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Even as my stomach flips over, Dominic hurries to the shadowkind’s side. “Here,” he says, reaching for Lance’s hand. “I don’t even need the plants to mend this small an injury.”
Lance lets out a dry chuckle and looks past Dom to where I’m standing. “That’s some tricksy talent you’ve got there. I’m glad we’re on your side.”
“Me too,” I mumble. “I’m sorry.”
Rollick waves off my concern. “It’s fine. You did well. He can endure a lot worse than a broken finger. Now let’s see if you can inflict your power without any wounds this time.”
Again? A shiver runs down my spine, but I swallow my protests.
I have to get this right. I have to prove that I won’t make a mistake like I did with Billy—to our reluctant allies and to myself.
My second silent scream works faster, because I know approximately how much more force I need to put into it, but I keep an even tighter rein. It wraps around the shadowkind men, but I manage to resist the temptation of their tender points.
The headache that started earlier is expanding across my skull. On my third try, I test how it works when I let out a whisper of sound instead of keeping my mouth shut.
A cut opens between Crag’s thumb and forefinger. I clamp down on the urge to drink in more pain, flattening the shriek so it’s barely audible at all and then cutting it off when I’m sure I’m controlling it.
Dominic motions to the gargoyle, but Crag lifts his arm toward me first, sending a tiny wisp of his smoky essence into the air. Shadowkind don’t bleed at all, at least not anything resembling mortal blood.
“Nothing but a scratch,” he says.
I swipe my sweaty palms against my pants, dreading the next step but knowing I have to get there eventually, and meet Rollick’s gaze. “I think I have a pretty good sense of what it’s like with shadowkind now.”
He inclines his head. “Then we should move on to shadowbloods.”
Jacob marches into the middle of the room in front of me with no further prompting. He stations himself with his arms crossed over his chest and his chin firm. “You need this, Wildcat. Making sure you’ll be at the top of your game is worth a little pain.”
Andreas gets into position beside him, his posture relaxed but his gray eyes dark. “Don’t worry about us,” he tells me. “We can handle it.”
They shouldn’t have to. But it’s almost definite that I’ll be fighting other shadowbloods at some point. I need as clear an idea as possible of how to handle them if I’m going to take them out quickly—and avoid breaking my own men in the process.
I start with the silent shriek again, tentative at first. My sense of the guys’ bodies sharpens immediately, but I can’t tell if that’s only because of the innate connection we share.
It isn’t enough to trap them. Jacob adjusts his weight on his feet as if to show that he’s still mobile.
My fingers curl into my palms, my claws itching at the tips. I ramp up my mental scream a little farther, and a little farther again, and—
Jacob and Andreas jerk and stiffen. Even as I reel back the force of the shriek, a waft of pain hits me, the hunger inside me absorbing it with sickening eagerness.
Drey’s foot. When I release them, he stumbles—but Dominic is there to catch him.
Andreas can’t contain a hiss as he sinks onto the loveseat. A burn forms behind my eyes as I watch Dom seal the bones and sinews I fractured.
Even with the men I love, some part of me ishappyto hurt them.
Rollick clears his throat. “How did that compare to the shadowkind?”
I blink, willing back the tears, and do my best to even out my voice. “Easier than with them, but still harder than regular people. I’ll probably want to use my voice if I need to hit hard and fast and I don’t need to be totally stealthy about it.”
The demon hums to himself. “That makes sense. It seems wise to attempt a few more trial runs, don’t you think?”
Jacob nods, holding my gaze steadily.
Andreas is already pushing back to his feet. “I’m good; I’m good. No sweat.”
It takes me a moment to clear the blur of moisture from my eyes. I’m doing this for them, I remind myself. So that when it’s actually life or death, I’ll deal out death where it belongs.
“Okay,” I say with a rasp. “From the top.”
