“No,” Rhyan said. “You can’t see her.”
MORGANA! IT’S ME! IT’S LYR! HELP!
Rhyan laughed again. “I know what you’re doing. You’re shouting for her in your mind, aren’t you?”
I just stared. I didn’t know how to answer, how to read him. In some weird way, this was almost exactly like talking to Rhyan—but then not. Like when I’d met Auriel. He was so like Rhyan it hurt, but in so many more ways, he wasn’t. Yet Auriel hadn’t felt cruel—he hadn’t mocked or threatened me. He was trying to help me. And actual Rhyan—or akadim Rhyan—he was trying to hurt me.
“Yoursister,” he mocked, “is not here. We’re close to finishing our mission. She had to leave for another. To prepare. But she’ll return when it’s done. When it’s ready, then I shall present it to her.”
“The green shard,” I said, before I could stop myself.
He cocked his head to the side. “Of course, you figured it out.”
“I know it’s in these caves—buried beneath them.”
Rhyan nodded. “We’ve been digging for weeks. Nearly a month. But I can sense it. My shard. Any day now, it will be free.”
My eyes flicked to the bed—to the red shard. He could sense the green—but could he sense the red? Did he know what thatwas? Had he taken it because he knew, because he remembered—or was it just something shiny, something that caught his eye?
I narrowed my eyes. “And what about Aemon?” I asked. “Ma-Maraak Moriel?”
“He’s with Morgana,” he said. “Tracking down the next shard.”
I blinked, taking that in. So neither of them were in Korteria. “Are any Lumerians here?” I asked. Rhyan shook his head. My stomach dropped. “Who’s in charge?”
Rhyan laughed again. “Me.”
“Just you?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Are you still afraid?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I can smell it, just as I can smell your arousal. Both are sweet. Both are—” His eyes glowed and he growled with a sudden violence I hadn’t seen yet. He exposed his fangs and suddenly he lifted me up into his arms, and dropped me back on the bed.
The air left my lungs as I hit the blankets, and a shiver ran down my spine. Growls filled the alcove. Not just Rhyan’s.
More akadim. And from the sound of it, they were all trying to push their way toward Rhyan. Toward me.
I eyed the red sword, and quickly tried to shift my body closer. If I could just rub the ropes against it, I could free my arms, I could fight.
But suddenly, someone was on top of me, and I felt fangs on my neck.
I screamed and kicked, feeling the red shard shift and fall from the bed—out of reach. Shit! Shit!
Rhyan hauled the demon off me, and threw him into the wall. There was a horrible crunching sound and a thud as he collapsed.
Two more burst through the alcove’s entrance and I yelled out as two more akadim rushed for me.
But Rhyan got there first, cutting them off. He grabbed them, launching them forward. Their heads smashed into the stone walls, making a cracking sound before they fell.
Three unconscious akadim lay at his feet.
“We want her,” said one, hovering in the entrance. Unlike Rhyan, he was nearly naked with short black hair. The ones on the floor were also without clothing. Almost none that I could see had any—only the collars. I wondered if that was on purpose—if they didn’t care for clothing and Rhyan did—or if he just dressed up because of his title, because he was Arkturion.
Rhyan leaned forward, hissing and snarling at the akadim, his arms outstretched, claws taut.
“Give her to us,” shouted the black haired one.
