Page 57 of Forging Darkness

Still skeptical, I do as he says, starting with my toes and working upward. Thorne’s voice is smooth as it washes over me. “Imagine you can see inside yourself. That the energy you feel powering your body flows through bright pathways of light you can travel along. Pick one and follow it.”

In my mind’s eye I see burning trails of golden lava, ebbing and flowing. I mentally travel one up my leg, and the path grows brighter and hotter as it nears my center. Moving past my gut, the pathway reaches my chest and burrows deep before it dead-ends. Light flares behind my closed lids, and I suck in a sharp breath of air, breaking my calm flow as sweat beads on my skin and drips down my back.

The light grows so bright, my eyes begin to water. Searing heat roots behind my spine, and I grit my teeth to keep from releasing a pain-filled shout.

Thorne may still be talking, but I’m not listening anymore. The brightness condenses into a burning ball. Yellow flames lick the perimeter. Shocks of white lightning pulse with the beat of my heart.

I press a hand to my chest, and my fingers are seared by the heat. It’s more than I can bear.

Now that I’ve found it, I just want it to go away. The last time something like this happened, Steel’s cool touch coaxed the flames to abate.

“It’s burning me from the inside,” I choke out.

“You’re stoking the flame rather than putting it out.” Thorne’s voice brushes against my eardrums.

I snap open my eyes to find him standing in front of me rather than safely tucked away on the other side of the door. He lifts his arm, perhaps to reach out for me, then balls his hand into a fist, stopping himself. I don’t have time to be annoyed that he invaded my privacy because I’m on fire.

My skin glows with a warm, buttery light and flames lick the ends of my wings. I’m a hair’s breadth away from full freak-out mode.

I make small flapping motions, which only spread the blaze farther up the feathers. “Ahh!”

“Emberly!” My name leaves Thorne’s mouth with a snap of authority.

I freeze as the fire continues to burn from within and without. I cast Thorne a gaze filled with panic.

“Put it out. Demand that it obey you,” he orders.

“How?” I squeak, my voice embarrassingly high.

“How do you make your toes wiggle, or flap your wings? How do you take air into your lungs or sing a song? You are the master of your own body and this power is a part of you. Control it!” he roars.

Slamming my lids closed, I drive back my panic through sheer force of will, locking it in a buried place. I imagine ribbons of ice reaching inside my chest, burrowing through flesh and bone to grab hold of the seemingly uncontrollable ball of pure power that pulses behind my spine.

It sputters when the chill connects with it, encasing it in a sheet of frost. The sphere shrinks the longer it’s exposed to the cold, until only a spark remains inside a bubble of ice.

I release the air I’ve held inside my lungs and it cools my lips as it breezes past. I taste fresh winter snow on my tongue before it evaporates.

My lashes flutter as they open. Thorne leans against the carved vanity across from me, arms folded and a smirk threatening his mouth. His eyes hold the glaze of appreciation, as if I’m a fine piece of art rather than a person.

Rather than truly seeing me, he appraises my value. I can feel him weighing my worth as an acquisition.

I don’t like it.

My reflection blinks back at me from the mirror behind him. I’m still caked in grime, but I’m back in white skinny jeans and a sparkly off-the-shoulder sweater. My skin has returned to its normal porcelain hue under the splashes of sand and blood, my aura a soft white glow rather than a golden blaze. There’s not a lick of fire anywhere on me. Even so, I pat my arms and legs just to be sure.

I’m as good as new. The same can’t be said for Thorne’s bathroom.

Oops.

“Singed” would be the best description. The towel that was caught on my wing is a pile of ash on the ground behind me. The other towels lie in a heap of half-burned cloth still smoldering in the tub. A layer of soot covers the glass panes and dirties the previously white stone walls. The room needs a washing as badly as I do.

Thorne glances around the bathroom. “I’m not sure this space is going to be much use to you anymore.”

“Sorry.” I’m not sure I actually am though.

He waves a hand through the air, dismissing my weak apology. Shoving off the vanity, he gestures for me to follow as he strides back into his bedroom. “Your room should be ready by now,” he throws over his shoulder. “You can get cleaned up in there.”

“Does it lock from the inside, or out?” I ask.

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