Devlin and Kyra arrived at the verge of their settlement. Huge, predatory clouds had swallowed the stars’ meagre light and the Khatoolian lodges were nothing more than shadowy shapes in the darkness. The mournful hoot of an owl broke the black silence and she turned to him, attempting to lighten the mood with an expression of regret.
“Too late for that, Kyra,” he snarled. “Do you realise the risks you ran back there?”
“I thought they were your friends,” she said.
“No, they are not. They made that very clear. You’ll see that for yourself on the morrow.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured again.
“Sorry is not enough!” His anger with her, far from tempered by their journey, had only intensified as he’d brooded on what had happened. On the strength of the favours he’d done Sloan and Terrell at the
