Chapter 94

Siofra just kept coming, walking steadily toward Wil, still smiling, until his chest met the barrel of the rifle. "Chosen." He lifted his arms at his sides, welcoming.

"Don't call me that," Wil whispered through his teeth, shaky and small.

"And what should I call you, then?" Siofra's fake sincerity oozed through the words. "Aisling? Gift?" He lifted an eyebrow. "Wil?" His smile dipped sad, and he shook his head. "None of these are your name, my lad."

"I'm not your lad!" High-pitched and near to hysterical.

Wil's grip tightened around the gun. Dallin only watched carefully, a bit of warmth seeping into the chill in his bones as the metal in Wil's grip calmed him, steadied him.

Wil took a long breath. "I don't belong to you--you didn't choose me, you stole me--and I have no name because *you* didn't give me one! I was never anything to you, and I'm nothing to you now but a well you want to suck dry. You're doing it right now. I can *feel* you!"