stand like an old man, though. There was vitality in his posture, and she could see the muscles in his shoulders. He’d be a formidable opponent.
There was an undercurrent of amusement to his words, as if he smiled frequently, but when he glanced over his shoulder at her, Rania was startled by the sadness in his eyes. They were blue, clear blue, filled with shadows as if he’d wept enough for a dozen lifetimes. His brows were dark and striking.
His gaze flicked over her, lingering for a moment on the knife, then her neck. “Was it stolen from you?” he demanded, the very idea obviously offensive.
Rania didn’t know what he meant. “What?”
“The ring. I can see a mark from the chain on your neck. Did someone steal it?” The idea seemed to insult him.
How had he even known she wore a ring on a chain?
“In a way,” she said, not wanting to admit all of the truth. “I’ll get it back.” She’d retrieve it soon enough, but she felt his displeasure that she’d lost it at all.
“Are we talking about the same ring?” His tone hardened. “The ring on the chain your mother placed around your neck when you were born? The ring that is your legacy?”
Rania blinked. Her legacy? “It is?”
“Didn’t you ever wonder? Didn’t you ever ask?”
She hadn’t and she knew it, although now, her choice seemed odd. Ever since that sliver had come out of her hand, Rania had felt different. Emotional. Unsettled. She was filled with questions, while previously, she’d felt no doubts at all.
He ran a hand over her hair. “Now, you’ll never know,” he said sadly, speaking so softly that he might have been addressing himself. He looked like he might weep.
“What are you doing in my house?” she demanded, trying to keep herself from feeling any sympathy for him. He was an intruder, after all.
He turned back to the collection of weapons, not answering her. Despite the fact that he was vulnerable, Rania found herself lowering the kitchen knife. She wanted some answers and she wasn’t going to get them if she killed him.
She might not get them at all.
But she was sufficiently honest with herself to admit that wasn’t the main reason she didn’t strike him.
She was curious.
Again.
How did he know about the ring?
What else did he know?
“Why knives?” He sounded mystified. “Why not...dolls?”
“Dolls?” Rania scoffed. “Why not knives? I’m a warrior. They’re the tools of my chosen trade. Why should I ignore my abilities? Just because I’m female?” She’d stepped up alongside him and met his gaze, knowing hers was filled with challenge.
He eyed her and slowly smiled. His eyes twinkled, which startled her. “My mistake,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “Just because you look like your mother doesn’t mean you share her nature.”
He’d known her mother?
He studied her collection, his scrutiny so intense that she thought he coveted it.
She stepped past him and closed the cabinet doors again. She confronted him, then, staring him down. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I wanted to meet you,” he replied quietly, answering only her second question. He eyed her as if she was incomprehensible. “I wanted to know why you never wondered.”
“Wondered about what?”
“The ring. Where you came from? Whose blood runs in your veins?”
“My parents are dead.”
“Are they?”
Something about the softly-uttered question fed Rania’s doubts. “Do you know where they are?”
“A thousand years,” he mused. “And you never wondered. How can this be?”
Rania felt as if she’d failed a test, one she hadn’t realized she was taking.
He turned and walked back toward the stairs. “Your house stinks of Fae.” His tone was harsher than it had been. “How can you welcome their kind into your home?”
“I work for the Dark Queen,” Rania admitted and his eyes flashed as he turned on her.
He pointed to the collection. “You kill for her.”
Rania nodded. “I have.”
“It is you, then. You’re the one who is killing Others. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true. You even admit it yourself!”
“What does it matter to you what I choose to do? I don’t even know you.”
He flung out a hand. “You’re one of us! Doesn’t that matter to you?”
“Us?” Rania echoed in confusion.
He spun on his heel and headed for the stairs.
“Who are you?” she called, but he didn’t stop. Us. Did he mean he was a shifter, too? “What are you?” His footsteps echoed on the stairs and she raced after him, only catching up when he had his hand on the