"Of course." She takes another sip, keeping her gaze on me.
I grip both hands around the hot mug and demand, "Spit out whatever it is you're here to say."
She lowers her gaze. "You don't like me, do you?"
"Am I supposed to? You did break into my house," I point out.
She studies me for a moment, and a knowing expression appears on her face. She states, "That's not why you don't like me. Is it?"
My heart races faster. "That's not a good enough reason?"
Her lips purse, and she studies me closer.
I want to smack her arrogance off her. Instead, I grip the hot mug tighter.
She blurts out, "You don't like me because of him."
"Him?" I ask, but my chest tightens. I already know who she's referring to.
She answers, "Kirill."
My cheeks heat. "I don't know what you're talking about," I lie.
"I can assure you that we're only friends."
"Sure you are," I mutter, then curse myself.
"You should also know I'm his only friend."
"That's an arrogant statement to make," I accuse.
"It's true. You'll see one day."
More confusion fills me, but I'm not buying that a man like Kirill isn't surrounded by a ton of friends.
Are they all women?
I don't care.
Ugh. They probably are all women, flocking around him to get an ounce of attention.
"It's only me. He's a very private person," she adds.
The air turns thick. I hold my breath, wrapping my mind around her statement.
So she's privy to his private life?
"You don't have to worry about me," she adds.
"Why would I worry about you?" I snap.
She takes another sip of coffee and smiles. In a cheerful voice, she chirps, "Glad we got that out of the way. So, time is running out. The moon will soon be ripe, and you'll have to make the biggest decision of your life."
"Still not following."
She sets her coffee down, reaches up, and twists her hair into a knot. She turns so her back is to me, revealing the same brand Sean, Zara, and Kirill have, except her skull has red coloring.
Goose bumps pop out on my skin, and my breath catches. "Why do you have my father's mark on your neck?"