I awoke to an irritating, insistent sensation pressing at the edges of my mind. It felt as if sticky, shadowed tendrils were creeping, inching their way into my ears, slinking toward my thoughts. They moved slowly, deliberately, as if trying not to alarm me, hoping to remain undetected. I couldn’t tell if it was the power of the High Lords that now coursed through my Fae body, or if this woman simply wasn’t as skilled as she believed. But I sensed those tendrils, and I knew who had sent them.
This time, she wouldn’t escape so easily. I was no longer gasping for air, drained of every ounce of strength like a fish stranded on shore. This time, she’d pay.
In my mind, a vast library of memories and thoughts unfolded, each book an anchor of who I was. Those dark tendrils were drawing closer, and I had no idea how to stop them. Andrea had said there was hardly anyone willing to teach me how to wield Spirit, and I doubted this woman would offer any guidance-not after the thinly veiled threat she’d left me with before I’d passed out.
The cold air was sharp, carrying a scent of fresh snow and icy waters, which made me think instantly of Leonardo. His image surfaced: that piercing gaze, framed by dark lashes, the nearly white hair that fell across his brow. Thinking of him gave me the drive to fight back-not just to protect myself, but to defy this woman who thought she could invade my mind. I wouldn’t play the helpless damsel, not with the power of six High Lords blazing within me.
I forced myself to stay perfectly still, every muscle relaxed. Beneath me, something soft and cool cradled my body. My fingers itched to explore the fabric, but the hardest part was controlling my breath-a skill I’d honed through grueling training in Carlo’s pack. I mentally reminded myself to thank Sofia and Enrico when we returned home, for teaching me that stealth was more than silence; it was a way of blending into the shadows, of quieting even the rhythm of my heart. We’d return home. That much I was sure of.
Where her dark tendrils were thin and insidious, my power felt like a cannon blast-raw and concentrated, all aimed at the woman invading my thoughts. Using Spirit was different from Fire; where Fire was immediate, Spirit was subtle, requiring more finesse. But my anger fueled me, sharpening my focus.
The mental blast I unleashed echoed through the depths of my mind, and my eyes snapped open with a fierce desire to see her reaction. I wanted to see her stumble, to feel her shock. At the foot of the bed, she stood, her dark hair like a midnight cascade over her shoulders. Her eyes were cold, speckled with flecks that shone like stars. She was beautiful, otherworldly, but I saw the malice in her gaze.
As my power struck her, she staggered, falling back with a cry that reverberated through the room. I felt a strange crackling sensation, like a charge in the air, and for a heartbeat, I wasn’t entirely in my own body. It was as if I’d been yanked into her mind, gazing at the shattered fragments of her once-formidable defenses.
I saw myself, disheveled from sleep, purple shadows under my eyes, my lips chapped. I wore a silken nightgown, soft and delicate, with thin straps edged in lace. My old clothes were gone, and I tried not to think too hard about who had seen me vulnerable, unguarded. What mattered was the look of fierce satisfaction in my eyes.
I retaliated as she had, searching through her mind. Just as she had invaded my thoughts, I rifled through hers. One name-just one-flashed across my awareness before she shoved me out, her attempt feeble at best. She scrambled to rebuild her defenses, but the damage had been done.
In an instant, she was back on her feet, fury lighting her face. Gone was the poised beauty; now she looked unhinged, her voice sharp with rage. “You insolent little thief,” she hissed, her tone stripped of charm.
“Oh, did I overstep, Marinella?” I said, feigning innocence and savoring the way her name hit the air. I hadn’t uncovered much, only her name, but I knew her type. She was prideful, brash, quick to anger. Her earlier exchange with Isotta had told me all I needed.
I refused to let the small spark of fear ignite within me, instead stretching my mouth into a smirk. Her mask of control shattered as she lunged, her anger spilling out in a wild burst of motion.
Clearly, she wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of such an invasion. Poor thing-seemed she didn’t enjoy having her mind laid bare. I couldn’t help but wonder how many others she’d pried into, how many minds she’d violated for her own gain.
“Is there an issue, Marinella?” A voice rang out, one that both unsettled and steadied me.
Leonardo stood in the doorway, clad in a tunic as white as freshly fallen snow, though a hint of gray shimmered through the fabric. His nearly white hair fell over his forehead, the shaved sides grown out slightly. Even here, in a place far from home, he was a constant, a fierce yet grounding presence. And in that moment, I knew I wasn’t alone in this fight.