My words had no effect on Waleron; instead, the guy sat in his seat, expressionless with arctic eyes watching me. I wished like hell I could read the man’s mind, because right now Waleron appeared like he didn’t give a crap if Danni died.
Someone was bloody well going to get their ass over to her place. We were too far for telepathy, so I reached for the phone on the back of one of the seats. As soon as my hand touched the surface, I felt a zap of electricity pierce my body. I abruptly turned to Waleron. “Damn it. Don’t be a coldhearted bastard for once in your fuckin’ life.”
“You need to calm down before I put you in DP.” Waleron picked up the phone.
I cursed under my breath, but shut up. Deep Sleep was a state of unconsciousness and only Taldeburu’s and a rare few other Scars were capable of it.
Suddenly, all emotions I was receiving from Danni evaporated. My chest caved into a black oblivion as panic surged through my body.
“No,” I roared. I clenched my jaw as my insides coiled as if ready to explode into a million pieces. Danni.
“Keir says Anstice is sleeping, recovering from healing Jedrik. He had a run-in with a Long Neck an hour ago. Damien will go to the gallery.”
“Damien? The guy’s an asshole. And he hates women.” Of all people, he had to be the biggest jerk in the history of Scars. Okay, supposedly Kilter was the worst, but I’d never met him and hated forming opinions without knowing for myself. “We have to go back,” I said.
Waleron reached in his front coat pocket and pulled out the familiar duck head candy dispenser. The click sounded and a white pill popped out into his hand. He slipped it into his mouth. “You’ve been deemed guilty for your crimes by the Deaconry. They’ll be pissed off over my disregard for not putting you into Rest. If we ignore exile, they’ll retaliate with death.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
Waleron’s jaw tightened and eyes narrowed.
My breathing became deep and ragged. I felt the disquiet seep through my body like nails being driven into my skin. Waleron looked too calm and accepting of what was happening. Like he knew—
“What did Delara tell you? Why didn’t you put me into Rest? Is it true? Would Danni have died? What the hell is going on?”
“My decisions aren’t any of your concern.”
“If it has anything to do with Danni, it fuckin’ does.” I tried to calm the fear mixed with rage. I needed Waleron to get the pilots to turn the plane around, and pissing him off was not going to help. “Whatever Delara said to change your mind and risk the wrath of the Deaconry has to be damn important, otherwise you’d never go against them. But right now, all I care about is Danni, and if she is harmed, I’ll be the most pissed-off Scar you’ve ever encountered.”
Waleron’s voice lowered and the snake tattoo on the side of his neck twitched. “Are you threatening me?”
I made a low growl in my throat. “It’s not a fuckin’ threat. It’s what will happen.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and yet, I felt as if everything was slipping away—even Danni. “Her scent is gone. It’s like . . . she’s . . .” I couldn’t say the word. “I can’t lose her.” I sank down into one of the leather seats and put my head in my hands.
“You’ll lose her anyway. She’s human and mortal.”
I stiffened, hating to hear the truth.
The phone rang and Waleron answered. Few words were spoken on Waleron’s part, and then he hung up.
He met my eyes, cold and indifferent. “Damien’s with her,” Waleron said. “She’s ill. He believes it is the flu of some kind.”
Flu? Bullshit. It was different than the flu. I had to get back to her.
“Damien will stay with her until Anstice recovers enough to go over there,” Waleron said.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I had no time to react or respond to the scowling guy with the severe features standing beside my bed as a wave of nausea hit me. He swore beneath his breath then held out the garbage can from my bathroom. I leaned over and dry heaved into it then spat.
I noticed the tattoo that marked the back of his hand, which traveled up his arm then disappeared under his white T-shirt. He had jet black hair, square jaw, and eyes that held no sympathy in their dark depths. A jagged scar ran across his left cheek, which twitched and made his glower scarier. What the hell was a muscled up, pissed off Neanderthal doing in my bedroom, holding a garbage can for me to puke in?
“Who the hell are you? And how did you get in here?” By the looks of him, the latter I expected wasn’t an issue for him. I did feel pretty helpless with no weapon, except a stupid garbage pail, and I’m sure he’d laugh his ass off if I attempted to hit him with it.
“Name’s Damien. Anstice sent me.”
Should’ve known. He looked like one of Keir’s friends. Actually, come to think of it, so did Balen. A thumping pain hit my head and I put my hands over my ears and groaned. “Shit.” I pointed my finger at the door. “Get . . . Out.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell and dialed.
I could hear it ringing and ringing until finally I heard a soft, groggy voice. “Speak to your friend,” he said and abruptly thrust the phone in my direction. I yanked it from him and he continued to glare at me.
“I don’t want to talk to you. And how the hell did you know I wasn’t feeling well? More secrets?”