Page 15 of Cosmic Power

Tears glistened in her eyes and she whimpered, trying to pull herself free from his painful grip. “It’s not something I can control,” she cried. “Either she’s strong enough to survive it or she’s not. It’s not up to me.”

“Let me make this perfectly clear to you, Iris. If she dies, I’ll leave your daughter to rot! To die a slow and painful death of starvation and dehydration,” he warned, releasing her with a rough shove.

Iris caught herself before she fell to the ground and their eyes locked. Zamorra saw the pain and anguish in her brown eyes. The torment on her face. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be doing this. It looked like Zamorra wasn’t the only one being held captive here.

“Get to it,” Barnabas barked. “I have somewhere else to be.”

Nodding, Iris took a deep breath and centred herself. She slowly raised a hand, calling on her magic. White lightning sparkled at her fingertips and with a look of remorse, she whispered “I’m sorry.”

Zamorra mentally screamed as the power in the room grew to a peak. She swore she could feel the hair on her arms stand straight up, feel the electricity sizzling in the air. She had no idea what this mage was going to do, but she did know that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Hand filled with powerful white lightning, Iris gripped Zamorra’s wrist and sent the current of magic straight through her body, up her arm, across her chest and right down into her soul.

Pain. Unrelenting pain unlike anything Zamorra had experienced before hit every nerve inside her, flowed into every crevice of her body, burned her from the inside out as it travelled within.

Involuntary tears flowed down her face and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying her best to breathe through the pain and just wait for it to be over.

If it wasn’t for Barnabas’ earlier command, Zamorra would have thought Iris’ intention was to kill her. It sure as fuck felt like she was dying.

A sharp, blinding pain radiated from deep within her and her wrist glowed, the lettersLDetched into her skin from Luther’s brand burning brightly in the dark cell. A magical silver cuff burst out of her skin, as if it had been inside her all along, ripping through her flesh and locking around Zamorra’s wrist, covering the brand mark. Blood flowed freely to the floor, forming a small puddle at her feet.

Iris let go of her wrist and placed a shaky hand on Zamorra’s chest. She pushed one final burst of magic into her body and Zamorra collapsed, her knees buckling instantly.

She hit the ground hard. Her face smashed into the concrete hard enough to make her lip bleed.

Dazed and utterly confused, Zamorra rolled onto her back, touching her fingers to her bruised and bleeding lip. Her eyes hooked onto the massive, intrusive silver cuff around her wrist and she growled. She tried to rip it off, pry it from her body, but it was like it was superglued to her skin. She couldn’t get it off, no matter how hard she tried.

“What the fuck is this?” Zamorra snarled, growing more and more frustrated by the second.

“Just a little something to keep your location a secret from a certain tired old vampire. Can’t have him storming in and stealing you away. Not when I have such big plans for you.”

Was he talking about her brand mark? Was it like some personal GPS or something?

Glaring, Zamorra got to her feet, tensing her muscles in preparation. She didn’t care that she couldn’t access her werewolf’s power right now. She was going to rip his fucking throat out. Who the fuck did he think he was?! Placing such an invasive (not to mention hideous) contraption on her body.

Before she even moved, Barnabas gripped her tightly by the throat and slammed her into the wall, her head whacking so hard against the stone she saw stars.

Her vision blackened.

Something wet and sticky dripped down the back of her neck. She groaned and blinked rapidly, trying to see through the fog.

Fuck.For such a big guy he sure moved quickly. Quicker than she thought he could move.

Barnabas squeezed his hand and she choked. “Don’t tell me that without your werewolf, you’re completely fucking useless?”

Zamorra glared. She faked a strike to the face and used the momentary distraction to knee him right where the sun didn’t shine. He winced, his hold around her throat loosening slightly, and she took the opportunity to attack in full.

She aimed low, jabbing him hard in the kidney once, twice, three times, each blow making him grunt in pain. She reached up and gripped his wrist roughly, digging her nails deep enough into his skin to draw blood and twisted, breaking his hold on her throat.

She swung fast, trying for a right hook. But Barnabas stepped back, dodging her attack effortlessly, and caught her fist in his hand.

He twisted her arm behind her back, shoving her face first into the wall. “Mediocre,” he scoffed. He pushed her face harder against the stone and she grimaced. “I’ll be honest, I’m disappointed. One thing Orion was good for was hand-to-hand combat. Shit, he almost took out my eye the last time we fought. I expected him to train you better than this.”

“You have no right talking about my father!” Zamorra yelled, thrashing violently.

Barnabas gripped her hair roughly and smashed her face into the wall. A crack echoed throughout the room. Pain ran through her body. A river of blood trailed down her face from her now-broken nose.

“I told you before, he’s not your father,” he hissed, grounding her face into the wall. “He might have raised you but it’s not his blood running through your veins.”

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