He frowns. “Talk to me, Cat. Why Talia? Who were they?”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
Magnetic gray eyes capture mine. “You can trust me.”
I scoff. “So says the kidnapper.”
He just stares at me like he fully expects me to start talking.
Gods! He’s infuriating! “It’ll be a cold day in the Underworld before I trust you.” Or a moderately cool one. Well, a day with a stiff breeze anyway. Gah!
I back up until my legs bump against my cot, oddly chilled after being so close to him.
“How are you feeling, Talia?”
I glare at him. “That’s not my name.”
“According to the Fisan it is. You know, the one yelling ‘She’s mine!’ with bloody murder in his eyes.”
My heart slams hard against my ribs. “He must have mistaken me for someone else.”
Beta Sinta’s stare turns flat with disbelief. “For days, you told me they were coming for you.”
Oh, right… I shrug.
His eyes flash silver. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know! Fisans are insane. Get used to it.” I grin maniacally, but it fails to have any effect on him.
“The two of you had a chat while the rest of us were fighting to the death. You don’t do that with someone you don’t know.”
Beta Sinta couldn’t have heard what we were saying. There was too much noise and confusion for that. “I always get to know people before I kill them. It’s much more satisfying that way.” There. That sounded sufficiently insane.
His eyebrows slam down. “Don’t make me ask again,” he says, sounding like he’s grinding stones between his teeth.
I turn and fold my blanket, just in case my eye really does twitch when I lie. “My ex-lover. It didn’t end well. He’s been out to kill me ever since.”
Beta Sinta’s hands land on my shoulders, heavy and hot. I jolt and then stiffen. He turns me around, making my head spin. I barely keep my feet from tangling up in each other.
“I thought you were done lying to me.” He drops his arms but stays disturbingly close. “You know when people lie to you. They can’t get away with the smallest falsehood. You, on the other hand, can lie all you want.”
“So?”
“So I can’t protect you if you won’t tell me the truth!” He actually growls at me. Loud. “I want to protect you, Cat.”
I blink. Want. Not need. The word strikes me hard, like a dagger trying to pierce the tight knot of muscle beating far too rapidly in my chest.
My lips part and then press together again. I can’t deal with this. I’m woozy, my stomach feels like lead, and it’s all too much.
A sudden, horrible thought occurs to me. “Can you see me when I’m invisible?”
He shakes his head, seamlessly reining in his temper to answer me. “I only reject magic that harms.”
Thank the Gods! My eyes narrow. “That’s convenient.”
“It is,” he agrees.
“I should’ve let you take the arrow.”
“You should have.” His eyes bore into mine, demanding answers. “Why didn’t you?”
Good question. An evening breeze comes through the open doorway, tossing his longish hair around. His eyes are the color of thunderclouds, both luminous and dark, striking against his sun-bronzed skin. There’s steadiness in them, and my nerves settle. For some reason, the strength and deadliness he keeps so easily leashed make him the most compelling man I’ve ever met. I envy his self-control.
“Temporary insanity.” I shrug. “A moment of complete idiocy. I must have forgotten who you are.”
He looks disappointed, and something tugs inside of me. His eyes stray to the scars on my arms, lingering on the fresh one Selena had to make to keep me alive. “Regardless, don’t ever do something like that again. Now answer the questions, Talia.”
I turn mute on him. I’m good at that.
Beta Sinta waits for what must seem like a reasonable amount of time to him and then grates out, “He hurt you, and you won’t even tell me who he was!”
“Hurt me?” I laugh, the maniacal in it a little too real. My filters snap. Or maybe some deeper part of me does. Secrecy isn’t the only reason I don’t talk about my past. I don’t talk about the things that have happened to me because acknowledging them plunges me into nightmares and sucks the light from the world. “Hurting me is keeping me in a cage for eight months. Not a single change of clothes. Not a bath. Not a pillow. Not a bloody second of privacy. Only enough bread and water to survive, and spitting fire and lies at me just to see me writhe.”