Up ahead, a Phylax man on a wolf scrambles to the side to make room for me and Anassa to pass. I make eye contact with him and pull up short, tired of drawing this out.
“Where is he?” My voice is emotionless, deadly.
The Phylax raises a shaky finger, pointing it toward the rear of the war camp, and continues to back away, staring down now at my cargo.
The infamously brutal Stark Therion, trussed up with his wolf like a piece of meat.
Anassa leans over to snap at his direwolf, and the two of them nearly jump out of their skins to get farther away from us.
We don’t have to walk far. After Anassa takes only a few more steps, a pool of shadow starts gathering on the path ahead.
Into it steps Killian, cloaked inmyshadow,mypower.
His dark golden hair shines bright, perfectly coiffed, as if we’re in the middle of a ball, not a war camp. His face looks healthy, rested. That unnatural beauty every Siphon possesses, mixed with the shadowy power gathering around him, gives him an otherworldly look.
But still, something about his face is off. I narrow my eyes, looking closer. Little twitches, like he’s focusing hard on something or tensing muscles in his jaw.
I wonder…
When I see him in the shadow realm, Alistair isn’t there.
In the waking world, are they locked in a constant struggle? I file that away as something I can use.
Killian smiles brightly, as if we see each other every day, and raises a hand in greeting. “Beloved, you’ve made it.”
I swallow bile as I manage a small smile back at him. “Killian.”
I’ve seen him in that dreamworld more times than I’d like, but it’s different seeing him in person. It hasn’t been all that long since our last meeting, when I tried to kill him and he disappeared by stealing my power.
And yet everything has changed.
“I see you brought our Phylax Alpha the treat he was promised.” Killian’s voice is lazy, silky smooth. He approaches us with easy confidence, walking past me to look down at Stark and Cratos behind me, bound and gagged on the ground.
I resist the urge to spit in his face.
Twisting in my seat, I keep my voice cool as I twitch my fingers, levitating Stark and Cratos another foot off the ground. “Where should I take this?”
Killian leans over and lightly brushes Stark’s cheek with a fingertip, smirking. Disgust and anger roil in my gut. If he tries to hurt Stark…
Killian stands before I launch myself at him, and I sit back, taking a deep breath.
He waves toward a huge tent, gaudy and ridiculous among the utilitarian look of the rest of the war camp. Just as Noemi said. “You can drop it off over there. But come right back, kitten. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
He pauses, pursing his lips. “And I’ll need proof that you’ve brought the rest of the Tears with you, as promised.”
“Or?” I say, expression blank as my heart hammers in my chest in anticipation of violence.
Killian tilts his head and drawls, “Or we sack the city immediately and kill every last Bonded turned traitor to my throne.”
59
MERYN
My ability to lie and pretend is stretched to its absolute maximum as I take in Killian’s threat.
I’m sure he can see a tidal wave of emotions crashing across my face. All I can do is hope that they line up with what he was expecting. He always did love to play with my emotions.
I finally school my features into an imitation of fear as I respond, maintaining my facade, hoping he’s convinced.
