She meets his gaze, and that same knowing smile is back. It’s almost self-deprecating. He must know what everyone thinks of him. And there must be a reason he’s doing this. Maybe he’s hoping that one day, someone will forget to put on the chains—and he’ll be able to break free.
She’ll end this for him, she vows. One way or another, after the duel, she’ll end it for him.
“So—can you do that now?” Zryan asks. “Can you drain the plant—without touching it?”
Skylar offers him a mocking laugh. “You don’t get it, do you?” She looks at Axel, too. “Neither of you do. I’ve spent my whole life trying not to use it. Thinking that this”—she gestures to herself—“means a death sentence. I can’t suddenly make it work just because you’ve decided that it’s okay.”For now, a dark voice in her head whispers.While they need you.
She shakes out her hands. She can feel restless energy, rising to meet her. Never a good sign. She looks at Ezra. “Where does the energy go, once you take it in?”
He gives her a blank stare. “Nowhere.”
“But… Once you’ve absorbed it, then—”
“Then nothing,” he insists. “Once it’s drained, it’s gone.”
“So you don’t… use it?” He gives her a look that answers that question.
Axel holds the plant out to her again, but she refuses to take it. “I can’t control it,” she says. Which is true. Okay, she used it to absorb the wards, but that was instinct, not planned.
“We still don’t know what the witch’s Gift is,” Axel says. “How do we know it’s not something to incapacitate you?”
Something passes over Zryan’s face, and this time, Axel doesn’t miss it, either. “What?” Axel demands. “You know something?”
Zryan hesitates. “No.”
Axel frowns. And Skylar knows why. Is he lying? Surely not. Even if he fancies Astrid—and who wouldn’t, she’s a stunner—surely he still wants Skylar to win? She wonders briefly about asking Axel what emotion he’s sensing from Zryan, but before she can, there is a blur of movement to her right.
The next thing she knows she is slammed up against a wall, Axel’s hand to her throat, the other pinning her arm.
“What are you doing?” Her voice comes out as a gasp through her constricted throat, and his fingers loosen a fraction.
“You were panicked, on the island,” he says calmly. “You were scared for your life.”
She looks him dead in the eye. “Well, I’m not scared ofyou.” And it’s true. Fear is one thing she doesn’t feel right now, though she’s not sure why exactly, her heart is reacting to his hand around her throat, why her body has gone still, expectant. Something in his gaze flickers as it passes over her face, and she wonders what he’s Reading. She gets her arm free and shoves him away. Tells her body to get a grip. “Maybe you ought to try harder next time.”
“I’ll remember that,” he says, and his voice is low enough that the base of her neck prickles at the sound.
Their gazes do not leave one another’s. “Why not force me, manipulate me into feeling afraid?”
“Because from now on, Skylar,” he murmurs, “when you feel something around me, I want it to be real.”
The way he says it has her wondering what, exactly, he wants her to feel.
He backs off enough to give her room, and she sees Zryan raising his eyebrows at Axel, who shakes his head—one of their silent conversations.
In answer, Zryan takes a step toward Skylar, and his expression hardens.
Skylar narrows her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“If you need fear—or panic or anger or whatever—to get your power flowing, then let’s you and me have a round.” Skylar glances at Axel, whose expression stays neutral, then back to Zryan. She can feel Ezra’s gaze boring into her back, like he’s waiting to see what she’ll do next. “You remember how it ended last time, right?” Zryan continues. “With you knocked out on a cliff. So if you hope to stand a chance this time, you better figure out how to use your power.”
That’s all the warning he gives her before he moves.
She’s thought about it, since the last time they fought. The strength, the speed of him. A warrior’s heart, Mjolnir had said, and that’s what he is. She just has to be a warrior, too.
She dodges out of the way, but once again he is faster. He aims a kick to her stomach, knocking her backward. She stumbles, then straightens, swinging around and jabbing with an elbow, which he avoids easily.It’s a game, she thinks dimly. He’s playing with her. But his eyes are a darker gray than usual, and it is with a predator’s focus that he studies her. It makes her wonder if there is a part of him that wants to hurt her right now—for who she is and what she’s taken from him.
A knee comes for her stomach, which she just about manages to avoid. She can hear the rush of her breath in her ears, the squeak of their boots on the mats. Can feel the thrum of life nearby, crackling. She moves with speed, parrying his blows. And she realizes—she can do this. She feels giddy with it, so much so that she moves to him rather than away, aims a punch to his throat.
