Witch Born - LJ Swallow Page 0,23
drop in defences, I close the space between us. “I see through you, Dorian. You’re scared I'll get into your head because I can dig deeper. Maybe even make you do what I want.”
He moistens his lips. “You only need to ask, Eloise.”
I move closer but the revulsion drops away as I’m gripped by the sensation I was before, now that our energy mingles. “I mean, I could make you do what I say, in Ravenhold.”
“Bullshit,” he whispers as our standoff continues. “You have no control over me. You’re weak here.”
“Don’t I?” My breath touches his mouth as I push to see how far I can go, to gauge how much I can weaken him. The vampire/witch entrancement works both ways.
Dorian’s hands remain off me even though I tense, ready for his touch—the way he’s tensed against my mouth close to his.
“You can’t manipulate me, witch,” he whispers. “Step back. You don’t know who you’re playing with here.”
“A man-child with delusions of grandeur?” I mock.
He doesn’t move or respond. Not even a blink. “I wouldn’t get any closer if I were you.”
The residual magic gathers as I focus on drawing the charged ions from the elements around me, my magic growing as our intensity does.
If I manage this, Dorian won’t know what’s hit him.
“You’re right, Dorian, you have an effect on me,” I say in a seductive tone. “And I have one on you. Show me what you mean.”
He laughs and his lips almost touch mine. “Are you asking me to kiss you? I’m not playing your games.”
But he is, and he doesn’t realise who has the advantage as the sexual connection humming between us overtakes his focus.
I delve back into Dorian’s mind and the image of my uncle’s face returns. Summoning all the magic I have, I blast Dorian with every ounce left in my body.
Dorian stumbles backwards and I’m disappointed when he doesn’t land on the ground.
But I am satisfied when blood streaks from his nose. He swipes at it with his hand before curling his lip in disgust as he looks down.
Seconds later I’m hit with a powerful spell that judders magic through my body, flooding my system with a sensation midway between pleasure and pain. He tips his chin and looks at me. “You think you can beat me?”
Drawing the last vestiges of energy from the air around, I hit back, no longer caring if I damage him. “You killed my uncle,” I scream out.
He reels, head snapping back as if I punched him in the face.
A shadow of something crosses his face—confusion? Regret? Or pain from my assault?
“What do you want me to do? Apologise? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
I lock my gaze with his, my emotional outburst dropping my defences as he slams back at me, not touching physically but he may as well be.
“Lawrence Thornbrook.”
Dorian’s mind spins away from my control and this time I swear I detect more than his usual ‘do I give a fuck?’ response.
“Do you remember?” I continue to shout. “Or is he just one in a line of victims you got your disgusting kicks from?”
Dorian breaks his focus on me and I sink in relief as his psychic hold on my body drops away. “I remember.”
My heart continues to thunder in my chest as I attempt to control what’s happening to me. “Tell me what happened. Why did you kill him?”
He visibly swallows. “I’m not talking to you about that situation.”
My self-control drops away and I strive for more magic, but there’s nothing left. The wards on the island may not be enough to stop all my magic, but I’ve used what was left from before I arrived.
Physically attacking Dorian is now my last resort.
Throwing myself at the powerful guy, I hit solid muscle that feels as impenetrable as the walls surrounding us. As I lift my fists, he seizes my arms and holds me away from him.
“Don’t, Eloise. You’re wasting your time trying to hurt me.” This athletic guy could destroy me by simply choking me to death. I’ve no immortality. Nothing to draw on that could stop him now. “And don’t stress, I won't need to hurt you. I can feel your fear and that’s enough for me.”
“I’m not scared,” I snarl out and tear my grip from his. Reaching out, I slam both hands into his chest.
He laughs, face twisting in scorn. “You won’t even bruise me.”
“I bruised your ego, though.”
From the side of my vision, I spot a small crowd who’ve gathered