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‘Whoever wears it is also called the kashu, the eye of knowledge, to the ancients of Shotelai,’ her mother had said. ‘Like the SHärd, it can usher one into hidden realms and spaces of higher consciousness. This makes the wearer the shikashu, a spirit that can sway entire galaxies and lead them into light or darkness. The Kíríga of Katáne is purposed to wear one, and he who slew your father was searching for it. So be careful should you encounter the hawkstone and its bearer.’
Evoking those words now helped Sana’a understand more of Killen’s unusualness.
When they’d met, it impressed her that he didn’t seem to have time for worthless pursuits. Instead, from what she’d gleaned from meeting him, he leaned toward logic, metaphysics, and philosophies far beyond her understanding.
His mind had been primed to focus on ethics, political theory, aesthetics and rhetoric.
She also recalled his physicality and the instant awareness that he could have pulverised her into pieces just by a glance when she’d almost lanced him.
The fact was that while he infuriated her, he also fascinated her.
Her thoughts churned as she remembered his intense, tacit energy.
Under that chilly facade, she sensed a wild heat that made her heart race and her palms sweat.
His voice was a low timber, smooth as whiskey and just as silken.
His presence had commanded the room, and she shivered as she replayed his piercing gaze, cutting through her in a way she’d never experienced before.
Even his scent, a mix of sandalwood and musk, had been intoxicating, making her want to lean closer to him.
Also, the unseen but palpable clashing of their energies had ratcheted up every second they’d shared on that rooftop on Eden II.
Sana’a’s entire being had never thrummed this much.
She‘d even begun to have dreams of him freakin’ to her, which left her imagination wondering how it’d feel to have him pounding his thickness inside, his lips on hers, his hands heating her skin.
The flat of a koya hit her upper arm, and she jumped.
‘Snap out of it, shikari. Stop dreaming of your lover and keep your eyes on your blade.’
Sana’a snarled, annoyed to have been caught out.
With a small cry of defiance, she lunged at Kaniz and lost herself in a cloud of sand, swords and koyas.
With an inhale, she shook off all thoughts of the confounding Kíríga she’d yet to lure into her ruse.
Chapter 10
The desert was cold and desolate.
The dunes stretched for miles, barren and endless, with no hint of life. The ridges were frozen waves of sand, their edges sharp, unforgiving and stark below a dull sky.
The landscape was devoid of colour, a monotonous expanse of browns and greys.
Every gust of wind cut like icy needles against the skin, whipping up rock granules that bit at exposed flesh.
The zephyr howled, and a constant whistle and moan filled the ears. No other sounds rose in this desolate place - no birds chirping, no animals scurrying, no sign of life, no trace of warmth or comfort.
Just the freakin’ gale.
It was a scene of dismal abandonment, where even the stars refused to shine.
Until a great noise roared in. A screeching, howling, raging storm of chaos.
It approached him in a khaboob of a whistling cyclone, spinning sediment and boulders flung into a tempest.
His heart pounded in his chest as the impossible unfurled before his eyes.
