Page 8 of Hair, She Bears
“How do you know that?” Malik glanced back at her.
She blushed, indicating the trail of golden hair. “Mother requires me to record the length every week.”
“And you have occasion to hang your hair out the window?”
“It gets in the way when I’m working.” She sank down on the stool and lifted the metal spoon, which she scraped along the bottom of the mortar. Picking up the vial, she tapped the edge of the spoon, filling the vial with the powder. Malik appeared beside her and took the vial from her hand. She turned, a protest on her lips.
“I can only think of two ways out of this tower,” he said, speaking more to the glittering powder than to her.
“Please don’t jump!” The spoon clinked against the side of the mortar as Zenna leapt off the stool and grabbed his arm. His bicep flexed underneath her fingers.
“Would you miss me?” Amusement flashed across his hardened features. “Did you not just throw me out?”
“Since my abduction, I have met no other person, save your father.” She licked her lips. “You are an improvement.”
“I’m not the best company, either.” Malik turned away, set the filled vial into a rack on the top shelf, removed the empty one next to it, and passed it to Zenna.
“What is your other option?” she asked, accepting the bottle.
“You.” His hand closed around a strand of hair, rubbing it between his fingers, then his gaze slid to the window. “I’ll cut your hair and use it as a rope.”
“You can’t!” She jerked away and crashed into the table, which scraped backward across the floor and slammed into the wall. The stool rolled in the opposite direction, smacking into the sofa. Her hand dropped to her side, ducked under the hem of her shirt, and ripped the knife from the sheath. She brandished it, the blade glinting in the sunlight. The defensive movement brought a scowl to Malik’s lips.
“Are you going to fight me?” He moved closer, trapping her between his body and the table. One hand closed around her wrist and wrenched it sideways until she cried out, and the knife clattered to the floor.
“I accept that you have no intention of saving me from my debt, but I beg you, please don’t cause my death.” She cringed, praying Malik’s fists were not as painful as Mother’s.
“How would cutting your hair kill you?” He released her wrist, and his arms shot forward, smashing into the wall behind her. Leaning forward, he forced her to contort backward into an unnatural arc. She grabbed the sides of the table, her fingers curling around the edges. The bright blue of his eyes darkened to black, a frightening mirror of his father.
“Don’t lie to me,” he snarled.
She dragged in a breath, her chest barely rising before it pressed against his. She wanted to look away, but she froze, her heart hammering a violent rhythm of fear. She knew he could feel it, watching as the realization passed through his eyes. His mouth curved into a dark smile as he bent closer, pressing himself into her.
“Once cut, the hair loses its potency. You would cost Mother thousands.” As the words spilled from her mouth, her lips brushed against his.
“How long before it’s useless?”
His whispered question sent tingles skating across her lower lip as his mouth caressed hers. Her stomach flipped over, and an overwhelming desire to touch him surfaced in the dark recesses of her mind—like lightning coursing through her body.
“Ten minutes.”
One hand betrayed her, releasing its hold on the table, and skated over his skin, starting at the pulsating sinew of his forearm, and moving to the inside portion of his elbow. As her fingers reached his shoulder, he growled, his mouth pressing roughly against hers. Thrusting past her lips, his tongue teased her, sending shivers cascading down her spine. His arms encircled her waist, yanking her body off the table, and secured it against his in one quick movement. He wrapped her legs around his hips and stumbled toward the sofa, his mouth never leaving hers. Her fingers slid into his hair as he collapsed on the sofa, drawing her onto his lap, and his mouth devoured hers.
“He should never have left me with you,” Malik said as he broke the kiss, his mouth skated along her throat.
“Why?” She panted the word, gasping as Malik’s teeth nipped at her ear.
“Because of my reputation…” He froze, cursed, then lifted Zenna from his lap. Setting her firmly on the cushion next to him, he cursed again.
“Did I do something wrong?” She drew her legs to her chest. Malik was her first kiss—and her second—but she knew, without any doubt, she was not his.
“No. I have to go.” His frantic gaze jumped around the tower, landing on the filled vial. “May I have that?”
She nodded, unable to speak. He was abandoning her, leaving her to his father’s wrath. She felt tears growing in the corners of her eyes and blinked rapidly to clear them.
“Zenna.” He dropped to his knees in front of the sofa and sighed. “Don’t you see, I can’t stay? No good will come from our association.”
“You’d rather take a drug, you loathe?” She glared at him.
