"Here."
She jumped as Rachol handed her a glass of brika. "I don't drink intoxicants," she said, sniffing.
"It'll help," he said, pressing it into her hand. Without further argument, she tossed the scorching liquid down her throat where it burned a path to her stomach. She gasped, her eyes watering.
She handed the glass back to Rachol and studied his pensive face. Was he as soulless as Nykyrian?
A new knot formed in her throat. No one could do what Nykyrian did and still have a soul, or even be normal. As far as she could tell, killing that man had been nothing more to him than tying his shoelaces!
Rachol sighed, interrupting her thoughts. "If you like, we can send you back to your father. But I warn you, it'll mean your life if we do."
She looked up at him, her eyes burning from all the tears she had cried. "I would rather take m y chances with my father's men. I trust them ."
"I thought you trusted us."
"I did."
His eyes narrowed. By the look on his face, she thought he might like to strangle her.
Instead, he curled his lip into a fierce snarl. "Why don't you quit feeling sorry for yourself. I'm just a little tired of it."
Warm th rushed to her cheeks. "How dare you!"
Rachol leaned over the arm of the couch, forcing her to lean back. He braced his arms on each side of her, penning her in. She didn't like being cornered. His eyes blazed and for a mom ent, she thought he might actually strike her.
"You think you're so unsullied. How dare you sit there like some queen dispensing her will on others. If you would get off your dais long enough to live, you might realize other people have feelings and needs besides you!"
His breath fell against her cheek in angry pulses that punctuated each biting word. "I —"
"You what?" he sneered. "Do you know who Aksel Bredeh and Arast are?"
She shook her head, no longer even caring.
"Nykyrian's brothers."
Her breath left her body in shock. "No," she whispered, numbed disbelief washing over her.
Rachol pushed him self away from her and walked toward the bar that separated the main room from the kitchen. "Oh yeah. Right now, wherever the hell Kip is, he's not in good shape. You think you hurt, imagine how he feels. He has spent the last few years avoiding them, allowing people to call him a coward, to prevent from happening what you caused today!"
Her temper flared at his accusation. "You can't blame this on me!"
Rachol curled his lip. "Who else? If not for your spoiled little butt, he wouldn't have been anywhere near them today."
Her hands shook as she clutched them in her lap, thinking about his words. "How could he kill his own brother?" she whispered, unable to comprehend such a thing.
Rachol shook his head. "Stop it, please," he snarled. "Don't waste pity on Arast. If he had been given the chance, he would have raped you, cut you into little pieces and fed you to his dogs. And that's nice compared to what he would've done to Nykyrian."
Kiara stared at him, wondering if he were telling her the truth. No, she couldn't believe anyone could be that cruel to their own brother. Nykyrian was the dem on, not Arast. "I don't understand how you can say such a thing."
"No, you don't and you don't even try to."
She stiffened her spine. "How can I when all of you close me out."
To her surprise, shock rippled across his face before he gave a half laugh. "I guess that's true enough."
She rubbed her forehead where a small ache was beginning to throb. "So what does it take to understand him, or you for that matter?"
Rachol snorted. "I doubt you ever could."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I doubt you can even imagine the kind of homes Kip and I grew up in. They don't exist in the candy-coated worlds of little spoiled girls."
His patronizing voice set her temper ablaze. "I'm not a child anymore."
"Then why are you acting like one?"
She glared at him. "I suppose killing a man is mature."
"It beats the hell out of self-pity."
Kiara sat there, staring at him, his words hanging in the air between them like a pall. He broke eye contact and moved to the bar. He picked up a bottle of brika and poured a large glass full.
For several seconds he stared at it, then cursed and emptied it into the sink. "Self-pity,"
he mumbled so low, Kiara wondered if she had even heard him. He refilled the glass with water and took a deep draught.
A sudden realization struck her as she watched the envious way he stared at the bottle of alcohol. "You have a drinking problem, don't you?" she asked, wondering what other surprises awaited her about Nykyrian and Rachol.
He tipped the glass of water to her. "No problem really until I sober up. Makes Kip crazed though. You ever want to really set his temper off, let him smell alcohol on my breath. He hates self-destructive habits."
Her anger faltered. "Are you a duwad?" He smiled at her, his dark eyes twinkling. "That had to come from Kip."