Page 9 of Hair, She Bears
His mouth twitched. He reached out, his hand hovering between them. When she did not turn away, he cupped the side of her face.
“I’d rather spend the night.” He drew the side of his thumb down her cheek. “There are more firsts I’d like to experience with you.”
Her mouth popped open. “You knew?”
“Of course.” His baritone laughter reverberated through the tower again. “I didn’t know you existed until this morning, how many other men could you have met during your imprisonment?”
“But you kissed me, anyway?”
“It was your request.”
“Not the second time.”
“The second time I wanted to.” His eyes glowed.
“And now?”
“I still want to.” His gaze dragged down her body. Extracting the vial from his pocket, he tapped the glass against his palm. “Mother won’t kill you, he needs you, but I’m expendable, and I don’t look forward to being thrown from this tower for tardiness, no matter how tempted I am to stay.”
Uncorking the bottle, he tilted back his head, then upended the contents, his face contorting as the powder touched his tongue. He lowered his head and slumped over, the glass vial rolling from his twitching fingers.
“Malik!” Zenna dropped beside him. Sliding her hand underneath his head, she lifted it from the floor and cradled it in her lap. Her fingertips stroked across his sweat-covered forehead as his body jerked. He grabbed her hand, his fingers tightening until she cried out, and he opened his eyes.
“I’m fine.” His tongue slurred the words. Releasing her wrist, he flipped onto his stomach, then pushed up onto his knees and crawled to the window.
“There has to be another way.” Zenna trailed behind him, her fingers wound into knots. “You could die.”
“Only if you made the batch wrong.”
She bristled at his statement, indignant at the accusation.
“I haven’t made a batch wrong since I was ten!”
“That’s good to know.” He hauled his body onto the windowsill, pulled himself up, and straddled the wood, hanging one foot outside the tower. His head swiveled toward her, a dark expression flickered over his face. “I hope he’s watching.”
Forcing a smile, he leaned sideways and fell out the window. Zenna screamed, dove for his hand, and missed, crashing into the windowsill, and doubled over at the waist with a grunt. Malik tumbled, head over feet, and landed flat on his back. An explosive curse word floated up from the ground.
“Are you alive?” Zenna asked, leaning out the window.
“I think so.” Malik’s faint reply barely reached her.
“Can you move?” she asked, unable to hide the worry in her voice.
“He’ll be fine.”
Zenna screamed and spun around. Mother stepped out from beneath the staircase, his eyes on the empty vials.
“They will be finished on time,” she said, answering Mother’s unasked question.
Nodding once, Mother ambled toward her, his dark glower locked on her face. When he reached the window, he stopped and peered out. Upon finding Malik, Mother grunted once and pulled his head back in, then turned to Zenna.
“I’m surprised he jumped. I would have thought you too enticing for him.”
“I don’t understand.” Zenna twisted her fingers together.
Mother’s hand whipped out, closed around Zenna’s arm, and dragged her to him, his cigar-stained breath wrinkling her nose.
“An innocent,” he replied, then laughed, his gruff bark a chilling contrast to Malik’s warm baritone. He scraped his fingernail down her arm “You don’t know my son’s character, do you?”
