too, despite the fact that I’d just saved his life and given him the DNA sample that would enable his species to again thrive.
He tried to kill me for what I was, not who I was.
A flash of old fear struck through me, and I pushed it down. But it kept returning, laying a heavier and heavier coat through my disjointed half-asleep thoughts. Trent had tried to kill me, I had sacrificed my freedom to save his, and he tried to choke the life out of me because of what I represented, what I was. He was more than an ass, he was repellent.
Suddenly, his scent in the afghan over me was vile, and I threw it off me. I stood, looking at him in the kitchen, flour on his apron as he ran a finger along the inside of the bowl to taste the batter. The elf had tried to kill me, and I slept with him?
Lip curling, I caught sight of my reflection in the black TV. My aura flared, and I wondered how I could see it. It wasn’t even my aura, tainted with the dusky darkness of something other than smut—as if it was lacking something.
The sound of Trent slurping his coffee struck through me, as familiar as his voice, and with it, my aura flashed a weird purple and orange. I’d never seen its like, and as I shuddered, a wave of hatred cascaded over me. I’d say I was being possessed, but there was no one in my mind but me. He’d hunted me like an animal, put me in a cage, let Jon torment me, dumped me in a rat fight to kill for him, tried to blackmail me into being his mancipium—a virtual slave.
My breath trembled in my chest, and I stared at my reflection, the gold of my aura was swamped by purple and orange. Kalamack’s life strewn around me seemed smothering: his rooms, his couch, his blanket, his life.
He needs to die, I thought as silver sparkles began to dart through the alien haze lifting off my skin, sparkles of demand, of search and action.
Resolve lifted through me, and when Trent began to run the mixer to whip up the egg whites, the urge to blast him to hell grew stronger. My hands shook, and I clenched them. He had to die before I could feel whole again. He had stolen my pride, my anonymity, and my future. I had to take it back. If I took everything he was, I’d find peace again.
I took a step toward him, then another, then another until I came into the kitchen. His head was down over the bowl, and the mixer was loud. Buddy was at his feet, and seeing me, the dog lifted his head, his lips pulling back in a silent threat.
It will be easy. The thought spilled through me, and I tapped a line, glorying in it as it flowed and backwashed at my theoretical extremities, tingles rising with the promise of satisfaction. He’d tried to choke me to death because of what I might do. I should choke him to death for what he had done. Feeling his struggles weaken and cease would be intimate and rewarding. His hair against my cheek would be soft and cool, his struggles violent against me. He couldn’t stop me. I was trained for this.
But as I reached for him, still oblivious in the confidence of his security, I decided choking was too good for him. He was an elf. He should die with a curse designed for an elf—one that put him in excruciating pain and made him fully aware as he died, one that was slow enough that he would realize the depth of his folly. Smiling, I dropped into the collective to steal one. He had hurt me, and there was no forgiveness in me. None at all.
The weapons locker, I thought, but when I reached my awareness inside, I was rebuffed, thrown out with a sharp crack of loosed ley line energy.
I jolted awake with a yelp of pain, staggering as the power of the collective dropped away.
Near panic washed through me. I clenched my hands and hid them, breath fast as I realized I was standing in the kitchen. Buddy was barking wildly at me, and I wavered, remembering having gotten up from the couch and walking in here. Holy crap on toast, not again! I thought as the roar of the mixer continued, my fingers tingling