant around her neck.

  Nalia’s face burned, but she forced herself to keep his gaze. How would Raif feel if, in order to be free, he’d had to sleep with his overlord, with the Ghan Aisouri, with Calar? She balled her fists to keep her chiaan inside her—it shoved against her fingertips, furious. She took a step away from him. It was that or send it all streaming into Raif’s face.

  “How dare you insinuate that I want to be here or with him one second longer than I must?”

  “I don’t care about how hard it is, or how you feel about him, or anything else you have to say.” Raif’s green eyes were catlike, full of hostility. “We made a promise to each other. We’re bound to one another, whether you like it or not.”

  A promise Nalia would carry on her skin for the rest of her life in the form of that tiny crescent scar on her wrist.

  “You think I don’t know that?” She heard the high note of panic in her voice and swallowed it down. “I was trying to get it last night, but one of Malek’s clients nearly killed me and then I found out Malek can hypersuade and, also, he drowned the guy right in front of me and then after that, Haran attacked me in my dream, so excuse me for not adhering to your schedule,” she growled.

  “Wait, what?”

  Nalia leaned against the tree trunk. She gripped the smooth bark as a wave of emotion rolled over her—fear, rage, helplessness, shame. For a second, she forgot Raif was there. She held on to the tree and let her chiaan flow into it.

  “Hey,” Raif said, his voice soft. He leaned close to her and she caught that scent of his, fresh grass and sunlight. The earth after a storm. “Nalia.”

  He touched her, hesitant and soft. Just his hand on her shoulder, but it was enough. His calm flowed into her and she was suddenly back in control of herself.

  When she opened her eyes, his hand fell away. All around her she could see that the low-hanging willow branches had turned a bright, glimmering purple. She lifted her hand to change the tree back to its Earthly shade, but then decided against it. She was tired of pretending she was human. Or Shaitan. She was Ghan Aisouri and she liked purple things. Trees. Eyes. Smoke.

  Raif took one of the thin, sweeping branches in his hand and ran it between his fingers. “Did you do that on purpose?”

  Nalia shrugged. “Sometimes there’s too much chiaan and I have to . . . get rid of it.”

  Raif snorted. “I’ve certainly never had that problem. Must be nice.”

  “Sometimes.”

  It was silent for a moment. Just the wind skimming over the willow branches, filling the air with the soft sound of rustling silk.

  “Does Malek’s hypersuasion work on you?”

  Nalia shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably not—the gryphons trained us to repel psychic attacks. But I was never very good at it.” She sighed and ran her hands over her face. “I think he was telling the truth when he said he would never do that to me. He doesn’t need to, not really. I have to obey his commands.”

  “And this dream—did Haran say anything to you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. He knows I’m in America, that’s all that really matters.” When Raif’s eyes widened, Nalia frowned. “Your sister’s psychic. She hasn’t picked this up?”

  “Zan knew he was getting closer, but . . .”

  “Yeah.” Nalia bit her lip. “Do you know if . . . would sleeping pills work on someone with Draega’s Amulet?”

  “What are sleeping pills?”

  “They’re like a sleeping potion that humans eat. It’s a kind of medicine.”

  Raif ran a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. You’re the one with the magical education.”

  Nalia let the dig slide. “There’s a Shaitan girl that sings at Habibi. Can you and Zanari track her down? She’s a healer—one of the best. I don’t want to risk giving something to Malek unless I know it will work. Maybe she can make something stronger than human pills that will knock him out for a while.”

  It had seemed too risky, such an easy way for Malek to know she was up to something if the pills had no effect on him. But if Malek was really serious about being a “gentleman,” she had to try.

  He nodded. “Okay. But if it’s not strong enough, what’s your plan?”

  “I’m working on something else.” Working on whoring myself out. “I have to be careful so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

  “If it doesn’t work and he puts you in the bottle, how long would you stay in there?”

  Nalia shook her head. “I’d rat
her face Haran than go back in the bottle.”

  “You could die,” he said quietly.

  “I’ll take that chance.” She walked past him, ducking under the willow branches. “I need to train. I’ll come by Jordif’s later today.”

  Raif followed her. “You really shouldn’t be going out, Nalia. There’s a bisahm on the house to protect you—”

  “You mean that pathetic thing you conjured a few nights ago?”

  His face darkened. “It was the best I could do. I assumed you would have strengthened it by now since my poor magical skills are not up to your standards.” He gave a slight, mocking bow. “Forgive me, My Empress.” He infused those last two words with a crackling, seething hatred.

  Nalia blanched. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  “No, it didn’t. You meant exactly what you said.”

  She threw up her hands. “You make me so godsdamn angry, Raif! How do you do that?”

  His lip curled up. “Special talent of mine.”

  Nalia grabbed his hands. He tried to pull away, but she held on tighter.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Helping you make the bisahm stronger.” If she transferred some of her chiaan to him, Raif should have enough power to build up the shield against Haran’s impending visit, leaving her free to focus on getting the bottle.

  “Close your eyes,” she commanded. He frowned. “Just do it.”

  Nalia waited until his eyes were closed, then she shut her own and concentrated on her chiaan, the shape and feel of it. She sent it into his skin, pushing it through as though it were a new shadow Raif could wear. Nalia heard Raif’s soft gasp and she shivered as his chiaan responded to hers, weaving itself into the strands of her magic, into her veins. A soft smile played on her face as his bright, dancing magic filled her. This, she thought, is the real Raif. A secret he kept so that he could be the coldhearted leader his tavrai wanted him to be. When she let go, his eyes were open and he was staring at her with such longing, such naked want, that she blushed.

  Before she could say a word, Raif reached his hands up to her face and pressed his lips against hers. A jolt traveled through her, starting at her lips and moving down to the tips of her toes. She didn’t know how long the kiss lasted. Stars were born and died as she breathed him in and pulled him closer. For the first time in her life, she felt known.

  The sun burned through the clouds, and as Raif gently pulled away, she felt its warmth on her face. When she opened her eyes, he stepped back and cold air rushed between them. He looked lost, as though he’d stepped through a portal into an unknown realm.

  She went still, watching him, light as air, floating, falling—

  “I apologize,” he said. The regret in his voice was unmistakable, plain as her purple willow tree. “It won’t happen again.”

  Nalia swallowed. “Agreed.” Her words came from far away, as if she’d snatched them out of someone else’s throat. She couldn’t bear to look in his eyes. “I should have the bottle tonight.” The words were a dismissal.

  He stood straighter, as though he were about to salute. “Good luck.”

  “There’s no such thing,” she said. Either the gods were on her side, or they weren’t.

  Raif gave her a curt nod as his smoke began to swirl around him. As he evanesced, Nalia felt a familiar tug behind her belly button. She didn’t have time to feel hurt or angry: Malek was summoning her.

  Oh gods, she thought, looking at the mansion. Did he see what just happened?

  Malek looked up from his laptop when Nalia appeared in the study. He seemed to be pulling himself away from something—maybe he’d been in the study the whole time and hadn’t seen her with Raif. He was oddly distracted, preoccupied. But not angry or hurt. It seemed strange, though, that everyone else on Earth was able to go about their daily business: Raif’s kiss had knocked Nalia’s entire center of gravity off balance.

  “Hello,” she said. She stayed by the door, uncertain.

  Malek stood and crossed toward her with slow, tentative steps. His eyes were unreadable as ever. Nalia’s chest tightened, but she held his eyes, waiting. With Malek, she never knew what was coming next.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked.

  Malek took her hand and she smiled at him, all butterflies and sunsets and sparkling lights. If he doubted her feelings for him, she’d just have to convince him again and again. It didn’t matter that in those few seconds Raif had been kissing her, Nalia had suddenly understood every human love song she’d ever heard—nothing could change.

  Everything has changed.

  She could still feel Raif’s lips against hers, somehow firm and yielding at the same time. But then he’d backed away, looked ashamed. Maybe she was just a salfit to him, after all.

  “Nalia?”

  She blinked. She had to be here, now, with Malek.

  “I slept wonderfully,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his—not her lips, she couldn’t bear it. “No dreams. It was perfect.”

  She felt the tension in his body melt away, as though he’d been expecting a different answer. Malek tightened his arms around her waist.

  “Good,” he purred.

  “Did you stay all night?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He ran his hand through her hair. “You’re absolutely exquisite when you sleep, you know that?”

  “It’s a special jinni trick.”

  He laughed, soft and low. “I doubt that very much.”

  She forced herself to endure his closeness a few moments longer, then she stepped back. It was as if Raif’s kiss had blown away all the confusion she’d been feeling about Malek. Every one of her master’s caresses and kisses, his gifts and pretty words—none of it added up to those few moments with Raif. She could finally focus on what she needed to do. No more guilt. No more uncertainty.

  “You have a client?” she asked.

  That was usually the only reason he summoned her, unless he wanted to show her off to someone. Or punish her—but that hadn’t happened for a very long time.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, I know last night was difficult. But this man is very, very important to me—it’s Sergei Federov. You remember him?”

  Nalia nodded, her stomach twisting. “Of course.”

  How could she forget? He was a prince of Earth’s criminal underworld, one of the biggest players in the dark caravan. It seemed like every day he was buying a new jinni. He was one of the few humans who frightened her. Nalia had once asked Malek why he’d never bought another jinni when Sergei had had so many: I don’t want a harem, Nalia. Now she knew the real reason—the ability to hypersuade was just as effective. Instead of making wishes, he just convinced people to give him what he wanted.

  “Can you be at the downtown loft by noon?” he asked.

  No mention of what she’d asked of him last night. She couldn’t tell if this was a good or bad thing. Malek hadn’t seemed furious when she’d asked to grant his third wish, but he’d clearly been hurt. Nalia wasn’t sure which was worse: his pain or his anger.

  If he’d killed you . . . I think I would have burned the whole world down.

  “Yes, noon’s fine.”

  Nalia moved toward the door, but Malek caught her hand and when she turned around, he brought his mouth to the inside of her wrist. As his lips moved away, he caught sight of the crescent scar from her binding with Raif.

  “When did you get this?” he asked. He rubbed his thumb over the raised half-moon. “It looks new.”

  The room seemed to close in around Nalia as her mind went blank.

  “Last night,” she blurted. “From the dream. I noticed it when I woke up this morning. Some magic leaves a mark.”

  Malek’s eyes drifted up to the birthmark on her face and she gently slid her hand out of his.

  “I have to get ready,” she said. “See you tonight?”

  He nodded. “There’s a new restaurant in Malibu. We could try it.”

  S
o casual, like they were a normal couple. As if she weren’t his slave, bound to him for the rest of her long life.

  “That sounds—”

  She stopped, remembering Raif’s warning. She really shouldn’t leave the mansion unless she absolutely had to.

  “Actually,” she said. “Let’s stay in. After last night . . .”

  “Of course.” He went back to his desk. “I’ll see you later, then.”

  She swept out of the room, closing the door behind her. As she passed by the front windows that faced the long driveway, she could sense Raif’s presence, somewhere on the property. Nalia could picture him strengthening the bisahm with his borrowed magic, his hands moving steadily along the barrier between her and the rest of the world. If she looked closely at the sky above, Nalia knew she would just barely see the gossamer web of the shield. It would look like a trick of the light, invisible but for the tiniest ripple. Raif might have regretted the kiss, but at least he wanted to keep her alive.

  20

  NALIA ARRIVED AT MALEK’S DOWNTOWN LOFT LONG before the client. She’d already cast a bisahm over the open, stark space to keep Haran from evanescing into the middle of the room and now she leaned against a grimy window, staring down into the traffic below. Haran could be out there, but there was no telling in what form he’d appear. Would he use a glamour, disguise himself as Nalia had all these years? Or would he just appear on the street, a hulking menace that craved her blood?

  Nalia scanned the streets below, knowing it was pointless but having no other alternative to guard herself. During the daytime, downtown was a nest of activity. Hot dog sellers crowded the sidewalks, and lines of humans in business suits queued up for tacos and burritos from the lunch trucks parked against the curbs. In the fashion district, people streamed in and out of shops selling bolts of cloth and discounted luxury brands or peeked in stores hawking fake couture fashion. The nearby flower district sold blooms from all over Earth. Usually Nalia spent her afternoons there after she met with Malek’s clients, walking through the wholesale stalls. Earth’s flowers weren’t as beautiful as Arjinna’s, but she’d grown to love them all the same, and the power she drew from them was gentle and delicate. Enjoying them was a luxury. In Nalia’s realm, there hadn’t been time to trail her fingers over the delicate petals of tulips and hydrangeas or gaze in wonder at things made by the gods or jinn. There had only been time for blood and sweat.