Page 71 of Heir of Illusion

After Baylor fell asleep a little past midnight, myeidolonslipped out of his chambers, letting Huxley escort her back to my room, where I immediately dissolved her. Knowing sleep was an impossible goal, I came down here to the training facility to work through some of my frustration.

My knuckles ache as I pound them into the worn leather again and again, picturing Baylor’s face as my target. I keep going until the rope keeping it suspended snaps and the bag lands at my feet. I should be exhausted by now, but my body is buzzing with unspent energy. My fingers twitch as I shake out my hands, unwilling to stay still. I have to keep moving, otherwise I won’t be able to stop myself from dwelling on things I’d rather not think about.

Moving onto the row of training dummies, I toss my blades between their eyes, and occasionally straight into their groins. The soft thud of my weapons gliding into their bodies fills me with brutal satisfaction. But when I’ve thrown the last one, the restlessness returns.

Ugly thoughts claw their way out of the hole I tried to bury them in. Shame and hatred war for dominance as my breathing becomes unsteady. Anxiety seeps into my lungs, making each gasp feel ragged and hard-won. I force myself to pull air in through my nose and hold it.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I breathe out through my mouth, repeating the process until my heartbeat begins to steady. This kind of thing never used to happen to me, but over the past year, I’ve found myself frequently struck by a strange sort of panic. The attacks always occur at the oddest times. There’s no immediate danger in this room, yet my body is rigid with alarm and agitation.

Every day, I stand on the precipice of insanity, desperately trying not to tip over the edge. I constantly struggle to keep my emotions locked away and be a perfect unfeeling machine. To make myself into whatever is required of me.

To not care.

But I do. Far more than I should. And I don’t know how much longer I can go on this way before I break.

As long as it takes, I remind myself.Until I’m free.Until he pays.

Forcing all these useless emotions back into their box, I decide to face my fears and summon the source of my shame. I welcome the pain, knowing I deserve every ounce of it. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as I bite my cheek, but I manage to stay upright the entire time. When the room stops spinning, the amber eyes of myeidolonstare back at me, lifeless as ever. There’s something eerie about the blank perfection of her face as she stands before me now, waiting for a command.

I open my mouth to offer some meager apology when the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rise.

A cool breeze kisses my left cheek as I turn toward the door. Half a second later, I’m slammed to the ground by a heavy force. Thankfully, I land on the soft mat, but strong hands pin my wrists above my head as a large body presses into mine. Familiar eyes gaze down at me, filled with amusement I don’t share.

“Hello, Angel,” Thorne croons, his self-satisfied smirk feeding my fury.

“Get off,” I growl as I try to pull my arms free of his grasp.

My chest rubs against him as I twist and squirm, sending uncomfortable flutters racing through my stomach. Heat rises to my cheeks at my embarrassing reaction to his proximity.

“Was this the training you mentioned?” he asks, ignoring my demand. “You know, the one designed to destroy me? If so, I don’t think it’s working.”

I clench my jaw as I drive my knee into his thigh, surprising him enough to wiggle one leg free. Hooking it around his hip, I use every ounce of strength in my core to flip us, reversing our positions. The move has me landing on top of Thorne, straddling his waist as I hold him down.

“I take it back.” His voice fills with smoke. “I’m feeling thoroughly destroyed right now.”

The silver flecks in his half-lidded eyes simmer, causing wild thoughts to course through me. I can feel Thorne against me.Everywhere.There’s something wickedly dangerous about the fact that his warmth is seeping into me through our clothes, but not a single inch of our skin is touching. Technically, there’s nothing wrong with me sparring with someone. Though I can’t say my other training sessions ever inspired such reckless desires.

My core tightens, turning my breathing heavy. My focus drops to his sinful lips. Right now, they looks so soft and inviting, tempting me to taste the forbidden. Without conscious thought, my eyes begin to shut as I lean forward.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispers.

“What?” My eyes flutter open, finding the heat in his gaze has been replaced by horror.

“Did I do that?” he asks urgently, staring at me with disgust that cools my body instantly.

I sit up quickly, still straddling his waist as my fingers brush over my face, only to find a familiar wetness trailing from my nose.

Blood.

“No, that wasn’t you,” I mutter, wiping it on the back of my hand as I rise to my feet and put some space between us. “It happens every time I conjure her.”

His eyes fill with concern as he pushes himself up. “Is it painful?”

“Extremely,” I say, unable to stop the word from sounding bitter.

Turning away from him, I hurry to the dummies and remove the blades I’d left lodged in them. I slide them back into their sheaths, keeping hold of one just in case.

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