Warrehn stepped inside the room.
The door clicked shut after him.
Chapter 15
Dalatteya didn’t like lying to her son.
But unfortunately, she had no choice. If Samir ever found out the truth, he would think her insane.
The truth was, she had lied to Samir that she intended to go to an off-world telepath to have her mind examined. She had no intention of entrusting her mind to a stranger, a foreigner whose intentions she couldn’t be sure of.
Not that she trusted the man she was about to see; not at all. But she could control him. And that made all the difference.
Dalatteya took a deep breath as she stopped in front of the gates before letting the scanner do its work. Only she and Uriel had access to this house—besides the droids that worked there.
As always, it took the scanner a while to finish scanning her retina, her DNA, and her fingerprints. At long last, the forcefield on the gates disappeared, allowing her to enter, and then immediately sealed the entire property. Some might consider such measures paranoid and excessive, but there could be no excess of paranoia when it came to him. He was smart. He was cunning. He was resourceful. He might escape. She could not—would not—allow him to escape.
Dalatteya entered the house and walked toward the library he was usually in at this hour.
It had been almost a month since her last visit. Both too long and not nearly long enough. She hated the way her heart was racing, like that of a young girl walking into the monster’s lair. She loathed it. Utterly despised it. She knew with her mind that she was the one in control here, and yet…
“Are you going to stand there all evening?” The smooth, familiar voice made her insides quiver.
She walked into the library, her head held proudly. She wasn’t going to show fear. She wasn’t afraid. She was in control.
He was seated in the large chair by the fireplace, reading an old-fashioned paper book. He didn’t lift his gaze from it as she entered the room, and she hated that he didn’t. And she hated that she hated it. She hated a lot when she was around him. He was the one who had taught her everything about hatred, after all.
“I was wondering when my jailer would finally grace me with her presence,” he said, his gaze on the book. “Is it a gloating visit or are you just feeling horny, my dearest?”
Dalatteya glared at him, her eyes burning a hole in his face. It was dusted with dark stubble, tapering up to angular cheekbones. There wasn’t even a hint of gray in his hair yet. He looked as fit and strong as a young man.
“I’m here because I had no other choice,” she said coldly, her hands balling into fists behind her back. “It has been brought to my attention that there are memory blocks and mental traps in my mind. Is that your work?”
He finally lifted his gaze to her, his blue eyes unreadable. “You flatter me,” he said. “How would I accomplish such a thing when you have my telepathy bound and useless?” His eyes flickered to the psi-suppressors around his wrists, his lips twisting derisively. “I can’t even meditate with those things, much less to do something so intricate as mind traps.”
Dalatteya searched his face, but she couldn’t find any sign of deception. Not that she would necessarily find anything; he was a better liar than she could ever hope to be. While what he was saying was supposed to be true, she couldn’t be sure. He was a very strong telepath, the strongest she had ever known. She couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t found a way around the psi-suppressors.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” she said, walking over. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed them. Don’t lie to me—I won’t believe you.”
A tiny smile curled his lips. “I have no intention of lying to you. I did notice that your mind has been tampered with. But why would a person tell anything to their jailer?”
She sneered. “Don’t play the victim. It doesn’t suit you. If you’re jailed, it’s because you’re a monster that deserves nothing less. Besides, you can’t argue that you’re deprived of a person’s freedom. You’re not exactly a person, are you? The real Emyr was cremated twenty years ago. You’re a thing. A thing I created. Just a clone I keep around because you have your uses.”
The look he gave her was almost pitying as he leaned back in his chair and regarded her for a long moment. “You’re nearly sixty years old, my darling. Entertaining foolish delusions doesn’t suit a mature woman like yourself.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” she bit out. “And I’m not interested in listening.”
Emyr—or rather, the man who wore Emyr’s face—smiled. Dalatteya wanted to slap him, erase that infuriating smirk off those well-shaped lips.