Awaken Me Darkly (Alien Huntress #1)(50)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Always you command,” he said on a ragged laugh, his voice heavily accented, “but worry not. I will never stop. Promise me you will never leave me,” he said. “I need you too badly. I crave you too fiercely.”

He kissed me, and I welcomed his tongue. He always tasted so good, like a forbidden drug I shouldn’t have but couldn’t resist. I whispered his name.

The sound awakened me.

My eyelids popped open. My heartbeat was thundering in my chest, and my breathing was ragged.

When I calmed long moments later—though I didn’t think my heartbeat would ever slow—I scanned my surroundings. I was in Kyrin’s bed. Alone. Sweat soaked my gown to my skin, but at least my wrists and ankles were free.

Had Kyrin experienced a similar dream? I wondered. That dream had been more vivid than any of the others, almost as if he truly had been there with me. I didn’t know what to think of that.

I stumbled from the warmth and softness of the mattress and padded to the window. The carpet plumped beneath my feet. My shoes were missing; well, the shoes I’d stolen from Kyrin. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and swept aside the velvety curtains. Moonlight spilled across the night, painting the snow-covered forest with muted gold and silver. Leafless trees sprang from the earth in a wide arch, almost kissing the heavens.

“Where am I?” I muttered. I’d never seen so many trees or so much uncultivated land.

A lone figure caught and held my gaze as it emerged from the house. A man. He was tall, his white hair blending with the snow as he disappeared inside a two-story brick garage. Kyrin. I sucked in a breath. A moment later, a black Jag sped from the garage and onto a gravel road.

Where was he going? I lifted my hand to the window, and the chilly glass against my over-warm skin made me gasp. What was he planning to do?

For the moment, the answers didn’t matter, so I wasn’t going to worry about them. He was gone, and I could use that to my advantage, could hopefully find some sort of outside communication device.

Servants milled around all the rooms, going about their duties. No one said a word to me while I explored the entire house. An hour later, I still had not found a single phone unit or computer. I approached a servant, intent on questioning her, but her eyes widened in horror and she raced away. The others soon followed.

“I give up,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. Damn, damn, damn. I stomped back into Kyrin’s bedroom and plopped onto the bench beside the hearth. I used the time alone to work at the armband, trying to somehow unwind it. The metal remained firm and unyielding.

While I was distracted, a female servant emerged from her hiding place and rushed to the door, a haze of white hair and violet froth. She slammed the heavy wood, then clicked the lock in place.

“I need to talk to you,” I called, already on my feet.

Racing footsteps greeted my ears. I dropped back into my seat.

Two hours passed. Two miserable hours.

I wrote down every experiment I could think of that could be performed on babies. By the time I got to number six, I wanted to vomit. My hatred for Atlanna increased. My desire to kill her increased.

I had to find her. Stop her. Destroy her.

Why wouldn’t Kyrin tell me more about her and her experiments? Was he afraid of her? No, the man didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. Not even me. I sighed. How the hell was I going to find her?

Hinges squeaked as someone slowly opened the bedroom door. I jolted to my feet.

“Do not hurt me,” an Arcadian woman said, peeking inside. “I come bearing food and drink. I mean you no harm.”

My shoulders sagged with disappointment. Had it been Kyrin, I could have beat out some of my frustrations. “Enter,” I said.

She did so wearily. She wore the same type of open, feminine gown that I wore, only hers was light purple, just like her eyes. She radiated youth and vibrancy, even while she trembled with fear.

“Do you have a moment?” I asked, keeping my voice gentle. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

Without a word and without a glance in my direction, she placed a tray piled high with fruits and wine atop the desk, the sweet scent of melon wafting all around her, then sprinted from the room.

“Merla,” I heard her say, and the bolts slid in place once again. Obviously the word meant lock.

“I guess not,” I muttered.

Just to prove how ridiculous locks were, I snatched up a small, solid sculpture and stalked to the door. I intended to slam the thick metal into the door’s hinges, but before I reached it, I felt my eyes heat—actually heat as I glared—and the hinges shattered of their own accord, raining like broken glass onto the silver rug. The entrance fell open. I heard the woman yelp and watched her back disappear as she scampered down the hall, putting as much distance between us as she could.

Horrified, I dropped the sculpture to the floor and heard the heavy thump, thump of dismantled pieces. I rubbed my eyes, but they had already cooled.

What the goddamn hell was wrong with me? How was I doing things like that? I knew I was different, but these things were too different. These things were freaky different.

A tremor raced down my limbs. I’d pretended the slowdown thing hadn’t happened. I’d pretended the beer incident hadn’t happened, and neither had happened again. This wouldn’t happen again either. Like the others, I’d pretend it had never happened.

Determined, I walked back to the desk and sat. Work. I needed to work. I spent twenty minutes constructing a chart about Kyrin. If anything could consume my thoughts, it was that man.

He wanted my trust, and honestly, despite everything, I was well on my way to giving it. He desired his sister’s release. That showed loyalty. He hadn’t hurt me physically, even though I’d knocked him around. That showed discipline. He’d even helped me through my panic at being tied. That showed compassion. He wanted to atone for past sins, and saw killing Atlanna as a way to do that. That showed remorse.

He operated on his own scale of justice and righteousness. He was a law unto himself. But Kyrin wouldn’t kill an innocent. He’d had numerous chances to kill me, and I was far from innocent. He’d always been careful not to hurt me.

I was ready to talk to him again. I needed to talk to him again. But the wall clock continued to tick away the midnight hours without his return.

CHAPTER 17

I spent several hours prowling through the house, this time searching for clues about Kyrin, about Atlanna. I learned Kyrin had expensive tastes—in everything. Even underwear. He was meticulous and didn’t like clutter, and he left nothing personal out in the open. He was a guarded man. And very smart.