My heart pounds in my chest, as I think about the time I spent in a juvenile facility in Chicago. The streets had been safer than that place. “Yes,” I answer honestly.
His eyes pierce mine as they shift from the knife to me. “Why?”
I’m held by his intense stare, unable to look away. “Because I had enemies.”
“You still do,” he replies.
Reaching forward, his huge hand grasps a fistful of my hair. Angling the sharp blade of the knife, Kyon slices off my hair near the nape of my neck. The severed hair in his fist turns black and shrivels up until it’s no more than dust in his palm. Billowing shafts of new hairs rapidly regrow from my scalp. Pale blond, it falls over my shoulders in waves, resuming its former length. Kyon weaves his fingers in it, feeling its corn-silk softness against his skin. The oppressive ache and tightness in my chest eases, allowing me to take the first full breath I’ve had since last night. He plays with my hair for a moment, completely mesmerized by it. “Who are you afraid of?” I ask.
His stare turns cold. His hand tightens uncomfortably in my hair, but I don’t flinch. “No one,” he replies. “They’re afraid of me.” I wonder for the first time what he has gone through in his life to make him so ruthless and unbending.
“Who’s afraid of you?” I can imagine, looking at the psychopathic killer next to me, that there aren’t many people who aren’t afraid of Kyon.
“Anyone who’s smart enough to see us as a threat.” The truthful resonance of his voice is as frightening as his words.
I want to shudder, but I don’t give into it. “I need a weapon.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Opening his palm, he holds out the wicked knife for me to take. I pause, not sure if his offer is a trap. He waits patiently for me to come to a decision. Cautiously, I reach out, touching the ivory handle. As fast as the snap of a snake’s bite, Kyon’s hand closes over mine so that we each hold the knife with the blade pointed toward the mattress. “Use this on me, Kricket, and I’ll make you regret it.”
Refusing to retreat, I reply, “You haven’t made me regret stabbing you the first time.”
A slow smile develops on his lips. It spreads over his face. His eyes crinkle with humor. “That’s because you only served to convince me that you’re perfect for me. My little savage—the darkest star.”
He’s a psychopath. “Who’s coming after us, Kyon?”
He’s stony once more. He lets go of the knife, relinquishing it to me. It’s heavy in my hand. “No one I can’t handle. Are you hungry?”
I exhale deeply. I shove the knife under my pillow, hiding it from view once more. “Yes.”
Light dances off his face from the open doorway that leads to the sea. He’s a golden god—one at home in his surroundings. “What do you like?” he asks.
“Anything that won’t make me sick.”
His leans toward me, his nose nearing mine. With his eyebrows crashing together, he asks, “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean don’t make me sick.”
His frown deepens. “You think I’d poison you?”
I shrug. “You just tried to drown me last night.”
He points his finger in my face. “You’d be dead if I truly wanted to drown you. I was establishing who is in charge here. It’s not you.”
I shiver, but don’t look away. “Is that what we were establishing? That’s not what I got from it.”
His eyebrow rises in question. “What did you glean from the encounter?”
“It’s a good year for hunters.”
His eyes sharpen, becoming a deeper blue. “Remember that. I’ll find you, no matter where you go.” His fingers touch my cheek, brushing my hair away from it.
I lean away from his hand. “Why do you always threaten me?”
“That was a promise.”
“It was a threat.”
“You belong to me. I won’t let you go—not ever.” Something in his eyes changes, making his face attractive in its austerity. He’s in control, and he knows it. He needs me to know it too.
“Maybe if you asked me to stay and if you were nice, I’d want to be here.”
His pupils sharpen, as if what I’ve said makes me more interesting prey. Gripping my chin, he makes it so I can’t look away. “I’m never nice.”
“You could try.” I know what I’m suggesting is ludicrous.
“You crave strength.”
“I crave pancakes.” Lifting my chin, I pull it from his hand. “With syrup.”
“Then you shall have them,” he purrs.
“Are you going to make them for me?” In truth, I can’t picture him in a kitchen cooking—not that I can picture any Etharians cooking, since they rely on automation to do most of their domestic tasks. I’ve yet to see another living soul around here. It worries me.
“I don’t know what pancakes are. It sounds as if you’d like to eat metal.” His look is discerning. He’s trying to figure me out. “This isn’t Rafe—there’s technology that will sort it all out for us.” He speaks in a louder tone, “Oscil?”
A holographic screen materializes in front of us. It’s the size of one of the flat-screen televisions that used to hang behind the bar in Lumin, the nightclub where I worked in Chicago. “Requirement?” the sexy fem-bot voice asks.
“I require pancakes.”
Hundreds of different types of pancake recipes stream in front of us. I lean nearer to Kyon to scan the colorful pictures, my brow wrinkling at the selection. “These?” he asks, pointing to something that looks like crepes.
“No,” I murmur in concentration. “These.” I point to a picture of a stack dripping with syrup. “Buttermilk.”
Kyon takes my hand in his large one, and stretching my finger toward the picture of the pancakes I want, the image ripples like I touched water. The image fades, and then disappears. Items that pair with pancakes appear in its place: syrup, fruit, juice, whipped cream. Kyon selects all of them for me, sending the pictures rippling away.
My stomach growls loudly. “How long until they’re ready?” I ask.
“It will be here shortly. You can ask Oscil for anything you require. Just say its name and it will assist you, but only when you’re in or near the residence or onboard one of my airships. It doesn’t have the ability to respond to requests beyond a certain proximity to a receiver.”
“What is Oscil?”
“It’s a prototype intelligence technology that I developed and use throughout my estates. It only responds to a few select voices. Yours is one of them.”
“What does it do?”
“It controls all the automation and sensors throughout my residences. It is also meant to be a personal assistant.”
“Where is it? How does it work?”
“You remember being on my satellite?’
I think for a moment, recalling seeing Kyon in his medical stasis capsule onboard an elaborate space station. “That place is yours?”
“Yes. I designed it. I own it.”
“Technically, I was never there, not physically anyway—and it looked more like a space station to me.” I had projected there from the past in order to spy on Kyon. I don’t know how smart it is of me to admit that to him, but he seems not to be too worried about it now. He’d known I was there at the time.