My protests dry up as he moves behind me, fitting his broad chest tight to the planes of my back. I want to ask what he thinks he’s doing, but my throat effectively closes up as his arms slidearound my waist. His hands skate down the length of my forearms to find mine again—palms cupping the backs of my knuckles, lacing our fingers together. His mouth is at my neck, his warm breath stirring the feathery hair of my nape as he speaks.
“I’ll show you another way, skylark.”
His maegic jolts through me again, an even stronger pulse than before, as we begin to channel anew. His mind settles over mine, steady and strong and so very, very different from my ever-spiraling self-doubt. I am a puppet under his control as he guides our joined hands into the air.
We do not need words. I know his intentions as clearly as if they were my own, see his plans forming in my own mind without any need for vocalization. Tendrils of air shoot from each of my fingertips and ribbon up into the sky. They are not piercing, but soft. At first, I fear they will be ineffectual against such a gargantuan creature. But as they wrap themselves around the monster’s body, snaking up its remaining legs, snaring it by fang and stinger, I realize what Soren is attempting to illustrate.
There is a beautiful strength in this quiet power, an astonishing advantage to my slow-motion assault. The beast cannot fight. It cannot even flinch as I render it totally immobile in a set of invisible shackles.
“You know what comes next?”
Soren’s deep voice rumbles through my head, plainly as if he’s spoken aloud. I flinch within his arms, unable to conceal my shock at the sudden invasion. It is one thing to see his thoughts as images; it is another to hear them in psychic conversation. I had not known such a thing was possible.
I swallow hard. I cannot speak—neither in my head, nor aloud—so I merely nod.
“Good.”
Soren’s torso twists toward the bow, and I turn with him. Ourlofted hands steer the immobilized arachnida through the air until it is poised directly over the toppled foremast, which protrudes up through a mess of torn rigging.
“Now,”he whispers in my head.
His voice, which has always reminded me of falling water on the bed of a river, sounds different this way. Smoother, somehow. More intimate. A timbre reserved for secrets. I can feel his heart pumping, hear his pulse racing.
Or is that my own frantic pulse, pounding in my veins?
“Let’s finish this.”
At his command, I bring down our joined hands in one fluid motion, impaling the arachnida on the splintered base of the mast. The thick shaft pierces cleanly through its abdomen. A death blow. Black fluid explodes across the entire bow, dissolving everything it lands on in seconds. A smattering of holes appears across the foredeck as the hissing and bubbling subsides. The creature convulses violently, and then, with one final haunting shriek, falls utterly still as its life force flees.
Leaning back against Soren, I expel a long, tremulous breath. “Please, for the love of the gods, tell me it’s dead.”
His chest rumbles with a laugh that echoes in the farthest reaches of my mind.“It’s dead. You can relax.”
Easier said than done. Energy churns through my veins along with Soren’s maegic. Deep currents wash through me, rhythmic as the tides. We are still channeling, though there is no real need for it anymore. Our hands are still joined tightly. Neither of us moves. I don’t even think I blink.
It is Soren, finally, who severs the connection. He extracts his hands from mine and steps away at the same moment his mental guards slam back into place. I do the same, summoning internal shields around my thoughts. Yet the strangest sensationgrips me when I find myself alone in my own head once more. Not the solace I expected, but a hollow disquiet. I take a series of uneven breaths, waiting for the discomfort to subside.
“I confess, that was a more eventful morning than I’d planned for your first in Hylios,” Soren says wryly.
How odd to hear him speak aloud again.
I dig my fingernails into my palms in an attempt to focus and force a flippant tone. “You mean you don’t subject all your guests to the most vile monsters Anwyvn has to offer?”
“Only the ones I like.” His voice loses a bit of its humor. “No doubt you’ll be running back to Caeldera even faster now that I’ve traumatized you.”
I jolt.
Caeldera.
Right.
Only a few hours ago, returning there was my primary objective. In the madness of the past few moments, I had forgotten my determination to leave. Soren’s offhand remark is a harsh reminder of reality.
I have to get back.
I have responsibilities.
I gather the courage to glance over at him. He is watching me carefully, his eyes locked on my face.