His deep voice murmurs, “I like to hear you wake with my name on your lips.” With his shoulders resting against plump, white pillows, Kyon’s blue eyes hood as he continues to stare at me. He moves his hand along my hair, stroking me like a favorite pet. “You slept,” he adds, as if letting me in on a secret. It all comes rushing back to me in a flood. My head jerks off of him as I cover my face with my hands and sit up. “How do you feel?”
I can’t tell if his concern is genuine. I peek at him through my fingers, shooting him a sidelong scowl. “My chest hurts like someone tried to drown me.”
“It’s still bruised. I compressed your heart after it stopped beating last night.” Stone-faced, he watches my reaction. “I’ll cut your hair now so that you’ll heal more quickly.” He gathers some of my hair away from my face. I blanch. It still troubles me that I’m genetically engineered to regenerate cells when my hair is cut. It makes me feel like I’m somehow less than real, and being in Ethar is already enough of a dose of unreality.
Dropping my hands, I sweep my hair away from him. “No. Don’t. I’m fine.” I don’t want you touching me, chester, I think, using the Etharian term for “pervert.”
“You’ll feel better instantly when I cut it. Your bruises will disappear.” He reaches for me again and I shy away.
My arm rises defensively. “I don’t want to feel better.” He reaches under the pillow behind him and extracts a wicked-looking knife with an ivory handle. My eyes widen and I stiffen as my breath catches in my throat. “What are you doing? Why do you have a knife under your pillow?” I’m proud of the way my voice doesn’t quiver, even when my blood is roaring through my veins.
Kyon holds the handle of the knife while he lazily fondles the steely blade with his finger. “Tell me, when you were remanded to that institution on Earth, after you ran away from your foster home, did you ever feel the need to hide a weapon near you while you slept?”
My heart pounds in my chest, as I think about the time I spent in a juvenile facility in Chicago. The streets had been safer than that place. “Yes,” I answer honestly.
His eyes pierce mine as they shift from the knife to me. “Why?”
I’m held by his intense stare, unable to look away. “Because I had enemies.”
“You still do,” he replies.
Reaching forward, his huge hand grasps a fistful of my hair. Angling the sharp blade of the knife, Kyon slices off my hair near the nape of my neck. The severed hair in his fist turns black and shrivels up until it’s no more than dust in his palm. Billowing shafts of new hairs rapidly regrow from my scalp. Pale blond, it falls over my shoulders in waves, resuming its former length. Kyon weaves his fingers in it, feeling its corn-silk softness against his skin. The oppressive ache and tightness in my chest eases, allowing me to take the first full breath I’ve had since last night. He plays with my hair for a moment, completely mesmerized by it. “Who are you afraid of?” I ask.
His stare turns cold. His hand tightens uncomfortably in my hair, but I don’t flinch. “No one,” he replies. “They’re afraid of me.” I wonder for the first time what he has gone through in his life to make him so ruthless and unbending.
“Who’s afraid of you?” I can imagine, looking at the psychopathic killer next to me, that there aren’t many people who aren’t afraid of Kyon.
“Anyone who’s smart enough to see us as a threat.” The truthful resonance of his voice is as frightening as his words.
I want to shudder, but I don’t give into it. “I need a weapon.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Opening his palm, he holds out the wicked knife for me to take. I pause, not sure if his offer is a trap. He waits patiently for me to come to a decision. Cautiously, I reach out, touching the ivory handle. As fast as the snap of a snake’s bite, Kyon’s hand closes over mine so that we each hold the knife with the blade pointed toward the mattress. “Use this on me, Kricket, and I’ll make you regret it.”
Refusing to retreat, I reply, “You haven’t made me regret stabbing you the first time.”
A slow smile develops on his lips. It spreads over his face. His eyes crinkle with humor. “That’s because you only served to convince me that you’re perfect for me. My little savage—the darkest star.”
He’s a psychopath. “Who’s coming after us, Kyon?”
He’s stony once more. He lets go of the knife, relinquishing it to me. It’s heavy in my hand. “No one I can’t handle. Are you hungry?”