Page 70 of Dark Rebel's Mystery

Kyra couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She was paralyzed with fear.

"Now, woman!"

Closing her eyes, she rose to her feet and faced him, keeping her shoulders hunched and her eyes downcast.

"Look at me!" The command snapped through the air like a whip.

She was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about that.

Lifting her head slowly, she opened her eyes and looked into his unsettling features, which were too handsome for someone as cruel as that.

He frowned. "Remove your scarf."

Kyra stiffened. She kept her voice low, attempting a timid accent. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not allowed to show my face."

His stare darkened. "I said, remove it."

In a last-ditch effort, she pivoted abruptly, taking her mop handle with her. "Excuse me," she murmured, trying to edge past them as though she had urgent errands. "I must?—"

Faster than she could blink, he blocked her path, stepping close enough that she caught the faintest hint of the soap he'd used. His hand shot out, seizing a fold of her scarf, and with one swift motion, he yanked it free.

The thin fabric scraped across her cheek, revealing her face.

A flicker of recognition sparked in the doctor's eyes, followed by a slow, almost pleased smile. "Well, this is unexpected," he said. "What a wonderful surprise to find you in Tahav, Kyra."

His lips curved further, and then his fist connected with her face.

The blow snapped her head sideways, white-hot agony exploding in her cheekbone. Stars burst in her vision, she tasted blood, and then her knees buckled and she stumbled, the pain dragging her down.

Kyra dropped to the floor; darkness swallowed her, and there was oblivion.

47

MAX

Max braced against the vibration rattling through his seat and tried to ignore the constant roar of the helicopter's engines. The earpieces he wore filtered out enough of the clamor to keep him from going temporarily deaf, but the low-frequency thudding of the rotor still vibrated in his ribs. He adjusted the collar of the olive-green uniform he'd put on less than an hour ago—a counterfeit Revolutionary Guard ensemble. It felt all kinds of wrong to wear it, almost like donning a Nazi uniform, but stealth and safety trumped all other considerations.

Across from him, Jade and Drova sat side by side. Their body language was more like two hardened warriors heading into a daunting trial rather than a mother and her young and inexperienced daughter.

They were both combat-hungry Kra-ell, although Drova seemed a little nervous despite her fierce expression. He saw how her fingers clutched the harness as if it were a lifeline.

He stifled a chuckle. If the girl hadn't revealed her incredible compulsion ability by pulling stupid pranks, she wouldn't beriding a helicopter into enemy territory on a dangerous mission. She was only seventeen and should be focusing on getting her high school equivalency instead of going on missions.

He was grateful she was there, but he also felt a little guilty on behalf of the clan for dragging her into something she wasn't ready for.

Jade put a comforting hand on her daughter's thigh, a rare gesture. Drova's eyes widened, and she turned to look at her mother. Jade nodded and smiled, conveying her encouragement without saying a word.

They were all wearing earpieces with the channels open, so whatever she said to the girl would have been heard by everyone else. She chose to convey her encouragement through nonverbal facial expressions.

Drova released a breath and gave her mother a small smile in return. When she glanced at him, he smiled too, thumped his chest, and extended his fist to her in a gesture that was meant to say, I got you.

Drova returned the gesture and then turned to look out the window.

It was dark outside, a black void not even broken by the glimmer of stars because of the clouds.

Yamanu had cloaked them with his shroud, making them practically invisible to human eyes. However, they would still show up on radar. If they did, the pilots had a script they could recite about this being a secret diplomatic mission of whichever Iranian minister they were told to mention. A second helicopter trailed behind and below, also covered by Yamanu's shroud.

The mental strain emanating from their shrouder was almost palpable, but there was nothing any of them could do to help. The best thing was not to disturb him.

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