Page 112 of Princess Redeemed

I throw him.

He slams against an invisible wall I create behind him, and before he can fall, I pull him forward again and spin him in midair.His body corkscrews like a tornado.When he lands, he’s on his knees.

“Who’s on his knees now?”I jeer.

I lunge, driving a kick into his chest.

He flies backward—again—but this time he catches himself and stays suspended in midair.

“Well done,” he growls, floating toward me and crackling with black flame.“You’ve learned control.But control means nothing if you won’t use it.”

The moment he says it, I feel it.

Pressure slams into my temples like a vise.He’s in my head.Pushing.Trying to force me to my knees.My vision wavers.For half a second, my legs buckle.

I roar, and the power inside me swells.

I shove back—hard—and his eyes widen as his own pressure begins to crack.My magic floods the area—brighter, sharper, hotter than his.His force shatters like glass against mine.

And then I’m moving.

A punch to the jaw, spinning back kick to the gut, a brutal upward strike with the heel of my palm that snaps his head back.

He recovers, snarling, and sends a rock flying at me with his mind.

I catch it midair and hurl it back twice as fast.He ducks, but not in time.It grazes his temple, and blood trails down his cheek.

I inhale.

I remember the scent of demon blood, but his is ten times stronger than Eris’s.

I tamp down the blood lust.

Never will I take blood from a demon again—especially not this one.

He lifts a hand, ready to unleash something bigger—but I’m already there.I catch his wrist and twist, my magic wrapping around his like a noose.

“Getting tired?”I ask through clenched teeth.

His answer is a guttural growl and a wave of heat that sears across my left arm.

“Fuck!”I scream as fire burns my skin.

With a twist of my magic, the fire is gone, but my skin is charred, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh sends rage whirling through me.

I’m done playing.

I lift him.Not just a few feet, but ten.Then fifteen.I hold him suspended in the air with his arms flung wide.He tries to resist, but I feel the strain in his limbs, the desperation starting to bleed through the arrogance.I clench my fists, and the force tightens around his throat.

“I should end this,” I say, my voice shaking with anger.“After everything you’ve done.To me.To her.”

His bloodshot eyes find mine.And then he laughs.

That low and vicious laugh.

“You don’t have it in you,” he rasps, choking on the power pressing into his throat.“You’ll never kill your mother’s husband.”

My pulse stutters.