I didn’t reply.
He spit out the steak and jumped to his feet, toppling the table over. The plate shattered by my feet, startling me. “Do. You. Like. Steak?”
My heart rate ratcheted up, and I couldn’t stop shaking.
Immediately, he calmed. “Forget it. I used to like steak.” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room. Then he was kneeling in front of me again, shards of the broken plate cutting into his knees. “Life as a Cruor is not so bad.” He grinned. “Kind of fun.”
I tried to appear unaffected but likely failed to grand proportions. “These killings won’t help your cause.”
“Won’t it, though? Tell me: would you give up America?”
“I don’t see what—”
“Do you know nothing of history?” He was up, pacing again. “Your kind killed the Indians so you could have your country. Your freedom. We kill the dual-natured so we can have our lives. You are asking us to give up our very existence.” He stopped, snapping his glare toward me. “You think we haven’t tried another way? What do you suggest?”
He didn’t wait for me to respond—just resumed pacing. “Do you not realize that many of the humans killed over the years were killed because of the dual-breeds? Should we allow them to expose our kind—destroy the perfect balance and risk the lives of humans and Earth itself?”
“This has nothing to do with Earth,” I said.
These people were all brainwashed. Humans hadn’t been killed because of the dual-breeds. How could the Maltorim know so much about science, and still be blind to basic scientific truths? Had no one told them correlation doesn’t equal causation? Had they not been able to figure that out for themselves?
“You may not see now,” Marcus said, “but this is an absolute truth. It’s everywhere, all the time. Your ability to understand is irrelevant.”
“Steven Robiner,” I whispered. I was fairly certain this wasn’t what Mr. Robiner had in mind when he was discussing his philosophy.
“So you are familiar?”
“Hardly with your understanding.”
Marcus smirked. “Given your situation, we will have to agree to disagree.” He turned to stare at the wall.
Desperately, I pushed for access to his mind, but he’d completely disabled my ability.
“I was trying to…what’s the word? Relate?” He walked up beside me and caressed my cheek with the crook of his finger, his skin cold and abrasive. From someone else, the gesture might have been soothing, but from him it was repulsive. “Callista wants to turn you. This will be much easier if you agree.”
“No.”
“I figured you’d say that. I might be able to help you, though.” He lit a match and grasped my wrist. “If you want to be turned, I can give you some anesthetics for this part.”
This couldn’t be happening.
“Since you’ll no longer age, it helps to remove fingerprints first.” Still holding the match between his forefinger and thumb, he fanned three of his fingers—no prints. “See? Smooth as silk. Humans cannot track us.”
Maybe I could distract him. “Oh?” My voice cracked. “I didn’t know that.”
He smiled. “Stumbled on the idea by accident. Two birds, one stone.”
“Why don’t you tell me more about it?”
“Sure.”
I breathed out a slow, heavy breath as the match burned down to his fingers. He tossed it to the ground. Sulfur rose from the concrete in a meandering stream of smoke.
He lit another. “I’ll tell you while we finish up here.”
His words sucked away my hope, and I gasped, the air in the room sharp at the bottom of my lungs. The fire seared my fingertips, and I screamed. I screamed and I heard myself screaming, but there was only blinding pain. I tried to summon my power, tried to focus my energy on reversing the fire, to use it against him. But I had nothing left.
Chapter 28
MY BURNT FINGERTIPS still seared with pain, but I had no tears left to cry. A chalky, sour film coated my lips and tongue, and vomit drenched the front of my shirt. Marcus had set the rope on fire earlier, letting it burn my flesh before dousing and retying me, but now I needed to summon my strength.
Maybe if I accepted their offer—if I joined them—I would be close enough to show them another way, show them they didn’t need these genocides.
How many of my thoughts were born from logic and how many from fear? Where did my beliefs lay? Was I just as bad as the Maltorim—just as bad as everything I’d ever hated?
Whatever you do, fight.
How I hated that sentiment right now. I didn’t feel like fighting, but I didn’t feel like dying, either.
With a deep breath to steel myself against the pain, I fought against the rope. I whimpered through my teeth as I wriggled one of my hands free.