The Dread Descendant (The Dread Descendant, #1)

by Lauren Cate Leake

He was exquisi-

Cheekbones that could cut a girl’s heart right open- Cheekbones that granted him anything he wanted.

His slender and tall frame was statuesque in the shadowed light from the candelabras.

Her cousin practically worshiped Malachite, a fact which Maeve despised.

Pride is a dangerous emotion,

His dark hair was pushed back, perfectly in place.

He would be wanting to know the arrangements she had made to remedy her Alchemy problem, though she decidedly left out that the plan included a handsome young boy. Arguably the most handsome one at school.

holding open the door to the library for her.

“Because you’re a better Witch than your sister, in every regard imaginable. I cannot fathom how someone so good at charms and spellcasting wouldn’t be an amazing fighter.”

Maeve’s cheeks flushed hot. Malachite had bestowed her many compliments in the past, but they were always laced with some degree of mocking.

Maeve as she reached out and touched his arm to gather his attention.

His eyes lingered on her hand.

His eyes foun...

The goal of a duel at Vaukore was, after all, not to cause fatal harm.

bet

Maeve’s thoughts once again wandered back to Mal. His duels had been wonderful. Enchanting. Maeve was admittedly jealous of such skill.

Daniel Rodriguez,

😡

She was focused on his judgment,

Mal had told her once before, that if she could slip through minds and create new spells, there was likely little she couldn’t do.

Maeve didn’t smile but looked at him for approval. He gave her a small nod.

Malachite instructed Maeve to pay close attention to his next appearance with The Dueling Club and take notes on his tactics.

And while she didn’t expect praise for the bare minimum, she was pleased with herself.

“You make a good teacher,” said Maeve, gathering her things after their lesson. Mal smirked at this. An expression that suited his handsome features. “You aren’t a bad pupil. Believe me, I have worse.”

Though, Malachite was the exception to that idea. Stronger than all of them. A supreme before he ever set foot at Vaukore.

Mal smiled. Damn. It was a sight.

“Could you, hypothetically speaking, place that memory inside my head, causing me to think it happened like that?”

Mal shifted through her mind with ease, running down everything that rose to the surface. He didn’t stop to observe anything.

The use of her first name didn’t go unnoticed.

Mal commended her on this clever response.

He extended a hand to help her up, which he had never done before.

Mal reached out and ran his icy, slender fingers over the spots that would likely yield bruises along her arms. Maeve shuddered at his unexpected touch. She looked up at him and he met her eyes only briefly before he turned on his heel.

“Wait,” said Maeve. “Mal’s been bragging about me?”

Maeve’s cheeks burned hot against her will. She steadied her breathing and leaned against the wall, tucking her clammy hands behind her back.

“So you were looking for me,” he said matter of factly.

His hands slid into his pockets as he predatorily hovered above her.

His statuesque features were sharpened by the dim candlelight flickering off his face, sinking into the dips of his cheeks, darkening his hair.

She suppressed a smile. Damn his charm.

The words slipped from his mouth like it made him hungry. She grinned.

His expression was relaxed. Carefree. But behind that was the feline way he looked down at her. Like she was trapped.

Nor the bruises across her chest. Bruises she had a morbid fixation with in the bathroom mirror. Something about his marks on her spiked her adrenaline.

Mal was as insatiable as she was.

Mal leaned back in his chair, smiling. But Maeve noticed a sharp look in his eye as he watched her carefully.

Mal cocked his head to one side, still smiling at her.

His dark eyes bore into hers.

Mal’s eyes met hers. And they understood one another.

“And this conversation never happened,” said Mal darkly. “What conversation?” Asked Maeve with an innocent expression.

Malachite’s tall, slender frame appeared in her peripheral vision.

She turned on her heel and as he grabbed her again, that surge of Magic slammed down her arm, cool water spreading through her veins, turning to electric ice.

Mal nodded slowly. He was deep in thought with his smooth fingers running along her skin. His voice was barely above a whisper as he said, “Such a deadly weapon to be so soft.” Maeve was suddenly hot and cold all at once.

Perhaps it was Maeve’s imagination, but it looked like a breath of relief escaped his lips. And a small smile was being suppressed.

Mal nodded. “Now, I can reach you whenever I need you.” Maeve’s stomach plummeted this time. “Even outside of Vaukore?” Mal nodded. “Wherever you are.” Maeve couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. Dark flecks of light swirled through their chocolate color, sparkling at her. The gesture was so genuine. So personal.