Page 28

That name. My teeth clench in irritation.

“Vaelith’s claim on you is a farce. He can train you physically, but I can shape your magic in ways he can’t fathom.

” I close the last inches between us, breath ghosting near her cheek.

Her lips part, eyes glinting with an unreadable mix of feelings.

“Wouldn’t you rather explore your mind’s full potential than be caged in Vaelith’s barracks? ”

She doesn’t answer, but her tension vibrates in the air.

I place one gloved hand on the windowsill beside her, half-caging her.

The night wind drifts through the open window, stirring a loose strand of hair near her temple.

For a breath, I want to brush it aside, an intimate gesture that contradicts the power game we’re playing. I hold steady.

I exhale, letting my voice go softer. “Let me in just a bit. Show me what you hide behind that steel fortress of a mind. In return, I can offer you knowledge, ways to slip Orthani’s wards if you desire. We can form an alliance that Vaelith can’t give you.”

Her eyes flick with sudden interest, though she clamps it down. “You say that, but I know you want to dissect me like a fascinating experiment.”

My mouth twists into a slow smile. “I prefer the word cultivate. You’re a gem in the rough, and I want to carve you into brilliance.”

She stares at me, unyielding. “I’ll remain uncut.

” She lifts her hand, pressing it against my chest with surprising firmness, as if to keep me at bay.

My heart thuds at the contact. “Leave, Zareth. Unless you want me to demonstrate exactly how lethal I can be without letting you rummage in my head.”

I catch her wrist gently, not enough to harm or restrain, but to anchor the moment. “Prove it,” I whisper. “Shut me out completely if you can.”

Our gazes lock. I draw a thread of psionic energy from the well of my mind, letting it coil around me like a serpent.

She feels it, a subtle shimmer in the atmosphere, an intangible pressure nearing her mental barriers.

Her pupils dilate, adrenaline spiking. I push just enough to test, to find a crack.

The wards in the estate thrum a faint warning, but I’m skilled enough to slip around them if I remain delicate.

Like before, her consciousness slams up a wall of bright intensity.

A sharp sting hits me, as though I grasped a blade’s edge.

My breath catches. She’s not only resisting me—she’s hurling a razor-edged retaliation, a spark of her own psionic aura that slices back at my probe.

My vision blurs for half a heartbeat, and I stagger inside my own head, forced to retreat.

It’s exhilarating. I let out a dry laugh, half frustration, half delight. “Gods, you savage little viper.” My voice echoes in the small room. She yanks her wrist from my grip, hatred blazing in her eyes, but also a flicker of triumph.

I press the heel of my palm to my temple, pulses of pain flaring behind my eyes. That mental lash was sharper than before, as if she’s grown more adept at weaponizing her mind. Or perhaps I’m more reckless in my pursuit. “You’re unstoppable,” I murmur, words both compliment and curse.

She squares her shoulders, posture trembling with the aftershock. “Next time, I’ll cut deeper,” she warns. “Try again and see if you like the taste of your own blood in your mind.”

I lift my gaze, letting out a breathless chuckle.

Heat surges through me in an almost unbearable wave.

My arrogance cracks further, each break replaced by a twisted fascination that thrums in my veins.

“You have no idea how much that threat excites me,” I say, voice husky.

“You push me to places I’ve never gone, and I can’t decide if I want to break you or worship you. ”

She tightens her fists. “Don’t confuse obsession with admiration. Now get out, unless you want the entire estate roused.”

A swirl of rebellious impulse urges me to press again, to see how far I can drive her mind.

But the ring of pain still echoes in my skull, and a flick of reason warns me not to set Vaelith’s guards on high alert.

I exhale, forcing composure. “This isn’t over, Selene.

The council might say you belong to Vaelith, but I promise you, your mind will be mine to explore eventually. ”

She says nothing, only levels me with a glare of silent challenge.

The lamplight flickers, illuminating the curve of her cheekbones, the parted line of her lips.

I sense the pounding of her heartbeat, a resonance that calls to me in savage ways.

But I allow myself a measured step back, sliding my cloak around me like a shield.

Before I turn away, I add, “If you change your mind about forging an alliance, come to me. I can give you far more than Vaelith’s petty training.”

Her scoff is quiet but potent. “Your bargains reek of corruption. I’ll manage without letting you chain me mentally.”

“Not chain,” I murmur, voice softening. “Bind, perhaps, in more enticing ways.” Her glare intensifies, so I smirk. “Farewell, for now.”

I slip out the door, shutting it with a subdued click.

My heart still thunders, my forehead lightly damp from the exertion of crossing her defenses.

As I walk the corridor, I sense an echo of that mental sting, like a newly formed bruise.

No one has ever repelled me so effectively.

The thought is both maddening and enthralling.

I drift through Vaelith’s estate with the stealth of a wraith, weaving small psionic nudges to keep guards inattentive.

My arrogance once let me slip in and out of any place in Orthani, but now my confidence wavers.

My mind throbs, a subtle ache that warns me not to overextend.

I cling to the obsession, the gnawing hunger to crack her fortress.

Once outside, I find the same side gate I used before.

The guard droops, lulled by my earlier suggestion.

He barely notices me passing. The night beyond Vaelith’s walls is cool, the sky a swirl of dark clouds.

I make my way through deserted streets until I reach a quiet courtyard near my own domain.

I stop there, leaning against the carved fountain that burbles gently.

My thoughts churn. She’s not simply defending—she’s fighting back.

That kind of mental cunning is rare, and it’s turning everything I prized about myself into an unraveled tapestry.

My self-confidence was built on the knowledge that no mind could stand against my psionic mastery.

Yet here I am, reeling from a single brush with her barriers.

A wave of frustration surges in me, tinted with an edge of desire.

I want her mind open, I want to taste every corner of her consciousness, to see her kneel before me in a swirl of psionic thrall.

Another part wonders if I truly want her kneeling, or if I crave the unending clash that has become our twisted courtship.

The fountain’s gentle song provides no answers.

I push away from it, continuing home to the Velcorin estate.

My personal guard stands ready, opening the front doors.

I stride past them into the main foyer, ignoring the house steward who tries to catch my attention with some trivial matter.

I ascend the sweeping stairs to my private chambers, each step a jolt that echoes the ache in my skull.

Within my room, the walls are draped in black silk embroidered with runic patterns.

Golden braziers cast a low, ambient glow.

I toss aside my cloak, pressing fingers to my temple once more.

My hair, bound in that queue, feels too tight, a reminder of the tension coiling inside me.

I yank the tie loose, letting crimson strands fall around my face, a stark contrast to the darkness.

I sink into an armchair near the fireplace, breath still uneven.

Tonight’s attempt to push deeper into Selene’s mind ended in a near defeat.

Despite that, my obsession only intensifies.

A single flame from the brazier flickers, casting dancing shadows across my skin.

I trace the psionic sigils on my wrist, remembering how those same powers once shattered entire squads of resistant humans. Yet with her, I’m stumbling.

In that moment, I recognize the first genuine cracks in my psionic arrogance.

She’s a living contradiction: a purna who wields raw defiance, who mocks Orthani while playing Vaelith’s soldier, who shrugs off my attempts to dominate her mind.

Each time I fail, I crave another round.

My pride seethes, but my curiosity demands more.

My eyes drift shut, replaying the memory of her parted lips, the flush on her cheeks when I closed in.

Her anger melded with a hint of underlying heat, as though we teeter on the edge of something dangerously intimate.

I wonder if she felt it too, that moment where violence and desire seemed indistinguishable.

A hum resonates in my chest. I sense a choice forming: do I continue hammering her mind with brute psionic force, or do I adopt a new tactic—seduction, subtlety, making her want to lower her walls?

The latter intrigues me more. If I can coax her into letting me in, the victory will be sweeter than any forced invasion.

But that path demands patience, a quality I rarely needed before.

I realize my nails have dug crescents into my palms. With a shaky laugh, I relax my fists and stand.

I pace across the room, pensive. House Velcorin’s library holds ancient texts on psionic lures, ways to breach mental wards through emotional rapport.

Perhaps I’ll refresh myself on those. If I can’t break her directly, I can slip in sideways.