Kaelen turned slowly. The insane smile on his face froze. The arrogant confidence in his eyes was replaced by a flicker of satisfaction.
It was like a cat watching its prey fall into the trap. Rhys frowned, stepping from the shadows of the trees.
He was not wearing a mask. His face was calm, his posture relaxed, but his pitch-black eyes were fixed on Kaelen with an intensity that was colder than the ocean wind.
Anya Sterling gasped, her own dagger forgotten in her hand. Hope, a feeling she thought had died, surged through her. It was him. He had come for her.
Kaelen recovered quickly, his satisfied face melting back into a wide, manic grin.
"Well, well, well," he purred, his voice dripping with amusement.
"Look what the cat dragged in. My dear, pathetic cousin. I was wondering when you would show up. Did you come to beg for your life? Or perhaps to offer yourself as a new puppet for my collection?"
Rhys did not answer with words. He answered with action.
