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hands.” She ran her slender fingers over the
black scar snaking down her arm.
He’d never spoken to her—not really. Had
barely given her more than a passing glance,
or grimaced his way through polite
conversation with her.
And yet here she stood, the woman who
had taken out a third of Morath, who had
devoured a Valg prince from sheer will alone.
“How did you do it?” he whispered. “How
did you break free of its control?” He had to
know. If he was walking into hell itself, if it
was more than likely he’d wind up with a new
collar around his throat, he had to know.
Kaltain studied his neck before she met his
stare. “Because I raged against it. Because I
did not feel that I deserved the collar.”
The truth of her words slammed into him
as surely as if she’d shoved his chest.
Kaltain only asked, “You drew the