Page 43

He shook his head. “You don’t want to.”

She felt cornered. Walls closing in on her. Anything but Dark Magic. He couldn’t make her.

“It’s clear that you’re a talented Caster.” He walked closer and closer until the condensation of his breath in the cold air touched her. It smelled of fresh spearmint. “You have the Shadowflame.” He touched her right hand. “All it takes is for you to connect with it.”

Never.

Slowly, his hand ran up her arm. “Find it.”

With his right hand, he created a dark mist and it floated around her Shadowflame. A cold touch that sang in her veins. The dark flame on her hand flickered in correspondence. She didn’t dare breathe.

“It is part of your nature,” he said quietly, and moved even closer, his lips hovering by her ear. “Use it. Allow yourself to search for it.”

She actively tried to ignore the tug his powers had on hers, to create a wall around herself. Part of her wanted to feel for his power. Would it sting her with coldness? Would it burn hot? Would it consume her?

Eyes closed to everything around her, she focused on the prickle of his magic in her veins and his breath on her neck. His magic pulsed through her. A cold rush, making her gasp for air. But she wanted more. She wanted his teeth to sink into her. Mark her. She wanted him to grip her harder. She wanted…

What was she doing? Her eyes flashed open, and she pushed him away with as much force as she could muster.

He stumbled back, albeit not very far, but it was enough for their connection to break, and the humming in her veins stopped at once.

“What the fuck did you do?” she demanded.

Dawson combed his hair back and looked pleased with himself. “I didn’t do anything. That was all you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I like the anger. We can use that. Give it your best shot.”

What an absolute waste of her time. She didn’t need the stupid signifier or Dark Magic. She threw a shackling spell at him, but he was faster and it missed him.

“Enough with the white spells.”

She ignored him and threw another, but he elegantly stepped out of the way. Instead, one of his dark spells hit her ankle. The sting of pain only made her anger swell.

“Come on, Winters. You know you want to hurt me.”

She could do that without Dark Magic. If one of her shackling spells landed on him, she would simply punch him as hard as she could and wipe that arrogant smile off his face.

“As a healer, I think you will particularly enjoy the internum signifier,” he mused, and the three dotted lines on his index finger moved.

With the internum signifier he could destroy organs. Given his level of expertise, he could probably implode her heart with a simple move of his hand. A wave of disgust washed over her. It took so much care and work to heal organs and so little to destroy them. Do no harm. And yet he was proud of it.

“I would rather die.”

His fingers splayed wide, but she didn’t react fast enough. A wave of his cool magic lodged inside her chest and around her lungs. She fell to her knees and grabbed at her throat, desperate for air. Dawson dropped his hand, and she was able to breathe again.

He looked down at her with a smirk. “You look good on your knees.”

Enough! She charged at him, but he didn’t move. His hands remained in his pockets, so sure that she couldn’t even land a punch. She balled her fist and threw a hook. He stumbled against a tree and then she lifted him by his neck…

Mira stared with horror at her hand, which was nowhere near the Dawson heir. It was dark mist that had him by his throat. Dark Magic. Her Dark Magic.

Dawson struggled against the dark mist, blood pouring from his nose, but even then the bastard grinned at her with satisfaction.

He had gotten his wish, because on her index finger were two simple straight lines: her control signifier.

No, no, no. She couldn’t be using Dark Magic. It was poison. She closed her hand, and the dark shadows disappeared, releasing Dawson, who fell to the ground, coughing.