Page 27 of Sky’s Edge

Since he did, I didn’t wait for him to answer.

“So I’ve been watching all she’s had to learn since she met Aleksei. And one can say I’m not all that fired up to be told what my popularity rating is twelve times a day, to pat children on the head and share how cute their drawings are when said drawings look like the deranged scribbles of an unbalanced mind, at the same time juggling hundreds of invitations, planning balls and hanging on every word my mate says like he’s some storied philosopher.”

“Popularity rating?”

“It’s a thing for the Knightstars,” I mumbled.

“We don’t give a shit about that in the Edge.”

“Huzzah,” I mocked.

He ignored my mocking.

Instead, he stated, “Even though you didn’t ask, my favorite color is red. I’m a morning being. I have a pet. A dog named Hurley. My favorite things to do are all outside, but I like to relax being home, with no one around, reading. I do not cook either because fortunately, someone invented the Cook-Companion, so I don’t have to. Now I don’t because I live in a castle with precisely seventy-eight members of staff, including a chef who trained under Sirk Parrin. And if you ever hung on my every word like I was a storied philosopher, I’d probably throw up.”

I wondered what kind of dog Hurley was.

I didn’t ask.

I also didn’t get the chance to ask.

Because Tanyn said, “Now, I’ll leave you to your mood. I’ll call sometime during the week and we’ll try this getting-to-know-you thing again. Hopefully, with a little more time, and distance from your break with that male, you’ll be more open to it.”

His gaze grew intense, the electric part of his electric blue eyes suddenly appearing super-charged.

I would know why when he finished, “And you need to make yourself open to it, Catla. I will have you. So acting like a bitch and pretending you’re an empty-headed, self-involved party girl is a waste of energy. We’re happening. So you better come to terms with it.”

I knew this was him finishing, because after he said that the comm blinked out.

I glared at my Palm a good long time before I grunted my annoyance, threw it aside and tossed my arm over my eyes again.

He didn’t know me, not really.

And he’d still figured out two of my ploys.

Already!

In a comm conversation!

“I am so screwed,” I said to my arm.

Silence greeted me.

But I didn’t need anyone around to confirm.

I knew it.

I was screwed.

Totally.

But that didn’t mean I was going to give up.

Not a chance.

Thursday evening, I was in my closet organizing my packing in order to head up to Sigil the next night when my Palm chimed to tell me I had a call.

I looked down at it and unleashed a huge, ill-tempered breath.