His form truly was a feast for the eyes.
And suddenly, I realized I couldn’t kill him this way.
Because, you know, stabbing a person in the back didn’t seem very sporting. That was why. Yes. I didn’t want my first kill to be quite so murderous, you know.
I’d always pictured it with me being a lot more defensive—struggling and gasping for breath—and not knowing if I’d survive the next moment. This felt a bit too offensive.
“You want me to do it?” Melaina asked suddenly, making me jump because I’d completely forgotten she was standing there, watching.
“No,” I snapped, popping to my feet so I could glare back at her. “I got this.”
I did have this.
“Yes, but—”
“I said I’d do it!”
“Well, good God,” she shot back, equally irritated. “Then get to it already. This is like watching a sloth commit murder.”
Putting my foot against the man’s hip bone, I pushed him back into a roll until he flopped limply on his back again. There. Now he was fully capable of defending himself. If he were conscious, of course.
Shit, I’d forgotten how sickeningly handsome his face was. How could anyone destroy such masculine beauty? I’d be a monster if I took that pretty face from the world.
“For the love of all things holy,” Melaina groaned. “Just give me the damn dagger; I’ll kill him.”
She really would too. Probably quickly and heartlessly. I pulled the knife away when she went to reach for it, and this odd inner place inside me panicked.
“Get back,” I snapped.
“Then do it already,” she lashed out, at the end of her patience.
“I am!”
Huffing, I turned back to the unconscious High Clifter and knelt next to him again before lifting the blade above my head, ready to plunge it down into his still-beating heart.
I’m sorry, I whispered to him inside my head. But this was about survival. It was either him or me.
Okay, I was going to do this. On the count of three.
One.
Two.
“It’s curious though,” Melaina said, making me close my eyes briefly, grateful for the moment of reprieve.
Not that I could let her know I was thankful. So I ground my teeth and sent her an impatient scowl, keeping the dagger held high above his chest, poised to plummet. “What’s curious?”
“If he didn’t know you were a Graykey—”
“He didn’t.” At least he had seemed genuinely surprised when he’d found out. And why would he even want to feign that?
Melaina nodded, going with that theory. “Then why was he following you? I mean, there was no doubt it’s you he’s been after this whole week. Not me or anyone else.”
“What’s your point?”
“Why?” she said. “That’s my point. Why you? Aside from being a Graykey, you’re a no one.”
Wow. I just adored how she always made me feel like an unremarkable nonentity with the simplest of phrases. So very kind and considerate of her.
Ignoring the prickle to my pride, I shook my head. “I don’t know. And I don’t care. He’s a complication we can’t deal with right now. So he has to die.”
We had an amulet to find, a world to escape, and new lives to begin elsewhere. We didn’t have time for this.
“But aren’t you even curious?” she countered, sounding exasperated.
“No,” I answered.
Except, of course, I was. But honestly, I felt more scared than curious, so killing him was the best option. With him gone, out of our lives, the fear of whatever truths led him to my trail would be gone. And I could breathe normally again. So he really had to die. Because I enjoyed normal breathing.
“At least do me a quick favor before you off him,” Melaina said. “Tap on his tattoo there and see what happens.”
The dagger dropped suddenly to my side as if her words had taken control of my arm and rendered it useless. “Do what?” I gasped.
And yep, here came that spike of fear again. My pulse began to race and my head went a little dizzy.
“Five times will do it, I’d say.”
Shaking my head, I huffed out an incredulous snort. “Like hell.”
I knew all about the lore behind a High Clifter’s love mark. Their one true love could touch their tattoo five times, and it would crackle with an electrical charge, causing it to snap and sparkle. A High Clifter’s love mark could also help them track their mate, too. That was another thing I’d heard about their freaky tattoos. At first sight, it was like a beacon was planted, and from there on out, they’d be able to follow and find you. No matter where you went.
Creepy, right?
And though that hidden, fearful place inside me was already wondering about this very possibility, I gaped at my aunt with open-mouthed astonishment before shrieking, “You must be mad.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, if he keeps finding you through every different glamour you wear, and he had no idea you were a Graykey, then how else—”
“Well, he…” I started, only to fall silent, because I didn’t have another answer. If he hadn’t been after me because I was a Graykey, then why had he been chasing me?
Melaina sighed. “Why else would anyone care about you?”
Well, ouch.
Ignoring the fact that I was in no way useful or beneficial to anyone outside the fact that I held a dark curse inside me and therefore might as well be put down like a rabid dog, I cleared my throat. “I’m sure there are hundreds of other reasons.” Except I honestly couldn’t think of a single one. “We just haven’t considered it yet.”
“Other than the fact that the man’s probably your—”
“Don’t say it,” I warned her, pointing the end of my knife threateningly. “I’m warning you—”
“True love.”
I narrowed my eyes and dropped the knife back to my side. “You said it.”
She sighed dryly. “Well, what else was I supposed to say? It’s the most likely possibility.”
“It is not the most likely possibility,” I exploded. “It’s the most ridiculous possibility. This—this person is not my—my—my—”
“Soulmate?”
“Argh. Stop spouting that crazy nonsense, or so help me God, you’ll live to regret it. The mere idea is absolutely nauseating.”
She wasn’t cowed by my threat in the least. In fact, I think I only amused her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she lifted a mocking eyebrow. “Well, then give his mark a tap and eliminate the possibility so we can move on and conceive of another.”
I instantly retreated a dozen feet away from the man’s body. “But I don’t want to touch him.”
“Why ever not? The boy’s a comely gent. Clean enough, smells nice, and he doesn’t appear to have any bugs. Just tap his damn tattoo already, and let’s get this test over with.”
“But what if he’s—”
“What if he’s what?” she countered, grinning smugly because she knew how much I dreaded the mere possibility.
“What if he’s—you know? My—my—”