He tilted his head at her lack of response, studying her more carefully now. “Most people think he’s dead.”
“I saw him at the club last week,” she spat. “And I saw him in my backyard ten years ago. Don’t tell me what I’ve seen.”
“Doubtful.” His smile came back, meaner. “You were probably so high you couldn’t tell your head from your ass. I’ve seen your habits. I’ve been watching you these past few months. I almost got caught by this Aggregate Hunter a few times.” He paused, jaw clenching, like he wanted to admit something, but held himself back. “Why would Ryker waste his time in a place like that?”
Doubt inched in, like teeth on bone, but she shoved it down. She could not afford to give up the one thing she knew she had—her photographic memory. It had never been wrong before, and she wasn’t going to stop trusting herself because of one comment from a psychopath.
She shifted. “Are there others like me?” she demanded. “Who can hear thoughts. Feel everything.”
“Yes. But true telepaths are rare. Rare enough that people kill to control them.”
“You're not one,” she said confidently. Otherwise, his aura would have reached out to hers earlier.
“No, I’m not. Which makes you…special. And potentially valuable. Your release opened up possibilities. Ryker thinks testing you is a waste of time. He’s wrong.”
“What do you want with me?” she asked.
He gave her a slow, filthy smile. “The Simas line tends to hoard rare abilities,” he said. His eyes lingered on her longer than was comfortable. “But you…” He tilted his head slightly.“You don’t feel like the others. I was expecting something different.”
“What others?”
He ignored her as he continued to think out loud. “I’m here for Sophia. But I’d be stupid not to see what you can do.”
“Were you outside my house?” she asked, the words scratching her throat. “The night my family died. Did you kill them?” She knew it was Ryker, but she wanted to hear the truth from him.
He shook his head. “No, I wasn’t there. I don’t know how they died or what happened that night.”
“If it wasn’t you, it was Ryker,” Audrey said. “I know it.”
He didn’t bother denying it. “Your family wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” he said. “Quite the opposite.”
She wanted to kill Ryker. She wanted to kill this one, too. It didn’t matter who had struck the match if they’d all stacked the kindling.
Silence lengthened. Emerson breathed shallowly on the ground. Sophia writhed in her bindings.
Mihail ignored them and merely watched Audrey with his bottomless eyes.
Her hold clenched on the gun. Images of shooting him three times, just to hear the quiet afterward, came to her unbidden.
Voices sparked at the edges of her aura—Mihail’s thoughts finally penetrated his control, loud and staccato in their alien tongue. He just stood there, staring, and she hated not knowing whether he was inside her head the way she was inside his aura.
She switched fully to French, but her concentration frayed. She could feel herself slipping. “Stop staring,” she said quietly, lifting the gun once more to keep him back. Despite knowing it wouldn’t do anything, it was all she had. His black eyes were like pits, drawing her in.
“My,” he said, amused. “You do have a temper. Our kind doesn’t survive long by indulging every emotion. I’m surprised you’re still alive.”
“You’re still breathing,” she said, “so I’m more in control than you think, you arrogant motherfucker.”
He laughed again, like she told a joke he’d already heard. It caused her muscles to tense with panic. Everything Emerson and Alex had told her that past day, everything she’d swallowed since, made it hard to get air into her lungs.
If she could hide the fear—hide the bone-deep urge to just stop, to let all of this end—maybe she’d survive the next ten minutes.
Mihail’s head tilted slightly, studying her with new interest. “Careful,” he said quietly. “You’re reaching for something you don’t understand yet.”
Audrey froze. “What?—”
Then the gun lifted, until it was in Mihail’s face.
Her hands were at her sides.
