He reached across the table and took her left hand into his. He studied the delicate curve of it, the way it felt so dainty in his palm. "You have such beautiful hands."
She smiled and squeezed his with hers. "Thank you. They're the most valuable thing an artist can ever have. I used to have nightmares that something would happen to them, a severe scar or burn that would prevent me from ever using them for pottery or drawing again. Art is my life. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't create."
Talon closed his eyes as agony washed over him. His emotions swirled, but he forced them down. He had to.
The clock was ticking for them.
Sunshine fed him a bite of her salad and he did his best not to cringe.
"Why aren't your eyes amber anymore?" she asked.
He swallowed his bite and took a drink of wine. "Part of the whole Dark-Hunter package. We're turned into predators so that we can track down and kill Daimons. Our eyes become black and dilate a lot more than human eyes so that we can see in darkness."
"And your fangs? Do you use them to suck blood?"
He shook his head. "No. Blood has never been to my taste. The fangs are just part of the package too."
"And do you like what you do?"
"There are times when it's fun and challenging and times when it's kind of boring. For the most part I don't mind."
She seemed to accept that.
She ate for a few minutes before she spoke again. "Talon, why did you give up your soul?"
He looked away. In his mind, he could see that day so clearly. He had been lying on the altar, his hands tied above his head, his chest bare and marked in blood with the sacrificial symbols. It had been a cool day, and every member of his clan had been there.
Dressed in black robes, the Druid priest had looked down upon him and smiled cruelly.
"Seize Ceara."
His cousin's words had rung in his head. It had taken a full minute before he understood what was going on. Horrified, Talon had watched his men grab his sister's arms.
"Speirr! Help me, brathair, please!"
He had fought against the ropes until his wrists had bled and stung. He had screamed out for them to release her.
Like a caged animal, he had tried to reach her.
Over and over, she called out to him.
"It's the will of the gods that you both die for what your mother did."
His cousin had sunk his dagger deep into Ceara's heart.
She had looked to Talon, her eyes terrified and tear-filled as she struggled to breathe.
Worst of all, he had seen the disappointment in her eyes.
She had believed in him, trusted him to protect her.
The men had released her and she had stumbled to the ground, landing on her hands and knees.
"Speirr?" Her voice had trembled as she reached a bloodied hand out toward him. "I don't want to be dead," she whispered, her voice that of a child.
Before his eyes, she had died.
Panting in fury, he had let his battle cry roll out and then he had cursed them all. He had called down the wrath of the Morrigan and she had ignored him.