Malachai Parker wasn't the only person to massacre his family. Along with him was Isabelle Martin, a witch who held his hand along the way, letting him siphon painlessly.
You could say she was as crazy as he. Unable to see the destruction he truly...
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"Do you think my dad remembers me?" I question as I lay on Mal's chest. While I trace patterns across his chest, I drown in the rhythm of his heart beat.
"Of course... Who could forget a sociopath's sidekick?" He teased.
He thought he would get a laugh, my awkward yet sweet Malachai. However, that earned him a slap to the stomach. His whole body convulsed with the sudden attack, before his expression evolved into a mixture of subtle rage and danger.
"Don't ever do that again" he said, his voice a warning due to its tone.
"Mal, you cant be serious, it wasn't even that hard. Look!" I announced, going to hit him again. But, before my hand came into contact with his body, he snatched my wrist in his sharp hold.
A white heat enveloped my forearm while he gripped tighter. Unconscious whimpers and pleads for him to stop went unnoticed until I heard a snap. My screams enveloped us both once I looked down to find my hand bent in an odd direction.
