His green eyes lean near mine; his breath is warm on my rapidly swelling skin. “Does a priestess feel pain?” he asks.
Lowering my forehead, I drive it into his nose, hearing it crack as blood spurts out to spatter my cheeks and his. As I reel with dizziness and an aching skull, I try to smile when I murmur, “Yes. Do you?”
“Careful,” he groans, his nose bleeding profusely as he smiles. “Don’t make me fall in love with you, priestess.”
“Shut up.” I spit blood. “Uhh, that’s so much worse the second time,” I say to myself, trying not to groan as I gather my courage. “Okay, I’m ready. Hit me again, and then take my picture.”
It’s extremely scary how quickly Kyon responds to the images that Giffen sends to him. What’s also frightening are the layers of signal blockers Kyon is able to hack through during each of the communications Giffen engages in with him. Giffen has to cut the connection off a few times so Kyon won’t trace our location.
Seething over Kyon’s lack of cooperation, Giffen glares at me. “Your Alameeda intended is a sneaky, blond wacker!” he says with disgust, but it sounds less dirty somehow because his speech is so refined.
“He’s not my anything, lost boy,” I state calmly, wishing I could brush my hair back from my throbbing face. They haven’t uncuffed me from the chair, even though I agreed to all of their demands. I guess I’m just untrustworthy.
Giffen scowls at me. “Don’t deceive yourself. The moment he returns you to his home you’ll be made his consort.”
“You say that like it bothers you.”
“Why should it?”
I shrug, which seems to bother him more. He gets surlier. “He wanted to communicate with you last time to verify that you’re alive. When I contact him now, be brief. I need to tell him the location of the exchange before he can track the signal.”
I don’t argue. What’s the point? “Let’s do this.”
Giffen eyes me suspiciously, glancing uneasily at Raspin. Raspin is watching me as if he expects me to disappear at any moment and take with me his ability to get back his truluv, which I think might mean his “soulmate.”
Giffen makes the connection. Kyon answers, “You keep ending our conversations just when they’re getting interesting.”
“Have you located my consort?” Giffen asks.
“I have. She’s a bit untidy, but nothing you’re not used to, I’m sure.”
Charming, I think.
“Let me see her,” Giffen demands.
His jaw eases somewhat when a feminine voice comes through the communicator saying, “Gif?”
“Are you well?” he asks Astrid, relief in his tone. I groan inwardly, He’s so bad at this!
She’s not allowed to answer him. Instead, Kyon asks, “What of my consort?”
Giffen glances at me. “According to her, she’s not your consort,” he states vehemently.
I glare at him with a what-the-hell-are-you-doing look on my face. He doesn’t have to argue about something as stupid as my commitment status. What happened to “be brief”? I say with my eyes. Giffen glares back at me with an I-can-say-whatever-I-want-to look.
Kyon growls, “She belongs to me—make no mistake. If you do not show her to me in the next few breaths, I will kill your consort in the most painful way imaginable.”
Giffen’s jaw clenches. He taps a few buttons before sliding his communicator onto a small table he has placed in front of my chair. Kyon’s head-and-shoulders image appears as a holograph, being projected from the communicator like a video speakerphone. He doesn’t look happy about the state I’m in.
“Resist, did you?” he asks with a grim look. “How is that working out for you, Kricket?”
“I have it all under control.” I try to smile but my fat lip and puffy, black eye hurt more when I do. I wince and sag a little in my chair, letting my actions belie my words. “You don’t have to come get me. I can find another ride.”
“It’s not an inconvenience. It’s probably on my way,” he says quietly.
Giffen barks out, “Diadem Rock—in two parts.”
“I will be there—and, oh, if you touch her again, I will cut off both your consort’s hands.”
“If you fail to deliver Astrid in one piece, Kricket dies.”
Giffen ends the communication.
CHAPTER 16
DARKEN THE STARS
Raspin’s knife is drawn as he walks toward me. I flinch for a second, worried about what he intends to do with it. When he moves behind me and gathers my hair in his fist, ready to slice it off to help me heal, I growl, “Stop! Don’t cut my hair! It’ll look suspicious if you do!”