But she’s underestimating him. He parries her blow, kicking her legs from under her. She lands on her back. His foot pins her shoulder as her breath hisses painfully through her teeth. Dimly, she can hear shoes scuffing, accompanied by low staccato tones. The sound of witches, speaking Arturean. She wonders what Astrid thinks, seeing her like this—but for once, Zryan doesn’t clock the witch, instead focusing only on her.
“Get out of it,” he says simply.
She tries to flip herself up, but agony shoots down her arm where Zryan holds her in place. She kicks her legs up, stomach muscles screaming, but he avoids them easily. She aims her free arm upward, trying to grab hold of him, but he circles her wrist with his hand, holding it away from him.
She glares up at him, but he does not falter. If she could reach her pin, she could stab his foot. Without it…
“Use what you’ve got,” Zryan says, like he can sense her thoughts.
“Zryan, are you sure—”
He holds up his other hand to silence Axel, who mutters something she can’t hear. Zryan leans over her, his expression hard. She was right—he might not want to kill her, but he definitely wants to hurt her. Like he tried to hurt the Porter, back at the harbor weeks ago. He’s part of this, isn’t he? He’s part of the problem, rounding the Blooded up. He’s been living here with an endless supply of food and Vitalas, while his people live in squalor. He’s been living as a prince, while an Exhauster lives as a prisoner.
Power surges through her. She doesn’t have to try, it’s just there, jumping to meet her. And she doesn’t try to stop it, because she can feel his power and, Arach, it is unlike anything else—it is huge and bright and infinite. She wants it. So she takes it. It comes so easily, so naturally. She only has to think of it, and she can feel the power, flowing to her.
She sees his shock, the moment he realizes what’s happening. He drops her hand and backs away from her, like distance will help. But she is pulled to her feet, drawn to him. The spark of it, the enormity. It is glorious, and she closes her eyes as it surges in, filling every part of her.
Zryan. Someone is saying his name. It makes her open her eyes. Zryan has fallen to the floor in front of her. His face is leached of color, black veins standing out against his usually golden skin. He is gasping, hands pressed to the floor. Like he is still fighting, trying to pull his power back to him.
She cocks her head. The tendril between them is still there. With each breath she takes she can feel his life force flickering. She wants to take all of it.
“Zryan!” It is a scream now, tearing from someone. And then she is there, pushing between Skylar and Zryan. Astrid faces Skylar, her blue eyes wide and scared. Someone—Jessa, maybe—calls Astrid’s name, but the witch ignores the pleas. She stares at Skylar instead.
Stop. Please.Skylar doesn’t know if the words are said out loud, or if she can see them on Astrid’s face. She doesn’t want to stop. But she pauses. Because if she wants to get to Zryan, to drain him completely, she has to get through Astrid.
She can’t tear herself away from those eyes, the utter fear there. Fear not for herself but for the man at her feet. And in that moment, nausea swells—for being the cause of Astrid’s fear.
The thread connecting her to Zryan falters.
She lets go, gasping as she does so, the power she has already taken throbbing within her. She stumbles backward. Sees Astrid turn from her, bend to check on Zryan. The room is silent. Even Axel stands still as death, waiting.
“He’s breathing,” Astrid murmurs. As if guided by her voice, Zryan takes a shuddering breath. His eyes lift, but Skylar backs away. It’s inside her, all his energy. It’s sparking along her skin, hot and static, and she knows if she stays here, it’s going to explode.
She doesn’t look at any of them as she runs from the training room, sobbing breaths tearing through her. The sickness intensifies within her—not from the power she’s taken, but from the feeling that it wasn’t enough. Astrid’s scream echoes in her ears, and no matter how fast she pushes herself across the grounds, she can’t outrun that sound.
She stops at the cliff. Sweat runs down her spine while flame licks her insides. It’s still there, burning within her, urging her to dosomething with it. She screams, the sound swallowed by the sea. She puts her hands into her hair and pulls, her knees hitting the ground as she wrestles with her magic. It’s too strong. She feels some of it pulse from her, detonating like a bomb. She opens her eyes to see rock cascading to the shoreline below.
She tries to breathe, to fight the rest of the power. She doesn’t know what will happen if she lets it all out. At her sides, her fingers tremble.
She nearly killed him. She would have killed him, if it wasn’t for Astrid.
“Skylar.”
She looks over her shoulder, and Axel’s steps slow at whatever he sees on her face. She wonders if her eyes are black, if black veins show on her skin.
“Is he okay?” Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been smoking too much fumca.
“He’s fine. Nothing an hour’s sleep won’t cure.”
She shakes her hands out, trying to shake away the energy. “This is what I keep telling you. This is why I can’t use it—do you see that?”
He moves closer to her—and a stupid part of her is relieved that he’s not afraid of her. “Yes, Skylar, I—”
“Fuck, I need to go back, I need to apologize or—”
He places both his hands on her shoulders, like he knows she needs something to weigh her down.
“Don’t apologize for power, Skylar.” His voice is a soft caress, smooth and dark, like liquid chocolate. “It’s the reason you’re going to survive.”
