The Healer's Hellion - Miranda Bridges Page 0,19
on the table, specifically a small dagger in hopes it won’t be too much heavier than a bowl. Determination burns within me alongside my power that’s slowly rousing and igniting.
“Allow me to offer you some motivation,” he says, breaking my concentration. “For every knife that does not hit a target, you will owe me an act of obedience.”
“Every knife not used will end up in your smug face,” I mutter.
After lifting my hands, palms out, I close my eyes. The other day when Braxton had me try this exercise, I found it extremely helpful to center myself and home my thoughts in on what my intentions were. So in the silence, I think about what my objectives are now.
Survival. Revenge. Safety.
My power pulses within me as though agreeing with my assessment. I choose the intent with the greatest impact as of right now, which is safety. I want to protect myself more than anything, and in doing so, I will ensure my survival and my revenge.
I picture the target in my mind, bringing to life every contour and divot of the human-like structure. It represents everything that would harm me: the Yalat, my nightmares, and the death of my parents. With my goal to send the knife soaring firmly planted in my psyche, I flick my wrist.
A soft thud has my eyes opening. Then they widen with surprise as I behold the knife firmly embedded within the target at the far side of the room. I swing my gaze to Braxton’s.
“Did I just do that?” I ask, gesturing wildly with my hands.
He simply nods, deflating me the tiniest bit. “Do it again.”
Disappointment streaks through me from the lack of praise and encouragement. Squaring my shoulders, I close my eyes and go through my mental exercise once more. And once more I hit a target.
“Now do it with your eyes open,” Braxton says.
“But I’m just getting the hang of it.”
He cocks his head. “Do you think you can go on the rescue mission and conduct it with your eyes closed the entire time?”
My gaze darts between the knives and him, letting him know how much I’d love to stab him right about now. He merely jerks his chin at the table.
“Again, Skylar. Eyes open.”
I take a deep breath, shoving Braxton from my mind. Not completely, because I can’t seem to get him out of there, but just enough so that I can focus on the task before me. I scan the remaining knives and assign them each a different letter of the word safe. Without each letter, you cannot spell the word, rendering it meaningless. I want the letters together, need them connected in order to wrap myself in the feeling of security. They are not separate entities but one unit whose sole purpose is to fill a need, a desire.
I want to feel safe.
When the knives levitate as one, I grit my teeth to keep my concentration, my arms now trembling with the effort to keep them steady. Perspiration dots my brow as I mentally assign a different label to each mannequin: the Yalat, the villain from my past, my secret defectiveness as a woman, and the pain from my parents’ death. I take a step and thrust my hands forward, gathering all my unseen energy into my palms. With a rush, it leaves my body, propelling the knives, and they hit the targets in the chests, embedding to the hilts.
I drop my arms and sway to the side, unable to stop myself from falling. Braxton is there in an instant, gripping my shoulders and keeping me upright. When my head lolls to the side, he lowers me to the floor, kneeling beside me.
“Are you all right?” he asks, his brows gathering.
I nod, unable to do much else. My power pulses weakly within me, and I know I won’t be able to continue the exercise. Luckily, there are no more knives left. It makes me wonder how Braxton thought he was going to obtain acts of obedience from me. Yeah, right.
He skims his fingers along my hairline, brushing back a couple of stray locks of my hair. His gaze is still blue, but now the inky black encircles it, creating a strong contrast of color.
“Take deep breaths,” he says. “The feelings of weakness and fatigue will lessen.”
I fill my lungs and release the air through my mouth. His gaze zeroes in on my parted lips, and the blue of his eyes disappears completely. In its place is a beautiful obsidian.