Текст книги "The darkest seduction"
Автор книги: Gena Showalter
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This wasn’t good. Meant his obsession with Sienna had reached the next level.
Paris maybe could have forced himself to let her go without much of a fuss before their time in that cavern. Now? Not likely. She was everything he’d ever wanted for himself and everything he hadn’t known he needed, all rolled into one sexy little package. A warrior when she needed to be, a siren when heneeded her to be, yet always soft and sweet and giving. And brave, so brave.
When that pink-haired punk had invaded their private space, she hadn’t run. She’d stayed put. In case Paris needed her, and to keep Zacharel out of his face when things got dicey. He admired that about her. Hell, he was beginning to admire everythingabout her.
Suddenly Paris understood his man Amun in a way he never had before. Amun’s woman was a former Hunter, too, and once upon a time she had helped murder their bestie Baden. Because of that, every single Lord of the Underworld had despised her and had wanted to see her guts spilled all over their fortress, Paris included, but Amun had stood his ground and defended what was his, and everyone eventually—reluctantly—climbed on board the welcome train.
Maybe, after he’d taken care of Cronus, he would do the same for Sienna—take her home and play house. Things would be difficult at first, sure. She hadn’t killed anyone, but the Lords still didn’t and wouldn’t like her. They’d seen his cut and bruised body after her comrades had finished torturing him. They’d watched him suffer over her loss—and heard him curse himself for caring about her when she had never felt the same for him.
Until now. She’d changed her mind about him, and he’d changed his mind about her. He wasn’t sure whathad done the changing on his end, though he suspected it had more to do with simply wanting to believe in her, as he’d claimed. He wasn’t even sure when the change had happened. All he knew was that she wasn’t out to get him.
Accepting that once again drove home the point that his earlier fears, planted by Zacharel, were foolish.
Paris knew women, and he knew sex, and he thought he was pretty good at reading the former’s emotion while engaged in the latter. More than that, he’d been with Sienna before. She might have wanted him back then, but that want had nothing on what she felt for him now. Total, all-encompassing and real.
He wasn’t sure what had changed her mind, either, but he was glad that something had. He loved being with her. She eased him. In so many ways, she eased him. So what the hell was he supposed to do without her, while he hunted Cronus?
Who would he take to bed when the first wave of weakness hit him?
Oh…damn. The thought of being with someone else made him sick. Like, vomit blood sick. He wanted Sienna and only Sienna, and when they parted, and they would because he couldn’t take her with him to hunt Cronus—too dangerous for her, considering the ambrosia in her system—he would have to take someone.
If he continued on this thought path, he would break down.
Maybe she sensed his turmoil. She twined her fingers with his, brought his hand to her mouth, and kissed the pulse hammering in his wrist. The world came back into focus with a whoosh.
“—did you do with that other guy, the fallen you called him?” she was saying to Zacharel. “Did he, uh, survive?”
“He lives, yes,” the angel said, but offered no more.
“He’ll come back for me.” That kind of blame and hatred wouldn’t fade. But by the time the fallen healed, Paris and Sienna would have already parted. She would be safe.
“Yes,” Zacharel said. “He will.”
A spike of fear added a layer of spice to the sweetness of Sienna’s scent. Paris traced his thumb over her knuckles, reveling in the softness of her skin as much as in her worry for him. “He won’t get the drop on me.”
Suddenly a shadow at his left surged into motion, darting at Sienna with the speed of an arrow. The only color in the six-foot slash of darkness was the flash of bloodstained fangs inside its mouth.
Without missing a beat, Paris stepped in front of her, whipping out of Sienna’s clasp to grasp the creature by the neck. He was surprised by the solid feel of flesh and heat. He commanded his crystal dagger to become whatever was needed to destroy a living shadow and stabbed, going deep into that mouth and feeling those fangs cut into his skin.
The dagger began to pulse with the light of the sun, bright enough to cause his eyes to tear. There was a howl of pain, a gurgle, before the writhing mass exploded into particles of mist and scattered on the breeze.
“Thank you,” Sienna said on a wispy catch of breath. The roses had faded from her cheeks, making her freckles stark.
“We don’t thank each other for this kind of thing, remember?” Protecting her would never be about the accolades.
Those exquisitely plump lips curled into a radiant smile he would see in his fantasies for the rest of eternity. Desire for her spun to new life.
She reached up, perhaps planning to trace a fingertip along the seam of his now aching mouth. Then Zacharel said, “May the Deity save me from such nonsense,” and she dropped her arm to her side.
“I don’t think your deity will have to worry about saving you,” Paris snapped. “I’m pretty sure females will recognize the fact that you’re not worth the effort from glance one.”
The angel seemed pleased by that.
Polar opposites, Paris thought; that’s what he and the angel were. Zacharel had never experienced a spark of arousal, so he had no idea what he was missing. Paris pitied the poor girl who finally gained his notice. She’d have to have balls of steel. Zach would fight her every step of the way to the bedroom, and probably even blame her for his introduction to passion.
Now that might be fun to watch.
If the circumstances had been any different, Paris might have unleashed Sex’s special scent upon the angel. More than likely even Zach would fall prey to the lush, candlelight-and-silk-sheets imagery that always consumed everyone else, and his horror at wanting Paris would amuse for centuries to come.
Sienna stiffened. As attuned to her every nuance as he was, Paris’s attention whipped to her. The roses had returned to her cheeks, but they were too bright, as if she were suffering with a fever. Her eyes, now more emerald than gold, were glued ahead—on the castle that had just crested into view.
Her bond to the structure must be growing stronger, he thought.
Paris wrapped his arm around her and tugged her as close as he could get her, remaining careful of her wings. She didn’t protest. In fact, she nuzzled her cheek against his neck, warm and soft and his.
He kissed her temple. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you go.”
A sigh of relief and unmistakable gratitude. “Than– I mean, whatever.”
“Good girl,” he said with a grin.
Zacharel frowned at them. “Do you still mean to part?”
Paris lost his good humor, and shot the angel an I-hope-you-die-painfully glare. Now was so not the time to get into that.
“Yes,” Sienna said in a tone as cold and biting as the wind buffeting against Zacharel. Then, contradicting the harsh affirmation, she rubbed a fist against her chest as though a hot poker burned there. “We’re still going to part.”
Indignation rose up, but Paris swallowed it back. That was the way it had to be. He knew it, had agreed to it. Shit, he’d even been the one to suggest it.
“This is good.” The angel nodded his approval, the action allowing several snowflakes to catch in the satin of his hair.
“Why do you care?” Paris demanded. He still hadn’t figured out the reason for Zacharel’s continued presence.
A shrug of one strong shoulder. “I would not say I care. I simply know that the two of you cannot successfully sustain a relationship.”
With that note of truth in his voice, it was clear the angel wholeheartedly believed what he’d said. “Our relationship isn’t your business, so your opinions aren’t welcome.”
“Actually, the two of you were made my business.”
Paris saw red. Demon-red. A volatile reaction when one was not needed, but he was helpless against it. Sheer will alone kept his hands at his sides rather than hammering into Zacharel’s face. “By who?”
Wings of white and gold spread, the angel beside him one moment, then in front of him the next. Zacharel’s feet floated above the ground, those wings flapping slowly, holding him steady. Paris had to grind to an abrupt stop to avoid slamming into him. Around them, snowflakes tumbled and swirled only to land and melt.
In case things got ugly, he shoved Sienna behind him. “What happened to being too weak to fly?”
“I have regained my strength.”
“How?”
“The answer will not change what is about to happen.”
He arched a brow, weapon at the ready. “Are you sure you want to go this route?”
“Some part of you hopes to keep her. Otherwise, you would not have reacted so violently to my observation.” Before Paris could respond, he added, “Do you recall when I told you that if you continued on your current path, you would lose everything you’d come to love?”
He popped his jaw. Only the gentle caress of Sienna’s hands on his back prevented him from hurling obscenities.
“I did not lie, demon. I never do. And now I think it’s time I proved just how terrible an enemy I can be.”
Paris blinked. Suddenly he hovered in the air, high above the castle’s drawbridge, Zacharel cradling him against a hard chest honed on the battlefield. His heart pounded an unsteady beat.
“How the hell did you do that?” And where the hell was Sienna?
“With powers you cannot begin to imagine. But this is not what I wished to show you.” One finger at a time, the angel loosened his grip. “I hope that you will soon learn I can help you…or destroy you.”
“You better not do what I think you’re going to do, you dirty piece of—”
His anchor vanished, and Paris free-fell toward the dilapidated slats of wood. He landed on the creaking boards with a hard slam and good loss of oxygen. Behind him, he heard the gargoyles screaming out their war cries, the flap of their wings, the scrape of their claws.
Zacharel had. He really had. “Son of a bitch!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“COME. I WILL ESCORT YOU to the exit.”
Sienna gaped at Zacharel, who had just appeared in front of her. Paris and the angel had been standing in front of her, bucking up against each other, ready to throw down as testosterone charged the air, only to disappear without warning. The angel had returned the very next second. Without Paris.
“Where is he?” she demanded, though she wasn’t too worried about the answer. Paris and Zacharel were friends despite their differences, and Wrath had yet to make a peep.
“I took him to the castle and dropped him on the bridge.”
Reevaluation time. Paris and Zacharel were not friends on any level. Wrath, on the other hand, must think angels could do no wrong. “Why would you do that?” Sure, Paris would be carried inside and locked up. Sure, he would escape, and he would be fine. But none of that mattered to her just then. Fury rose, dark and hot and dangerous.
Calm down.Before she whipped out that crystal blade Paris had given her and went to town on angel flesh. She’d so had enough of males and their abuse of supernatural abilities.
Zacharel blinked as if the answer should be obvious to one and all. “That, as you called it, is what one male does to another when they are arguing.”
“No. No, it’s not.”
His lips edged down in the slightest of frowns. “That is what your Paris did to William of the Dark only this morn.”
Well, she had no comeback for that, did she?
Zacharel shook out his wings, the white-and-gold feathers lifting slowly, elegantly. Snow glistened between the down. Her anger did nothing to lessen the impact of his beauty, the murky landscape somehow providing a suitable backdrop for him, dark where he was light.
No, not light, she mused. An aura of dawn radiated from him, causing him to glow.
“Well?” she prompted. “Will you take me to him?”
“Your eyes…” he said, his frown deepening.
“What about them?”
“I can see that Paris’s darkness has taken root inside you already.”
He spoke the words and somehow she knew they were true, the knowledge simply becoming a part of her. Paris’s darkness, the one his demon had given birth to, was indeed inside her. A small twinge of worry was quickly followed by a shrug of unconcern. Wrath lived inside her. What was one more entity?
“You’ve ignored my first question long enough. Now I’m taking over. Listen up, and listen good. I want you to take me back to the castle.”
The demand was unwise, unnecessary and counterproductive to her screw-Cronus plan, followed by her bagging and tagging of Galen, as well as her search for her sister, but that wasn’t going to stop her. Paris would fight to reach her, that protective side of his demanding he witness her escape from the realm, she knew that now. If that happened, he would be harmed.
“You intended to part company in two days,” he said, unwavering. “I merely sped things along.”
She’d been looking forward to those two days with Paris, had wanted to make love to him again and again and brand him inside her mind, her body, until her every cell smelled like him.
“You keep reminding us that we can’t be together.” Suspicions tangoed with her thoughts as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is that?”
“Because you both need reminding.” Simply stated, as if she should be ashamed for asking.
“Why?” she insisted.
“Why would you wantto be with him?” Zacharel’s dark head tilted to the side, his study of her intensifying. “Do you love him?”
Did she, when doing so would cause their break to hurt that much more? “I like him.” A lot. Like, really, reallya lot. And she respected him. Admired him. Craved him like a drug. He was witty and kind and protective and loyal, and even though he had every reason to despise her, he hadn’t once treated her as if she were the enemy.
“We need you in the heavens, Sienna.”
Did they, now? “Well, get in line. Lately, everyone needs me.” And no one would explain the reason. She fisted her hands and propped them on her hips. “What is it you think I can do for you? Because right now, I’m having trouble taking care of myself.”
“All I know is that you will herald our victory in the most gruesome war this world has ever seen.”
Forget sputtering. She gaped. Her, responsible for winning a war. No pressure, though, right? She so couldn’t deal with this right now.
Zacharel stiffened, glanced over one strong shoulder. “Cronus comes,” he said. “He has the answers you seek, though I would not trust him were I you.”
Stomach cramp.Not Cronus, not now, and not outside the castle. He would flip. Although, keeping him out of the castle would keep him away from Paris, so… “Get lost, angel boy.”
At that, he quirked a brow. “I will allow you to leave with him. I don’t think you will thank me afterward, however. Until we meet again, demon girl.”
He was gone a moment later, and what do you know, Cronus appeared a moment after that. No longer dressed as a Goth reject from hell, he now wore a gray silk suit tailor-made for his frame, all elegant lines and overflowing bank account.
Wrath stopped prowling and started slamming at her skull, very much wanting a go at him, but unable to figure out why. What he didn’t do was fill her mind with images of the king’s sins. Weird.
Cronus glanced left, right, and frowned. “Why are you outside the castle? For that matter, how did you getoutside the castle?”
“Wrath took over,” she said, lest he puzzle out that she had been aided by other immortals.
“Ah.” Smiling, revealing his dazzling pearly whites, he extended a crimson rose in her direction. “For you.”
“I, uh…” Not just stunned but completely flummoxed, she accepted the dewy bloom. “Thank you.”
He inclined his head ever so slightly as he accepted her appreciation. “And that’s not the only gift I come bearing. I have what you need.” A clear vial filled with glittering violet liquid followed the same path as the rose. “My apologies for the tardiness in its delivery.”
His apologies? Seriously? “Don’t worry about it?” A question when it should have been a statement.
Cronus cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Drink.”
Because she had no desire to confess that she’d already been fed, she took a small sip of what she now knew was ambrosia. What she didn’t know was why she needed ambrosia, or why Paris had looked ill when he’d handed her that flask.
Cool coconut flowed down her throat, sprouted wings and flew through her entire body. And wow, it packed a powerful punch. Both strength and weakness blazed through her, cannibalizing off each other and leaving her in a fog.
“That’s a good slave girl,” he mumbled.
I love being patronized, I really do.“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, swaying as she returned the vial to him.
He waved his hand and the glass disappeared. “I must show you something,” he said, and with another wave of his hand, her surroundings fell away. From warm to cold, dark to light.
From salvation to damnation.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SUDDENLY SIENNA WAS STANDING inside an unfamiliar chamber with white walls that stretched so high she could barely discern the domed ceiling above. Portraits hung everywhere. There was no furniture, just marble columns that boasted the occasional string of ivy, and stands that held sculptures and other crafted artifacts.
To stop herself from screaming from the mental calamity of the location switch, she bit her tongue until she tasted blood.
“This,” Cronus said, splaying his arms and slowly pivoting, “is the Chamber of Futures.” There was a reverent quality to his voice, one she’d never before heard from him. “Here, destiny takes shape and endless possibilities await, for this is where my All-Seeing Eye records her visions.”
“All-Seeing Eye?” She was still so disoriented that it was nearly impossible to get the words out.
“A female who sees into heaven and hell, time and space, present, past and future.” Every syllable held a new layer of urgency. “When one dies, another takes her place. Over the centuries, many have served me. There are no limits to how far back or how far forward these women can view. No limits to how high or low their scope.”
To have such a power would be both a blessing and a curse, she thought.
“Everything you see here was created by my Eyes.”
Sienna tucked the rose behind her ear, forgetting about his weird mood as she tripped her way to the nearest portrait. In it, an older, frailer version of Cronus stared back at her. He had gray hair, wrinkled skin, and wore a long white robe. This was the god she’d first met. Only this one was dirty, bruised and trapped in a cage.
“I have learned that everyone has several different futures, and the choices they make ultimately decide which road they will travel. Come,” he added without a breath, taking her by the forearm and ushering her through the long, seemingly endless expanse of the room. “There is something you must see.”
With every step she took, the portraits rearranged themselves, gliding over the wall, changing places with fluid grace. She didn’t try to pull away from him. Dizziness held her in thrall, and she needed the anchor of his hand to keep her upright.
“These Eyes, they do not always understand what they see, for they cannot determine the context of the actions they record. They do not know if they see past or future, how to stop something or how to make it come to pass.”
“And so you have to guess,” she finished for him.
“Correct.” He stopped, and so did the movement of the portraits.
In the frame now in front of her, warriors fought to the death in every direction. Not just any warriors, but familiar faces. There was Galen, his white wings outstretched, his long, bloody sword raised. Before him was Cronus, with a thin line of blood connecting one ear to another—his head about to slide from his neck.
Sienna’s heartbeat quickened as she took in the rest. There was Paris, off to the side, watching what happened to Cronus with wide, shocked eyes. Blood caked him. His mouth was open, as if he were shouting something.
“This is one of the futures that await me,” the king said. “Long ago, my first Eye warned me that a warrior with wings of white would someday slay me. I assumed it would be an angel, only to later realize there were other warriors, like the Lords of the Underworld, who were equally capable of doing so. And then my newest Eye painted this.”
“Why didn’t you kill all the Lords, then?” Sienna asked. She knew he’d already considered that route. A being like him wouldn’t have been able to help himself. “Just to be safe.”
He moved two steps forward. Again the pictures danced into new locations. “The reason is here.” He stopped, as did the pictures. “Look.”
Frowning, Sienna obeyed. In this one, a young Cronus sat on a throne of solid gold, the Lords of the Underworld lined up behind him, expressions reverent and stances determined. They were clearly protecting him, guarding him with their very lives. So badly she wanted to reach out and trace her fingertips over Paris’s lips. How beautiful he was. How strong.
“This is my real future,” Cronus said. “Or rather, the one possibility I must ensure comes to pass.”
“How?”
“The answer lies in the two warriors missing from this army.”
She gulped, studied every face. “Galen is missing. And…no one else.”
“Do you see the keeper of Wrath?”
“Of course. Aeron is right—”
“I do not speak of Aeron. He is no longer the demon’s keeper.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“Yes. You are the key to this future, Sienna.”
Disbelief thrummed through her. “I don’t understand.” The angel had mentioned she would get her answers—and that she shouldn’t trust what she heard. Seemed like an eternity had passed since he’d issued the warning. She wasn’t sure what to believe, what to discard. “How am I the key?”
“Look closely at the bottom.”
She leaned over, gaze homing in on the portrait’s lower edge. Surrounded by a crowd of onlookers was a woman. Her profile was to Sienna, her skin freckled, her nose and cheeks and chin– Her eyes widened. Hers. Those features were hers. The woman’s hair was brown and wavy, just like hers, and black wings stretched from her robe. She stood beside a kneeling man who had his arms wrapped around her calves, holding on as if she were precious to him.
Galen, Sienna realized. He wasn’t missing from the painting after all.
“All those centuries ago, when my Eye spoke of my death, she also told me there was a way to save myself…or, to be precise, a woman who could help me do so. I looked for this woman around every corner. She never appeared, and I despaired.”
What came next was going to hurt, Sienna thought, straightening. Didn’t take a genius to figure that out.
“Eons passed, and I was imprisoned when the worthless Greeks conspired with my wife, whom they later betrayed. I knew I would escape, for that, too, had been foretold, though the Greeks were too foolish to believe. When I at last reclaimed my rightful place on the heavenly throne, I sought out the Lords, thinking to destroy them before they could destroy me.”
He paused, sighed. “But newly returned to power as I was, I did not like the idea of killing the Lords and freeing their demons, thereby having more enemies knocking at my door. More than that, I likedthe idea of controlling Zeus’s warriors, of using the beings he created as my own personal errand boys as I searched for the one among them with the power to kill me.
“And oh, has that decision paid off. I have kept a close eye on their comings and goings and indeed, the Lords have proven surprisingly useful to me. That is why I know that the future you see before you in this painting, of me reigning in harmony with these warriors as my stalwart army, is already coming to pass.
“But still there is the matter of my predicted execution—and my predicted rescuer. Just when I had given up hope, you at last appeared, a woman who belonged to neither side of the war and yet also belonged to both sides. A woman who pledged her allegiance to Galen but whose interest had unmistakably been captured by Paris. A woman who had the power even in death to influence a warrior’s every thought and action.”
She could only shake her head.
“Oh, yes. He’s thought of you, only you, and that’s what brought you to my attention. I had never before noticed a human soul, but I had to know why he craved yours so very much. That’s when I discovered you were the one the Eye had foreseen. You look like the woman in the painting, and you have the same past as the woman I was told would save me. Both of those revelations can mean only one thing. You are to be my salvation.”
“I don’t care about your salvation,” she whispered.
“I know. But you care about Paris’s, and if Galen dies, so does he.” He waved his hand and another portrait appeared. In this one, Galen, Paris and a few other Lords lay in pieces on a blood-soaked floor. Her heart sank at the sight.
“And so we are back to your role as savior—mine, Paris’s, in the end it makes no difference, as either path leads you to Galen. You should thank me,” he went on. “I gave you Wrath. Made you strong enough to survive whatever the keeper of Hope chooses to do with you.” His gaze pierced her, a swirling black that increased the intensity of her dizziness. “Galen adores power, and you are to be his mate.”
“No.” A gasp, a plea.
Merciless, he continued. “Because of your demon, you will know those who lie to him, who befriend him when they truly hate him, and you will stop them before they are able to harm him.”
First sleep with him, and now protect him? “No! I hate him.”
“I did not say you had to love him to carry out your task. Merely think of the alternative if you do not carry it out. Paris dies.”
No. No, no, no. “What happened to learning Galen’s secrets and betraying him?” Fury sparked to life. “What happened to finding my sister? And why would you want me to stop others from harming him if he’s the man destined to kill you?”
Red flashed within the black of his eyes, scarlet pools of his own fury. “Let us say that I have my reasons, and my plans. So listen and listen well. There are but a few possible futures for me and thus, the world. The first is that I reign as king for eternity. The second, I am killed, which means my wife is killed. If we are both lost, chaoswill become king and the Lords will die.” He twirled his finger and the portraits began their dance anew.
A new frame stopped beside her and she looked it over, her mouth going dry. Angels, so many angels, bloody tears raining down wings of white and gold. Men and women wearing togas fought each angelic warrior savagely.
And there on the ground at their feet were the Lords, bloody, broken…lifeless. She wanted to cry, to collapse.
“To answer your other question,” Cronus continued, “I do wish to know Galen’s secrets. I do wish for you to betray him. For this to occur, I need you to protect him, as well. As I said, I have my reasons and my plans, and by rights I should punish you for daring to question their logic.”
All she could think about was Paris’s death. Paris, dying. Paris, dead. Paris, gone forever.
Cronus added, “Before you think that my faithless wife had the right idea when she conspired to lock me away, before you think to put in place any plot that would result in finding a way for my wife alone to reign—” his voice went low, harsh “—know that if Rhea rules, your sister’s killer will control the fate of your world.”
Her head spun with even more disbelief, fury and dread. Cronus had just said…had just claimed… “But you told me she was alive,” Sienna croaked.
“She was.”
Was. Not “is.” Was.“And now?” Another croak.
Wrath chose that moment to get his slam on, and this time, he snarled. Something is wrong. I don’t like this.
His voice jolted her. He’d spoken to her before, of course, but usually he limited himself to words like punish, kill, heavenand hell.
Is he lying?As Zacharel had implied. Please, tell me he’s lying.
I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now.
A whimper slipped from her.
“I have done my research. Skye became a Hunter,” Cronus said. “Perhaps for the same reason you did—to right the wrong of her abduction. You could have met her, talked to her, and never have known it, for she was a child when you saw her last. Nor would she have known you. She eventually got out, but she was married to a Hunter. She was trying to get him out, as well. She…died with him.”
“No.” This was too much to take in. She couldn’t process it all.
“And when Rhea learned that you, my winged savior, were searching for the girl, she had her…” His gaze skittered away. “Rhea had her killed.”
Wrath released another snarl. Something is wrong.
“You’re lying. You have to be lying.” Sienna’s knees shook and she barely managed to remain upright. That she could have been so close to Skye and not even realized it…that now she would never have another chance… “Prove it. Prove she’s…that she’s…gone.” A lump of grief congealed in her throat. Her eyes burned, tears bubbling at the backs.
“Very well.”
The air in front of her shimmered, crystallized, and then, as if she were looking through a magical peephole, she saw a bedroom, a black-haired girl sprawled on the floor, her throat slit, her body resting beside a man who’d clearly met a similar fate. A lake of crimson pooled around them, thick and black at the edges.
Sienna fought down her instinctive revulsion—how many gruesome images of those she cared for would she be forced to endure this day?—and pushed herself to think back. To the best of her recollection, she had not interacted with this girl during her time with the Hunters, but then, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of Hunter compounds and cells, and she’d never had access to the database of members.
“That’s not her,” she said with a violent shake of her head. “My Skye had blond hair.”
“So does this girl. You know the black is not her natural color. Her lashes prove this.”
Sienna made herself look closer. Long brown lashes framed dulled brown eyes.
Enna, when you grow up and get married, will you still love me?Brown lashes fluttering innocently as Skye awaited her answer.
