Finish it.
My fingers tighten.
The attacker thrashes, trying to pry my hand away. His heels scrape against the floor as I force him backward into the wall. His dagger falls from his hand and clatters across the stone.
He tries to scream.
No sound comes.
For a moment, our eyes lock. Terror floods his gaze as they realize they cannot move me. Cannot escape.
The strength surging through my arm grows heavier, darker, like shadow thickening beneath my skin.
I squeeze.
There is another sickening crack.
The body goes limp.
Silence crashes into the room.
My breath comes in ragged bursts as I stare at the attacker slumped at my feet. My hands tremble. The strange power begins to drain away, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.
Efficient,the Cursed One remarks.I wasn’t sure if I could still take control.
I barely hear her. I wanted this. I needed it to stay alive. But the shock and sense of wrongness hang over me.
A sudden pounding at the door makes me jump.
“Lady Arlet?” a voice calls.
Before I can answer, the door bursts open.
Thorne rushes in first, a knife already drawn. His gaze sweeps the room—then drops to the body on the floor.
He stops.
For a long moment, he simply stares.
Then his eyes flick up to me, taking in my bare shoulders, the marks already forming on my throat, the trembling in my hands.
Slowly, he lowers the knife.
I watch him, wide eyed.
“He tried to kill me,” I say clumsily. My hands are beginning to tremble. My knees shake.
“Well,” he mutters.
He nudges the corpse with the toe of his boot, confirming what is already obvious. The man does not move.
I just stare in shock. I almost died.
Phantom fingers wrap around my neck. My mouth.
A few more minutes, and it would be me lying on the ground.
Thorne exhales through his nose.
