“You were Dr. Aster’s companion for countless years. You commit blasphemy when speaking of the five clans.”
“
The intensity of Malnefoley’s expression increased a hundredfold when he narrowed his eyes. His lips tightened. He looked like an emperor whose displeasure would result in countless deaths. Did others see him as she did? Were they so awed or angry that they missed the signs?
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe a brainwashed servant.”
“I didn’t serve him.”
In some warped way, her relationship with Dr. Heath Aster, heir to the human Aster cartel, was that of a torture victim coming to love her torturer. He had hurt her. He’d also left her in isolation for months at a time. She’d been twelve years old. After a while she’d craved his attention, no matter how painful, because being alone was far more devastating. Love was a strange emotion to feel for the man her logical mind knew was her abuser, her dismantler, her maker.
“You simply aided in the perpetuation of his crimes,” the Giva said.
“Your mind won’t be changed by anything I say.”
Without looking at him again, she resumed her slow, careful push through the ruins, searching, not knowing what her eyes needed to find.
“You can’t walk away from me.” His voice was louder now, more commanding.
“I can if you don’t know the way to follow.”
The hair on the backs of her arms and neck lifted—such susceptible little pores, frightened by the smallest wash of fear. The Giva, however, was no slight threat. On a par with the Pendray berserkers with regard to the violence of their gifts, the Tigony were like turbine engines. They pulled bits of electricity out of the air, down to the barest hint of static, then whirled and intensified them into storms worthy of the mighty Zeus throwing lightning bolts. The Pet briefly wondered if Malnefoley was descended from the Tigony man who must’ve inspired those timeless Greek myths.
“You’ll come back with me,” he said, his voice darkly ominous. “Now.”
She turned a corner, then another, looking back only briefly.
He was the revered, hated, distrusted,
He should’ve looked ridiculous wearing Armani in the midst of an abandoned archaeological site, yet, tall and imposing, his body was built for the well-tailored suit. Electricity snapped from his fingers and arced like a heavenly rainbow across his well-bred features. The sun was merciless, but it cast shadows as it dipped toward the west. The Giva had banished the shadows. He was completely illuminated. Blue eyes were bluer. Cheekbones were more dramatic. Blond hair was transformed into filaments of gold.
He was a powerful man and bore that power as if it were featherlight.
Surrounded by the proof of his clan’s magnificence, he adopted a grim, humorless smile. “Don’t make me repeat myself. And don’t give me reason to lose my temper.”
“You won’t hurt me. I spent enough months detained in the Tigony fortress to know that. You’re too convinced of my worth—the information you seek.”
Her heartbeat was a metronome that kept time using a sledgehammer, pounding a frightened tempo in her chest. She had survived so much. She would survive the Giva in all his tempestuous conceit. But the process of surviving was wearisome.
Cadmin was waiting for her, perhaps, maybe, somewhere. The Pet could only pick her way through the rubble and wait for the worst to happen, let it pass through her, and move on. That had been her life. That would always be her life. The Tigony absorbed electricity and magnified it exponentially.
The bolt of electricity, when it came, stole her vision, obliterated her ability to hear, and seemed to peel back layer after layer of skin. In the moment between strike and agony, she was glad she couldn’t see her half- bared arms, for fear of finding exposed bone rather than whole, sound flesh.
But the agony would not be denied. Her heart’s metronome stopped its clicking smash. She blinked three times and fell to the rough, rocky ground.
—
Malnefoley was used to restraint, no matter the generalized bitterness that simmered deep in his bones. He was a politician. He was the head of the Council that served and oversaw the governments of the Five Clans.
He was not a man used to giving in to the urge to solve disputes with force rather than words. That weakness had been abandoned to a younger, impetuous version of himself.
Dr. Aster’s Pet, however, was an exception.
Five days ago, she’d escaped from the stronghold of Clan Tigony high in the mountains of Greece. He didn’t know how. None of his guards—loyal and tested—knew how. It was as if she’d transformed into air, swished through ventilation shafts, and caught the first breeze south to Crete. And she’d told the truth. A woman who feared getting caught would’ve made a better point of hiding. She must’ve known he would come for her. For Mal, finding her had been simple. Ask about an unusual, plain-speaking, coltish young woman with wild raven-black hair, and the answers were quick and sure.
He wasn’t through with her. She had served Dr. Aster as his devoted companion—so devoted that no one referred to her as anything other than the Pet. She must know the madman’s secrets, including how he had been able to solve the riddle of Dragon King conception. One so connected to the highest echelon of the Aster cartel was invaluable, and Mal wouldn’t see her gone.
So he’d used his gift. Unlike members of Clan Pendray with their berserker furies, the Tigony were a refined people. Mal knew his gift’s potential down to the slightest variable. To deliver his electric punch, he’d taken into account an estimation of the Pet’s weight, her physical condition, and even the ambient temperature. The result was a strike strong enough to knock her out for no more than two minutes, without lasting damage.
Then he breathed. He put his fleeting, petulant anger away. For two decades, he’d been the Honorable Giva, even in times when behaving like a calm, neutral leader had felt like a full-body straightjacket. That meant rational thought, smooth negotiation, and measured discussion—the training he’d received from his parents, the heads of the Tigony royal house. For years, he’d kept his powers close like a gambler holding a straight flush. The result of pairing anger and the true extent of his gift was destruction. Unchecked destruction.
The village of Bakkhos remained a scar in a distant Grecian valley. Because of him.
The Pet was too canny for Mal’s peace of mind. He needed her back in the Tigony stronghold. And he needed her to start talking.
That meant finding her.
She’d dropped to the ground following the force of the blast. She’d disappeared behind the rugged half walls of the ruins. Why here? What scheme was she enacting? Something on behalf of the Asters?
That didn’t ring right in his mind. Had she wanted to remain with the insane doctor, she would’ve escaped with the man when Mal had helped liberate his niece from the Asters’ laboratories in the Canadian tundra. Instead, the Pet had stayed behind. She’d surrendered to Mal without protest, which stood as the full extent of her cooperation. Every moment since had been a study in silence and frustration—silence from her and frustration strong enough eat away at Mal’s patience.
He didn’t have time to find her by navigating the labyrinth. After removing his suit coat, he wadded it into a ball. The expensive fabric served as protection as he climbed a jagged half wall. Navigating one at a time, he hoisted himself up using the coat as padding for his hands and knees. The ancient, crumbling rock was flaked and chipped like shale honed to razors.
He had just topped the last wall when a jerk behind his knees sent him sprawling onto the unforgiving ground. The Pet. She’d been pressed flat against the wall, waiting for him.
His head connected with a boulder the size of a large melon.
“
The sun overhead stole his vision, which meant he jerked his head to the side by instinct alone. Metal scraped against rock and shot sparks against his cheek. Those sparks might not have been visible to the naked
