Several people turn towards him.
I quickly pull back my magic, but this time I leave that final thread on purpose so that the large flame of courage will continue to burn in his chest. Then I immediately move on to another person. Shoving a burgundy flame of courage into that guy as well, I increase it until he also volunteers. Then I do the same to another person. And another.
Every time, I leave that final thread behind so that the courage remains. That way, they won’t realize that they’re only feeling brave because I am forcing them to be brave.
As if she can read my mind, Isera whispers gently, “They will hate you for this.”
Her words seem to clang through my soul. Because it’s true. Once this war is over and I cut those final threads that I have left behind on purpose this time, these people will go back to normal and feel the stark contrast between their real feelings and what I forced them to feel. They will know that I manipulated their emotions. And then, they will hate me.
A few months ago, that would have broken me.
Now, it doesn’t bother me at all.
I don’t care if the entire Seelie Court hates me.
As long as we win, as long as Jessina dies, it’s all worth it.
Even if it makes me a villain.
So instead of feeling dread and pain, I simply reply, “I know.”
And then I continue using my magic.
Eventually, the rest of the crowd gets swept up in the show of bravery that I’m forcing the others to display, so they startvolunteering on their own. The only problem is that I don’t know how to stop.
More, more, more, my mind keeps chanting every time I pull my magic back.
I almost scream out loud in frustration as I yet again fail to block it out. Pleasure surges through me as I use my magic again.
Just one more time, my mind insists.
While Isera starts directing people to different locations and organize how this bonding ritual is going to play out, I try to force myself to break the connection to my magic yet again. But the moment I do, my soul screams in panic at the crushing regret that rushes in to replace that comforting warmth.
I summon another flame. But right before I can shove it into another chest, Alistair sucks in a sharp hiss.
The sound sends a flare of panic through me, and I’m suddenly terrified that he has figured out what I’m doing. That fear is enough to snap me out of the destructive spiral, and I just barely manage to release the grip on my magic fully.
My heart pounds as I turn to Alistair. But he isn’t looking at me.
“Draven,” he says instead, his eyes locked on a group of people a little to our right. “Tell the other shifters not to bond those people.”
Draven slides his gaze towards the group Alistair is indicating before meeting his eyes again and raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Those are a few of the people who held me down and burned me.” Rage flares up in his eyes. “They’re turncoats. Don’t trust them with anything.”
After memorizing their faces, Draven dips his chin in a nod. “Understood.”
Alistair drags in a shuddering breath and rakes his fingers through his curly blond hair, as if trying to compose himself. But I think it’s more to hide the fact that his hands are shaking.
The sight of it makes fury surge through my soul. Turning towards the group, I mark their faces as well.
Do it, do it, do it, my mind urges.
And I want to. Goddess above, I want to.
I want to shove emotion after emotion into each of their chests and torment them until their minds break. Both because of what they did to Alistair, and because it would let me use my magic on someone without feeling guilty about it. I flex my fingers as that addictive need sears through my every vein, infusing the rage I already feel.
Dragging in a highly controlled breath, I tear my gaze from them and force myself to turn away. With enormous effort, I manage to convince myself not to follow my impulses and torture them.
