Page 89 of Hunted

It will not work on me.

But I let her have the moment, because I’m not answering to satisfy her curiosity alone. I’m answering because I gave my word.

I stop at a polite and pointed distance. Choose my words with care, because the first time a truth is spoken, it becomes a key, and keys can be used in more than one lock.

‘Lyra Hannigan,’ I say, her name tasting of iron and midnight, ‘is not merely a missing person.’

Eira’s eyes narrow. ‘No kidding.’

I ignore the remark, though the corner of my mouth threatens to twitch with amusement, because she cannot help herself.

‘She is the woman my blood was meant to bind to.’

The room shifts.

Quieter this time.

Eira’s breath catches. Her expression blanks for one fleeting second, stunned as though struck somewhere tender, then sharpens again almost immediately.

Almost impressive.

She swallows, the slender, viciously alluring column of her throat, working before she speaks again. ‘You mean,’ she says slowly, brittle casualness covering the crack, ‘she’s your… what, your soulmate?’

The word is too soft. Too mortal. I feel a flash of irritation at the dilution of meaning, at the way mortals turn blood-bound inevitability into a romantic concept they can consume without understanding the cost.

‘No,’ I reply, voice flat enough to cut steel. ‘I do not have a soul, little hunter. What I mean is she is my fated mate.’

For a moment, Eira simply stares at me. No gasp. No hand to her chest.

Her lips part, then close. Her throat works again as her gaze flicks over my face, searching for the smallest twitch that might reveal falsehood, but of course there is none, because there cannot be.

Her shock is quiet, draining colour from the edges of her expression before snark floods back in to save her.

‘Oh my God,’ she says, half laugh, half disbelief. ‘You’re joking.’

I say nothing.

‘You’re actually joking,’ she insists, stepping half a pace closer. Her foot hovers about a shard of glass before she places it carefully out of the way, her gaze darting back to mine. ‘This is a skit or a prank, right? This is you trying to freak me out. Make me feel special. Make me—’ She cuts herself off and her eyes flash. ‘I don’t mean special for me, personally, but special because I’m part of this hunt for your…’ She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m sorry, this is ridiculous.’

‘It is not ridiculous. It is rare. Binding. Also inconvenient.’

‘Inconvenient,’ she repeats, mouth twisting. ‘That’s one way to put it.’

She begins to pace, short restless steps through the ruined ceramic. Her hands flex as if searching for a weapon, a handle, a point of leverage.

There’s agitation. Then something more.

‘You’re saying,’ she fires at me, stopping abruptly, ‘that you’ve been hunting this woman because your blood says so?’

‘That is not a poetic description, but it is close enough.’

‘And you can’t lie,’ she adds quickly. ‘Like, literally can’t?’

‘I cannot.’

‘So you’re actually telling me you’ve got some mystical bond thing with a human woman you never even claimed.’

I feel the old irritation stir. ‘I did not claim her, no. I intended to. She fled.’