From under her hand, her prey fought to speak. “The toy too. She cannot keep it.”
A silent growl rumbled in Kira’s chest.
Oh right. She’d forgotten how much she wanted to kill this person.
So good of him to remind her.
Her grip tightened, a pained sound escaping Jarek that made Kira want to bathe in his blood.
It was difficult to resist the blood lust, her vision getting lost in a sea of red before a prick of pain at her neck brought her back to clear headedness.
“Do not make me do this, my friend,” Amila said, a hint of pleading in her tone.
Kira froze as she studied the pulse racing beneath the skin of Jarek’s neck. The feel of its frantic beating under her fingers.
Amila was right. They were friends.
Which was why Kira couldn’t let her live with the pain and knowledge she’d had to force the primus’s compliance.
Kira loosened her grip slightly as she twisted to keep Amila in sight. “We can put away the monster, but we will not compromise on Jin.”
Her voice sounded rusty, the words stilted and rough as if she hadn’t spoken in centuries.
Amila glanced overhead at the two figures hovering in the sky that Kira had been aware of from the beginning but chose to ignore.
Torvald’s nod was minimal, Graydon a watchful presence at his back.
“Your terms are reasonable,” Amila said as she withdrew her blade from Kira’s neck.
A rumble of amusement vibrated Kira’s chest as her grip loosened on Jarek’s throat.
It seemed he got to live another day. Lucky for him—disappointing for her.
She would have enjoyed toying with him a while longer.
Perhaps she still would.
Kira eyed Jarek, her expression making both him and Amila tense.
A pop of air and then a thump from the top of her ship distracted Kira from the desire to push the boundaries just a little more.
She squinted as a man wearing the synth armor of House Roake straightened. The person moved with the grace and assurance of an assassin.
He was tall with a slim build and skin the color of night. His hair was cut close to his head, giving the impression he was bald. The style suited him, showcasing the delicate strength of his features.
His amber eyes reminded Kira of a panther’s. They held that same lazy danger as if he could destroy all in front of him but wouldn’t because it was too much work.
Makon, the Marshal of House Roake. Second only to the Overlord.
If he was here, Harlow wasn’t far behind.
Kira bared her teeth in disappointment. Even as primus, she wasn’t willing to test her uncle. It seemed her fun was at an end.
From his position kneeling on the ground, Maksym lifted his head and glared. “You’re late.”
Makon regarded the other man with a calm expression. “This is quite the mess you’ve allowed. Prepare to be punished upon our return.”
Maksym pulled a face. “I underestimated how much of a handful the youngest could be.”
