Page 89 of Fated to Monsters

The wendigo brings the man closer, stopping just a foot in front of me. “Haste; we must not keep the others waiting.”

Rubbing my thumbs against my fingers, I suck in a breath and summon whatever power is within me. I close my eyes and will it to the surface, knowing damn well just how foolish what I'm doing must look from their point of view. That doesn't stop me from trying, from testing this possible theory that might change everything.

When nothing happens—no stirring in my chest or magical lights appearing—I bridge the space between me and this bewildered man.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I reassure him. “But you’re being manipulated.” I close my hands into fists. “I think you’re mind controlled, actually.”

He tries to shake his head but the wendigo keeps him firmly in place. I ignore the similarities of how he did the same thing to Dash, not only once, but twice.

Sometimes you have to align with your enemies if you wish to take out the even greater threat.

Extending my arm, I press my palm against the man. His heart beats aggressively in his chest, thudding so aggressively it rumbles up my forearm.

I pinch my eyes shut. "Angels," I whisper, barely audible, and pray to anyone listening to hear my call for help. If that's who saved me when I needed to be rescued, can't they assist me today, too? I push my palm into his chest and thrust any magic that may lie dormant within me to rise to the surface. My fingers tingle, my arm growing warmer and cooler all at once. I peek through my lids to witness a strange silver glow faintly illuminating my skin.

Am I losing it or is this really working?

I lock sights with the man, his gaze terrified, no doubt from the wendigo holding him hostage, but also the crazy woman in front of him.

“Wren, you’re…” Dash mutters.

But I ignore him. I ignore everything except the sensation bubbling up inside of me.

I shove it forward with no real direction of how this is supposed to work and hope with everything in me that I’m doing this right.

A blast of rippling power slams the man in the chest, his eyes widening before shutting completely. His body goes limp in the wendigo’s grasp.

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” My chest aches from the loss of a man I was only trying to help.

“He’s not dead,” the wendigo tells me while lowering the man’s weight onto the dirt.

I kneel at the soldier's side and press my fingers to his neck, finding his slow but steady pulse. "He's not." My sights lock on Wes temporarily. "I didn't kill him."

What a strange thing to get excited about, considering my past as a trained murderer.

The man gasps for breath, his sudden movement knocking me onto my ass. He clutches his chest at the spot I blasted him and stares directly at me.

My fingers inch toward the blade at my side, ready to yank it out and throw it into his throat at a second's notice.

None of us move, like we’re all waiting for the other to decide how this is going to go.

Finally, he opens his mouth. “Furla ain?”

I swallow and nod. “Yes.”

“I…” His gaze trails off. “I think I’ve made a mistake.” That distant, empty look is no longer. His shoulders are stiff but nothing of the way they were moments ago. The mind-control that Parla had been dominating him with has disappeared, along with his immediate murderous tendencies.

I did it. I broke his compulsion. And with it, it brings me hope that maybe, just maybe, we can win this war.

I had come here with the sole mission of killing Parla, not exactly working out any of the other details. I would eliminate anyone that stood in the way but would do my best to save as many innocent lives as possible. I wasn’t sure if her death would be enough to break the hold she had on the hunters, but with this new ability I’ve discovered, maybe I can turn her own against her.

“We both have.” I rise to my feet and extend my arm to him. “But it’s not too late.”

The soldier locks onto me and I pull him onto his feet. We stand there, at an arm’s length, a heavy silence filling the space between us. I nod, and then he does.

“Very well,” I say and break away from him.

“Great work,” the wendigo tells me as he slaps my back, the impact rattling my entire body.

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