Remi's father certainly knew how to make an entrance.

He was running across the yard with something large and hairy tucked under his arm, his eyes narrowed and on the look out for something.

When his eyes found Remi's, a sheepish grin instantly appeared. He hid whatever he was holding behind his back.

Remi glanced at Killure's cat-like eyes and then allowed her gaze to drop.

The bulging tent in his pants was large and easily noticeable.

Without thinking, Remi backed up against Killure to hide it from her approaching father.

Remi's plastered smile stiffened when she felt Killure's hardness hit her. The strained laugh he gave her only made everything worse. Every sound he made was silky and musical, and turned her on.

If only they were alone . . .

She quickly took a step forward.

"Father," she called, because he was already approaching them. "What are you doing?"

He'd been sneaking around like some sort of spy, but hadn't been doing a very good job of it.

"Ha ha!" he blurted awkwardly. "Nothing!"

"The thing you're very obviously trying to hide behind your back says otherwise."

Her father glanced behind him and winced. His eyes darted back to his daughter, and for a moment he froze.

And then he turned around and began running.

With a severed man's head in his hands. It was still dripping blood.

Oh great, another brain experiment.

Remi let out a haggard sigh, before taking off after him. "Dad, where did you get that head?" she yelled.

He only picked up his pace, running even faster now. "Ha ha!"

"You have to put it back," Remi warned, gaining on him. Her bare feet slapped against the grass as she rounded the back of her house. "Dad!"

A pointy twig stabbed at her toe, and sharp rocks pricked at the bottoms of her feet, but she paid them no heed.

Remi stopped suddenly. She spun around and ran around the other side of the house, then crouched behind a perfectly groomed bush and waited.

A few seconds later, her father darted in front of her.

The triumphant grin on his face fell as though it was made from concrete went he saw her leap from the bush and pounce on him, knocking him to the ground. The lifeless head flew from his hands, and went tumbling across the grass.

Remi stood to her feet and put a foot on his chest. He glared up at her from the ground, his arms crossed.

"Dad, where did you get the head from?" Remi raised her eyebrows and narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

Her father tried to laugh it off, but his shaky demeanour soon crumbled at the sight of her glare.

"Fine, fine! It's off of a guy in the streets. He'd been stabbed and was practically dead, so I just took it," he huffed, standing up and crossing his arms when Remi moved back.

There were grass stains across his suit, and broken blades of grass were stuck in his hair. He was pouting.

"But was he dead before you killed him?" Remi persisted, annoyed at having to act as the conscience her father didn't have.

"Practically . . ."

"Fully?"

"No . . ."

"Then go put that head back on him and heal him up so he can go on with his business," Remi demanded, rolling her eyes when he went to whine some more.

"But—"

"Dad, that was someone's head. And you stole it from their body. That's wrong. Now, go put it back," Remi growled, crossing her arms as well and setting her face in a hard expression.

Her father glared at her for a moment, before spinning around and grabbing the head. "Fine," he sighed loudly and dramatically as he stalked off to the stables to get a horse and go back into town.

Remi shook her head at his retreating form, shocked at her father's audacity.

"He's eccentric," Killure's rich, baritone voice startled her. It was laced with amusement.

She immediately stiffened without turning around. Her mind instantly reminded her of the way his lips felt against hers, the rough way he pressed her up against that tree, and how good his muscled body felt beneath her fingertips.

Slowly, she turned around, fully expecting to see that irritating, arrogant smirk on his face. Because it rarely left.

But instead, she found him looking away from her. His face was solemn, which was surprising, because she'd never seen that expression on his face before. Amused, or taunting, or demented and wild, but never solemn.

"What?" she breathed, unsure of what was going on through his head.

His eyes snapped back to her face. He pursed his lips, and she found it hard to look away from them. "It pains me to say this, but . . . thank you, for not letting me die."

Remi furrowed her brows in surprise. That was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

"Of course," she murmured, a grin slowly forming on her lips as she looked up at him. "Next time, try not to put yourself in a position to get killed."

He grinned lazily at her without responding.

Remi frowned. There was something that had been bothering her. "But can I ask you something?"

His grin instantly stiffened, becoming as frozen and hard as ice, as if he knew what she wanted to ask. "Ask away, doll." His tone said the last thing he wanted her to do was to ask.

Still, she pressed on, taking a step towards him, and he tensed, regarding her warily.

He always had this way of looking like a predator poised in wait, ready to spring forth and devour his prey in an instant, before they could even realize what was going on.

"Why did you kill the lord?" Remi blurted, then immediately winced at how blunt that had sounded. She should have tried to word it nicer.

Killure picked at his sharp nails, appearing uninterested. The rigid ness of his body told another story. "Why not?"

"You don't seem like the type to risk your life in such an elaborate way without a purpose in mind," Remi replied, staring intensely at him.

"Is your pretentious conscience forgetting all he's done?" Killure chided, looking back up at her with a cold look in his eyes despite the taunting smile on his face.

Remi shook her head, grabbing his hand. He glanced down briefly at her hand, then back up to her. "Of course not," Remi assured him. "I've heard of how he killed thousands of slaves by forcing them to work in terrible conditions to build his ships. I've also heard the stories of his wives, who hide away so they can remain unseen, ashamed of their mutilated faces. Faces that Lord Gallanthus mutilated. Terrible, terrible things that make my heart ache. But you don't care about any of that, do you? You don't see a problem with things that I would consider repulsive and wrong. So why is what this particular man did to his slaves and wives bothering you this one time? Why did it bother you enough to kill him? You were willing to go past the limits of our bonding and leave yourself completely weak and defenceless, so long as you could kill him."

Killure flashed his brilliantly white canines at her in a dangerous grin. The ice in his eyes had melted into a growing fury. "I don't care about the slaves, and I don't care about his wives. They mean nothing to me. However, I do draw the line at funding men in their endeavour to massacre an entire island of people, then burn them down along with everything they'd built." He'd snarled the last few words, before spinning on his heels and taking off.

Remi froze, icy chills running up her spine.

Oh, she let out a small puff of air as she watched his wings take him high into the air, out of sight.

For some reason, she'd completely disassociated him with the Icix massacre all those years ago. He'd always portrayed himself as invulnerable, impenetrable—untouchable. As if nothing could get to him, because it never did.

And she'd always believed that.

Until now.

Remi walked slowly back over to the pond.

She'd forgotten all about the destroyed seventh island. Northfall.

She'd heard of how beautiful it once was, with mountains that rose higher than the clouds, and skyscraper trees with wide canopies. The landscape was that of a jungle, rich with greenery and wildlife. Inhabited solely by the Icix population.

Killure had suffered a terrible loss, and she'd been so self-centred that she hadn't even considered how his loss had affected him. All those people had not only been murdered, but they'd also been burned, which meant even a Designer couldn't bring them back to life.

They were permanently gone.

Remi set her gaze on the flashy school of fish darting in the pond, and vowed to try understand him better in the future.