Geteron is confused for a moment. I’m not. I beg him, “Let me go! Please! He’s going to kill us!”
Kyon ignores me; his focus remains on Geteron. “How many times did she tell you I was coming?” he asks Geteron as he moves closer to us. “A handful? More?”
“Who are you?” Geteron asks with a wary tone. “Who let you in here?”
“No one let me in here. I killed all your guards. You didn’t answer my question. How many times did she warn you that I was coming?”
“You’re Alameeda!” Geteron sneers in an outraged tone.
“I was worried she’d convince you of our arrival scheduled for a few parts from now. I decided to change our plan—make it earlier. I thought if we arrived silently, I’d have a chance of locating her before we decimate you. I believed she’d at least attempt to warn you of my new plan. She doesn’t trust me at all; it’s a failing of hers. So I have to assume you either didn’t believe her or you harmed her in some way, making her unable or unwilling to help you. Which one is it?”
“Please let me go,” I whisper to Geteron, eyeing Kyon as he shark-smiles at Geteron.
Geteron reaches for his harbinger, but he’s not quick enough. Kyon throws a star-shaped blade; it lights up, glowing with blue fire. It makes a whirling sound as it whips forward, striking Geteron in the middle of the forehead. Once implanted, it does the scariest thing I’ve ever seen, it latches onto his skin and drills into his head, boring completely through until it comes out the other side. The shiny stars continue to spin, boomeranging back around. Kyon lifts his wrist in the air as the killing star comes back to him, docking itself on the metal wristband. Geteron teeters on his feet for a moment before he buckles and falls backward to the floor. Brains shoot out of the hole in his forehead upon the impact.
Kyon walks to him, kicking his foot with the toe of his boot. Then, his eyes lift to mine. My stomach clenches in fear as he assesses me with a cold stare. “For someone who can see the future, you don’t do it so well.”
I laugh humorlessly, belying my terror. “It sometimes sneaks up on me,” I say as I raise my chin.
“You shouldn’t allow it to do that,” he admonishes.
“It’s a moot point now.”
“Why’s that?”
“You said you’d kill me when you found me.”
“And I always keep my word with you, don’t I?” he asks.
“No. Not always. You seem to flake a little when I outsmart you.”
“You are resourceful,” he replies in an offhanded way. “But you appear to be less so now.” He walks around the post, knocking on it behind me. It makes a hollow sound. “Forget how to blend in?”
“Ugh! Just do it already and get it over with,” I snarl. I feel like I’m half dead anyway. I’m sick with fear—that part ending doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. But as soon as the words are out, I regret them.
“Do what? Kill you? Do you want me to?”
“It seems like the lesser evil at the moment.”
He nears me, his massive form has never made me feel as small as I do right now. He extracts a long, sharp dagger from a shoulder holster beneath his arm. With the hilt in his hand, he lays the flat of the blade just under my ear; the metal feels cool against my feverish skin. The fingers of his other hand weave in my hair, pulling it back, forcing my eyes up to meet his steely blue ones. The flat side of the knife shifts in his hand, moving to the back of my neck. He twists his wrist; the sharp edge rests firmly against my nape. With one broad stroke of it, he can probably cut off my head.
“Any last words?” he asks me.
I remain silent, because screw him.
“You’re so defiant,” he says, but there’s an admiration in his tone that he can’t quite hide. His hand tightens on my hair. “Aren’t you going to close your eyes?”
I glare at him.
A smile grows on his lips. “You’re stronger than them all.” With one brutal stroke he cuts off my hair. I bite down on my already swollen bottom lip as my hair is ripped from me. Bringing his massive hand in front of my eyes to show me, we watch my hair turn black and shrivel to dust. Kyon opens his fingers, letting the ashlike residue fall from his grasp. Reaching out, he threads his fingers in my silky blond tresses, which are growing back to their former length before his eyes.
“Do you know why it does that?” he asks me. “Why your hair regrows so quickly?”
“No, do you?” I quirk my eyebrow at him in question.
“It’s part of your genetic engineering. Do you know what happens when I cut your hair?” He lets my newly regrown hair spill over his fingertips, and I’m reminded of a miser and his gold.
“It renders me unable to sell it at Gurlz Need Weaves?”
Kyon’s blue eyes dance with suppressed humor. “Is that a drawback?”
“Where I come from, a little extra money would’ve been handy.”
“You’ll never have to worry about money again.”
“I guess that’s one good thing about dying.”
“Do you know what hair is?” he asks me.
I sigh, tired of his game already. “A collection of dead cells,” I reply.
“To be more accurate, it’s made up of long chains of amino acids joined together by peptide bonds forming polypeptide bonds. When I cut your hair, it forces your body to regenerate cells more rapidly. It rejuvenates you, making you—”
“—freakish?” I ask, attempting to find the word for which he’s searching.
“Immortal . . . or very near to it. You won’t physically grow much older than you are now, if you continue cutting your hair on a regular basis.”
“That won’t make me immortal, because you can still kill me with your knife.”
He trails the sharp edge of steel over my cheek, heading for my mouth. “I find pleasure in your ability to reason. I’m growing tired of inane blonds.”
“That sounds like a cultural hazard for you as an Alameeda. Most of you are pretty stupid.”
He lets my insult roll off him, as if he agrees with me. “Priestesses can be very naïve, and most of them are spoiled to the core.”
“So you deserve each other. How nice for you.”
His blade rests against my lips. He lifts it and holds it away from me so I can see my mouth reflected in its silver gleam. “Look at this . . . your bottom lip is not so broken anymore . . .”
I suck in my lip, running my tongue over the surface of it. The cracks that were there have healed a bit—the marks aren’t gone, but they’re no longer scabby.