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"The barrier prevents that.” She said it as a statement of fact, even though it was a guess. The old man nodded. “Just as it prevents that vampire friend of yours from using his psychic skills. No messing with anyone's mind this time, I'm afraid."
Seline had warned her this might happen. Whether it actually had happened, or whether the old man's words were just empty threats, was something she'd test later, when she was alone. Seline wasn't supposed to have any psychic skills beyond telepathy, so she had to be careful.
"And?"
"And if you've snuck a phone in, be warned. We have a scanner in place. We'll catch anything you say, and if you say too much, someone will die."
"You and your master are sick, you know that?"
He merely grinned. “Lastly, just let me warn you that it ain't just humans wandering around this place now."
And he was one of those nonhumans. Though what he was exactly, she wasn't sure. “Is that it?"
"For now.” His smile faded, his eyes becoming almost luminous in the harsh sunlight. “I'll take you to your assigned accommodation. Just remember, the afternoon draws into evening, and the first two men will be sacrificed at midnight."
His voice had dropped several octaves, becoming rich and strong. It was the voice of the man in the van—the man with the ethereal gray eyes.
"You must think me quite a foe if you choose to speak through your servant rather than in person, Weylin,” she said tartly.
The old man's eyebrow rose. “I will not make the same mistake as my brother—I will not underestimate you."
There wasn't much she could say to that, so she waited. After a moment, the old man turned and led the way down the slope.
"You have a name?” she asked, as they passed a beautiful old wooden church that looked intact enough to still be in use.
"Kinnard.” He glanced over his shoulder, his grin wide but eyes cold. “You should know that." She raised her eyebrows, feigning a casualness she didn't feel. “Why?"
"Because it was you who almost killed me."
"Really? Then next time I shall have to ensure I do a better job." "There ain't going to be a next time.” His eyes gleamed with maliciousness. “Because I shall have my revenge."
She had a feeling his form of revenge had nothing to do with killing her. Goose bumps ran across her skin, and she resisted the temptation to rub her arms. “That's only if you win. I wouldn't start counting chickens before they've hatched, Kinnard."
He snorted. “Blondie, I can't lose. Not this time."
"And why would you think that?"
"Because this time, all the odds have been stacked on one side. And it ain't yours." She'd been fighting the odds half her life, so it was really nothing new. And this time, she had an extra incentive—a wedding. And she had every intention of getting to that wedding and marrying Michael.
"We'll see,” was all she said.
He led her into a street that once must have been the main street. Most of the old wooden buildings were still intact, and from the noise coming from them, many of them were occupied. She frowned, letting her gaze run past dusty windows. If the yells, curses and slurred speech were anything to go by, most of the unseen men, and a good portion of the women, were drunk. Maybe it was easier for Weylin to control them that way. And if that were the case, then maybe her first duty should be to find a way to cut the supply of booze.
Though in many ways that would be pretty useless. This was Weylin's game, and for the moment, he held all the cards. If she cut one booze supply, he'd just set up another. Awareness skittered across her skin. She looked up quickly, her heart pounding as her gaze searched the second story of the nearest hotel. A shadow stirred the frayed remains of curtains in the solitary window.
Michael. Watching her.
She wanted to run to him and tell him she was all right, that she wasn't dead. But she couldn't. Weylin was undoubtedly watching, and right now, she couldn't afford to do anything that would give away the fact that she was not Seline.
But oh, how she longed to see him. Hold him.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to maintain control. Had to. Otherwise their wedding plans might be put on hold—permanently.
But her gaze kept finding its way back to that window, and her skin burned with the intensity of his gaze. Yet there was no hum of awareness in the link between them. No indication that he had any idea who she truly was. Weylin had planted his magic deep.
"Found the boyfriend, then,” Kinnard said.
She'd been so intent on trying to see Michael that the sudden sound of the old man's sharp voice made her jump. Her gaze swiveled to his. “And what if I have?"
