Chapter 32

EZRA

She doesn’t show up to work the next day.

And I lose my goddamn mind.

I sit in my office with my tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, staring at the untouched Sanguara and monitor on my desk like it might give me answers. It doesn’t. It never does. Neither do the emails piling up or the constant buzzing of my phone.

She should be here. The cameras in the hallway should have caught her. First one in sometimes. Last one out most times.

But today?

Nothing.

Not even an excuse for Sabrina of HR.

Not even a ghost of her perfume in the halls.

I check the time again. Ninth time in twenty minutes. Still nothing.

I rub my jaw, the tension coiled so tight I could snap steel in my teeth.

Maybe she heard me last night.

Maybe she remembers what I said.

What I promised.

If I see you in my space, I won't let go.

I drop my head back against the headrest, exhaling through my nose.

Fuck.

Her taste still lingers on my tongue, sharp and sweet and maddening. It’s in my blood now. Like a drug. Like she carved herself into my veins.

I shove my chair back and stand, pacing to the floor-to-ceiling windows like movement might settle something inside me. It doesn’t.

I turn back and grab my phone off the desk before I can talk myself out of my thoughts and tap the contact I haven’t used in months.

Malik.

He didn't pick up on the first call which dropped.

I curse at him and dial his phone again.

He picks up after the fourth time.

“Fuck, Ez. This better be life or death,” Malik growls into the phone, his voice hoarse and laced with irritation—and something else.

Laughter filters in from his background. Feminine. Breathless. A moan. Someone calls his name.

I grit my teeth.

“Are you seriously—?”

“What? Multitasking,” he cuts in, unapologetic. “Not all of us brood all the time. Some of us cope.”

I don’t respond. Not right away. My silence says enough.

Malik sighs. “Shit. You called me four times. What the hell did you do?”

I rake my fingers through my hair. “I didn't do anything. We just need to talk. Private.” 

He sighs. “Must it be now, I'm in the middle of—”

“An orgy?”

He laughs. “You know me too well.”

“Okay, I'm not in the mood for chitchat, Malik. We need to talk.”

He groans. “I'll be back, baby.” He whispers. “This better be something worth my time.” He says and I hear him shuffle away from the noise.

“Sure. I'll be switching to video call now.”

I didn't wait for his approval as I walk to the lounge area of my office and connect the call to my huge flat screen TV.

Soon enough, familiar pair of green eyes and messy blonde hair pops up on the screen.

He rakes a hand through his hair as he settles down.

“You good?” He asks with a grin.

I go straight to the point.

“How did you feel when you met Hailey?”

His playful grin vanishes, leaving a blank empty face as he visibly perks up albeit subtly— the face of the monster that lurks beneath the playful façade.

“Why did you ask?” he says, too quiet now. “Did you meet an Aureate?”

“No,” I answer quickly. Too quickly. “I just… I need to be prepared. In case.”

Malik leans forward, elbows on his knees, green eyes watching me through the screen like he can see the tremor. “Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”

“You don’t call me four times in a row just to shoot the breeze about hypotheticals.” His voice drops. “What happened, Ezra?”

“I told you,” I grind out, jaw tight. “I didn’t do anything. I just want to understand.”

He leans back and shrugs. “You know you shouldn't be asking me that right? Don't tell me you fell in love with someone.”

I stare at him. At the predator behind those green eyes.

No, not love.

It can’t be.

Love weakens. Love destroys.

Love is the knife legends fall on.

I know this. We all know this.

It’s why the Council keeps hammering in the doctrine of choice over fate. Why they burn the word fated mate from records like it’s a plague. Why they make us choose logic. Control. A mate who makes sense, not one who sets you on fire from the inside out.

Because love—true love—is the one thing even immortality can’t withstand.

Malik learned that the hard way.

Hailey.

The girl with a laugh like sunlight and eyes too wide to belong in our world. She peeled him open without even trying. Touched the monster and didn’t flinch. She wasn’t supposed to matter. Wasn’t supposed to be his. An aureate. Someone special made for turned fuckers like us.

But she was.

And he lost.

He tried to fight them, the Council. Almost won, too. But lust is a cruel master. Even crueler when bonded blood is involved. He couldn’t stop. He drank her dry. Ripped the soul from the body he swore to protect.

And they sent him away.

Africa.

To a different branch of Harrington & Vale under the guise of leadership, but really, it was exile in a gilded cage. Punishment for failing the one law they never let us break: don’t fall.

I remember when he tried to bring her back.

How he nearly tore the veil between life and death just to feel her again. How close he came to turning rogue—feral, unrecognizable. He still flinches at the sound of her name when he’s not expecting it.

So when Malik says he wants me to avoid his mistakes… I know it’s not pity. It’s not even brotherhood.

It’s desperation.

Because he knows the pull. The ache. The sickness that grows when she is in your blood.

But this—what I feel for Thea—is not that.

It can’t be.

I’m not in love. I’m in control.

Even if she’s under my skin.

Even if her blood still hums in my veins like a song I can’t unhear.

Even if her taste is stitched into my fucking soul.

Even if I already know—I won’t survive it if I lose her too.

So, I ask him the question again anyway, even if it pokes at his wounds. Because I can't afford to make the same mistake as him. Because I need a cheat sheet.

“I'll ask you whatever the fuck I want. And no, I'm not in love. So, answer my question and after that, we can pretend we never talked.”

He clicks his tongue and turns away from the screen.

The silence stretches on before he finally says,

“At first, it feels like drowning while craving the water.”

His voice drops, quiet. Too quiet.

“Like your body is starving and she’s the only thing that’s ever fed you. Not food. Not blood. Not air. Just her. You might even think it's fixation, that if you get a taste, it will stop. That if you snap her neck, you'll get it over with.”

He chuckles. “I've even thought about killing Hailey and getting the shit over with.”

I know about that. Afterall, she's the first Aureate we've met and that was centuries ago. Her type is the one for us but she can only belong to one person so we left them.

“You start craving the sound of her heartbeat. You memorize it. Need it. When she’s gone, it’s like someone’s scraping out your insides with a blunt blade.”

He leans forward and taps a finger against his temple.

“You lose track of thoughts. Of time. Of self. Because everything starts and ends with her. Every room feels too quiet when she’s not in it, and every second without her tastes like ash in your mouth.”

His eyes flicker—somewhere far away now.

“You start building gods out of her flaws. Worshipping the very things that should’ve warned you she could break you. But you don’t care. You can’t care. Because even when she’s the knife, you offer her your throat.”

Another pause. He exhales sharply.

“And the worst part?” he says, gaze locking back on mine. “You’ll know it’s killing you. You’ll feel yourself slipping, losing the leash, the control, the centuries of restraint. And you’ll let it happen. Gladly.”

His voice breaks on the last word. 

And then, with a crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, he adds, “When I lost her, I even had a fucking dream for the first time where she promised me she'll come back for me.”

My brows arch

He chuckles. “Funny right? I believe her. Because denying the fact that she owns me sounds like a lie to my ears.”

“You lost control,” I say quietly.

His jaw flexes. “I let go. There’s a difference.”

I don’t respond.

Because I don't need someone to tell me that I have some of the symptoms Malik just listed.

And the question still stands.

Is she… an Aureate?