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Somehow I struggled to my feet. I was in an open room. No, not a room, a chamber. Stone walls. Flagstone floor. It reminded me a lot of the bedchamber, back in Rhodes, when I was waiting for—
“So…” the voice snarled, all deep and gravelly. “It is you.”
I turned, wincing in even more pain. Still holding my head…
And there he was.
KYRKOS!
“I would’ve thought the daughter of Benjamin Martensson might have more sense than this,” the man growled. He nodded to where I was still holding my skull. “But then again, just like you, your father always was thick-headed.”
The man at the other end of the room was short, squat, and broad-chested. A th
ick mop of dark hair and matching beard covered what might’ve once been a handsome face, just as a layer of fat covered what might’ve once been muscle.
He was sitting backwards in a wooden chair, legs spread, his feet planted firmly to the left and right. And just beside him, on the floor…
“You’re hurt.”
It seemed odd, that these would be my first words to him. The man I’d been hunting all this time. The man who’d taken my father from me.
Kyrkos glanced down, to the not-insignificant pool of blood on the floor beside him. My eyes traced the source upward, along one hairy, bloodstained forearm. Just above that, most of his upper arm and shoulder were wrapped in a thick layer of gauze, bandages, and even more blood.
“One of your little friends grazed me,” he said casually. “He’s a worse shot than we gave him credit for.”
“Boyfriends,” I corrected him.
The man’s head tilted to one side. I wasn’t sure whether he believed me, or he figured I was just messing with him. Either way, his mouth twisted into a smirk.
“Benjamin Martensson’s daughter…” he said again. He shook his head unbelievingly. “I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. Just look at you. You’re actually prettier than I thought you’d be.”
“And you’re shorter than imagined,” I shot back.
Xander Kyrkos rose, pushing himself to his feet. I heard him try, unsuccessfully, to suppress a little grunt of pain.
“I desired you, back on Rhodes,” he said, ignoring my insult. “You were flawlessly beautiful. So perfect.” He laughed, gruffly. “Of course if I’d known who you were, I might’ve—”
“Killed me?”
He looked shocked. It was a mock expression though. “No,” he said, sounding almost wounded. “Of course not. Just the opposite.”
Slowly he walked around the chair, regarding me the whole time. He was still losing blood. Tiny ruby droplets pattered to floor, falling from the tip of his middle finger.
“I picked you out of the crowd,” he said. “Selected you above all those others. And to think, I almost had you. The daughter of Benjamin Martensson! Waiting for me, in that bedchamber…”
My stomach turned a little as his mouth curled into a wicked grin. I saw a flash of gold. His incisors, reflecting back the chamber’s dim light.
“Know what tipped me off?” asked Kyrkos. “Why I skipped our little rendezvous that night?”
“Couldn’t get it up?”
His smile faded a few millimeters. He caught it quickly though.
“You were too eager,” said Kyrkos. “A little too excited. Too quick to jump forward, when given the chance.”
“I could see that,” I admitted with a sneer. “After all, you’re probably used to dragging women into bed with you, kicking and screaming and…”
The pain in my head flared again, and I winced hard. I couldn’t help it. It was my first time standing in who-the-hell knew how long, and I was already growing dizzy.
