I thrust it into the center of his chest between his lungs, just below his heart. The Revenant grunted as he grasped the hilt.
“Nope.” Grabbing his arm, I yanked his hand away and twisted.
He let out a shout of pain as the bone snapped and broke through his skin.
“We’re not done yet,” I told him.
Those pale eyes widened a fraction as I gripped his right arm and gave it the same treatment. This time, his cry of pain was sharper, and his body quaked.
Stepping back, I took in my handiwork. He was impaled several feet from the ground, with his arms hanging at limp, awkward angles. He looked like one of the porcelain marionette dolls Isbeth had given me, except he was somehow less creepy.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said.
He remained silent, chin tucked against the ragged rise and fall of his chest and dark hair resting against the painted wings on his face.
Gripping a fistful of hair that seriously needed to be washed, I jerked his head up and stared into those lifeless eyes. They looked like a Revenant’s, but then I saw it. The flicker of eerie light in the pupil.
“Kolis,” I called softly.
The Revenant’s jaw clenched.
“I know you’re in there,” I said.
The light in the pupil pulsed.
I held his stare. “I assume you wanted to talk.”
The pulse of light flared brighter.
“So, let’s talk.”
Silence.
Frustration sparked, stirring the eather as I fought the urge to find out if I could kill a Revenant. I had no patience for this. It was the middle of the night, cold, and it wouldn’t take long for the Revenant to heal his broken bones. Casteel would likely wake soon, too, and I really wanted to be back before that happened because he would not be happy.
Not even remotely.
“You don’t want to talk? Do you prefer watching like the perverted creeper you are?”
A flash of red overtook the light in the pupils.
I forced a smile. “Or are you a coward?”
The aura turned pure crimson, and the Revenant’s lips peeled back over bloodstained teeth.
“There you are,” I said, stepping back.
A low tsking sound came from him. “I’ve always been here, Sotoria.”
CHAPTER 48
POPPY
A shudder crawled over my skin, partly because of what he’d called me and because it was the voice I’d heard in stasis. “Do not call me that.”
“But it is your name,” he responded, his voice strengthening. “You are her.” Those milky eyes lit by crimson swept over me, slow and deliberate, making my skin crawl. “Finally.”
My palms tingled with the desire to introduce them to his face. I wanted nothing more than to give in to that need, but instinct whispered it would be a mistake—that he’d exploit any emotion I showed and gain power and control from eliciting a response.
