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‘Go on, but keep in mind people don’t just come into my life and stay. They need to earn their slot,’ Sana’a sniped, keen to maintain the ruse that she’d no agenda to snare him.
He leaned in closer, his silver eyes fixed on her face.
A palpable energy charged the air between them with electricity. It was cogent and added to the deep rumble of his words. ‘I would like you to become my kísímí.’
Killen cocked his head as he waited for Sana’a’s reaction.
The Switchblade didn’t give much away.
Her remarkable eyes sliced away from him, lingering on the flames in the hearth.
Giving him license to study her, eyes flicking over her thick, lush hair, which she’d let down since her fight. His fingers thrummed with the need to run his hands through its dark waves shot with streaks of gold.
The fire next to her flared, illuminating her vapour-like tattoos.
The ink was etched into ancient Shotelai words that transformed into blades, swords, and daggers. They flowed up her arms and under her collar, appearing and disappearing like a living artwork on her skin.
He stared at them, at her and dragged in a breath filled with her fierce essence. A metallic tang was in the air, as if she had been breathing flames and steel. Adding to the rage underlying the intensity of her lifeblood.
His cock hardened.
Fokk Kione was right. Shining through her features was an otherworldly beauty—so visceral that it seared.
‘Nada.’
She’d swivelled her head, and her eyes blazed, unwavering in their fierceness.
The rejection hit to the core, and Killen shifted in discomfort. ‘Why?’
‘You’re complicated.’
‘How so?’
‘Feudalism, dynastic threats, family discord. In a cutthroat empire of ruthless marauders, whose rulers were the demise of my people. Nothing I want to come close to. All I want is to win schills and get near to your great-aunt. Once I’m rid of her, I’ll leave Katáne. But why me? I’m still that bitch who wanted you dead.’
Her essence was of iron and steel and the unexpected scent of a desert peony blooming early in the morning. It gave off an evocative tang that he laced his tongue around.
Her leaned in even more, his expression a smoulder of will. ‘You’re not Katánian. You’re not set and narrow-minded in your ways. Your combat method is unconventional. If I work with a local fight master, I’ll set myself up to fail. To win in sab?r koya bouts and prove myself as a distinct type of Kíríga, I need an unseen type of fighting style. You have the added advantage of objectivity and external perception. You perceive an unconventional battleground. You use techniques we can’t fathom, and your galaxy-wide knowledge means you discern strengths and weaknesses where we Katánians cannot. You can disorient and rout the enemy by blending in and taking him by surprise with tactics honed from your vast experience.’
She pushed her head back, wariness flitting across her face. ‘I still don’t understand what’s in it for me. Like I said, I’ve no issue with you, Sire, so I don’t need to be in your presence longer than I have already. My vexation is only with Kalila and possibly her son.’
Killen leaned in. ‘Maybe I can find ways of bringing you two close. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.’
‘A quid pro quo.’
‘I’ll pay you well for it.’
‘How much?’
He sat back in thought before speaking with caution. ‘Name your price.’
She dragged her eyes from his and gazed into the distance. When she spoke, it was slow, as if she was forming her words from cautious thought. ‘A quiet, uninterrupted place to train. A shipload of gold and jewels to help my people find a world to settle in. A seat at your System-wide trade bargaining table for our people, for all the resources we lost. Last but not least, your great-aunt’s head and all her koyas against the flat of my shotel.’
He reared his back, his eyes glittering. ‘Woman, you are savage.’
‘I just happen to know my worth. Plus tax.’
He let out a laugh as her lips twitched. ‘I like your attitude. And you drive a hard bargain. Some of that is reparation, which is fair. I’ll discuss that aspect with my advisors,’ he said, flicking an eye to the shadows of Kaxim and Kione in the doorway. ‘But the rest is certain, and my word is bond.’
