She dodges it easily and retaliates with a flat-handed shove against my chest, propelling me backward. “How dare you!”
I jolt back into the wooden table behind me, my hip hitting it hard. I allow the pain to shoot through me, allow my anger to rise with my adrenaline.
Anger is what I need—heightened emotion is the only way I can access my instinctive magic—and her shove delivered it to me.
My inner power floods to the surface, electrical currents sparking in the air.
The lamps dotting the wooden tables dim and flicker, the room around us grows dark, and the sunlight retreats with my rage.
A crimson glow grows at the corner of my vision—the color of my anger. I shouldn’t be able to affect the room because of the protection spell that I cast, but the power inside me is so strong that I’m in danger of breaking through it.
No spoken magic is powerful enough to defeat my inner power.
I advance on Iriel, threads of light like blood curling around my arms and hands. “Tell me where The Blessed Grimoire is located.”
Her eyes grow wide, but she also reacts instinctively. Her gorgeous white wings burst from her shoulders, her glistening, pearly feathers spreading across the space above the desks. Her wings are not as wide as some I’ve seen, but they’re no less impressive.
With a single sweep, she lifts from the ground, preparing to fly away from me, no doubt to seek reinforcements.
Rise.
The thought becomes a command inside my mind, my body reacting immediately. The air gathers beneath me, a force that propels me upward, effortlessly following her arc and intercepting her.
I give her the same treatment she gave me. My palms connect with her chest with athump, propelling her back in the air.
The air whooshes out of her lungs, my power zaps through her wings, and she shudders before attempting to regain her balance. I chase after her, focusing on her hand, my gaze following its trajectory.
Snatching her hand into mine, I wrench her toward me, holding on tightly.
Lock.
She shrieks, trying to tug away from me, wildly flapping her wings and pulling with all her might. “Let me go!”
Our hands are locked together now, my magic binding us until I release her.
Up.
This time my command is for the spell in my left pocket. I can’t use my instinctive magic for this one. It’s too dangerous and my magic has a way of resulting in extreme repercussions.
The carefully handwritten note floats from my pocket, unfolding at eye level. Iriel continues to tug and shriek, her gaze shooting to the note. “What are you doing?”
She will never willingly tell me where the Grimoire is.
I read the compulsion spell carefully even though the words already burn within my mind now that my instinctive magic is free. “Terrible truth tear from trembling lips.”
She jerks backward. “A truth spell!”
It’s dangerous magic. The truth spell not only forces her to speak the truth, but combined with her angelic power to discern my inner nature, it allows her to see the truth in my thoughts.
There are many truths that her angelic power will allow her to see—many truths I don’t want her to speak aloud, let alone know about.
Unable to stop herself, she gasps. “You aren’t doing this for yourself!”
“Stop.” My instinctive magic flows through my hand into hers, forcing her lips closed. I can’t bear to hear her speak of the man who broke my heart, the one for whom I’m doing all of this.
“Tell me one thing, and one thing only,” I say. “Where is The Blessed Grimoire?”
She sags when I release her lips so she can talk again. “I can’t tell you.”
