Page 82 of Dark Night of the Soul

“How did that go?”

“He came at me. I saw him coming and defended. After that, he was afraid of me.” She grinned.

That’s my girl. Even when they tried to break her, she came out swinging.

“Move toward me when you’re ready.”

She drew in a breath and let it out. Centering herself.

Like she wasn’t about to turn into something lethal. She looked far too calm and controlled. I’d seen it before in men I’d trained. She was ready to allow that reflex to take her over.

She reminded me of… me.

Every instinct screamed not to do this.

But I was doing it.

I moved toward her in an attack stance. Closing the distance in three strides. Instantly, her eyes changed. Pupils dilated. The programming taking over. Her body coiled tight as she prepared to take the hit, then countermove. Her hand came up, fingers wrapping around my forearm, twisting my arm, and then she shoved me backward.

I grabbed her free hand with mine. Instantly she stopped then cried out. Her other hand flew to her head as she jerked away from me, stumbling back into the side table and knocking over the lamp. It fell and shattered.

She doubled over, breathing hard, fingers pressed against her temple.

Fuck. The pain. Fighting the programming was hurting her.

My only relief was I didn’t have the knife at my belt.

“Okay, so…” She panted, straightening. “That didn’t go as planned.”

“You think?”

“I know what happened, though. I felt that cold place in my head, but I couldn’t find the control.” She was working through it, still rubbing her temple. “And when I tried to stop… God, it hurt.”

“No kidding,” I said, though there was nothing funny about watching her in pain.

Her gaze flicked to me then. “I didn’t hurt you.”

I frowned. “This time.”

“You’re holding back,” she said. “I can tell.”

“For fuck’s sake, Anna.” I couldn’t treat her like the enemy. Like someone I wanted to hurt.

But she forged on. “I think I can find the control next time. We should go again.”

I pulled one controlled breath, exhaled it. “After we clean up the broken lamp.”

“Oh. Right. I’ll get the broom.”

She was undeterred as she headed into the kitchen to retrieve it.

I sighed. She was more of a handful than she ever was. And twice as reckless.

We tried four more times. Four more failures. Each time a different approach. Eyes closed. Focused on breathing. Trying to anticipate that cold place in her head. Nothing worked. At some point, we shoved all the furniture out of the way to keep it out of her destructive path. We were both exhausted and frustrated. And yet, she was still ready to go again.

“One more time,” she said.

“No.”