bChapter /bb155 /b

“Now I understand why Cassian is obsessed with you,” he says as we finish our walk through the gallery.

I want to ask what he means by that. But just as I open my mouth to do so, it’s toote. Ciro has vanished right before my eyes.

I hate that habit of vampires–especially in this family, where it seems to be a custom.

return to my quarters, where Naida and rissa no longer wait for me. A few days ago, I told them it wasn’t necessary–I’m perfectly capable of undressing myself. I no longer wear corsets or anything that keeps me from handling things on my own. Still, they insist oning each morning to help me get ready for the day. At least I’ve managed to im the nights entirely for myself.

I sit in front of my vanity and begin removing a few pins that hold my hair back. In my mind, I can feel fists pounding impatiently against the walls I’ve built. Every morning I take my time with them, like training. Apparently, I’m better at it than I thought–keeping Cassian at a more than reasonable distance from my thoughts.

A mischievous giggle escapes my lips as I imagine him, hysterical and cranky, unable to get what he wants.

Near the candle on the vanity, a moth flutters. I watch it for a long time, and a tingling stirs in my fingers. bI /bknow what it means–I’ve felt it before, and it scares me. I know what I’ll do if I give in to that sensation. I wrap my fingers around my other hand and pull it toward my chest, as if that could stop me from ripping out another soul.

“Looks like you need help.”

Startled, I turn on my seat–I know exactly who I’ll find. I may not have heard his voice many times in my life, but I could never forget it.

“Atarothz?i” /i

The smile spreads across his face, transforming his already attractive features into something breathtaking. He nods, clearly pleased I haven’t forgotten the short time we spent together, and the motion causes that streak of gray hair I share with him to fall into view. He approaches silently, every movement exuding the elegance of a god.

“There will be time to catch upter, but for now what matters is that you learn to control your powers, am I wrong?”

His eyes reflect the same concern that’s haunted me since I woke up. I need to learn–and fast. What I’m living now is a brief truce. Sooner orter, the shapeshifters wille for me, and we won’t be able to hide my nature from the Purebloods much longer. I’ll be caught between two factions that want to own me–each for their own selfish reasons.

None will bother asking what I want–so I won’t give them the chance to use me.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” I say.

b“/bThen let’s begin, little soul–devourer.”

I remainpletely still, unsure of what to do. He mimics me–waiting, I suppose, for me to take the initiative. I close my eyes and the first thing I do is shed this false skin, this false appearance. It doesn’t take long to feel the prick of fangs on my lip and a strange electricity

coursing through my veins.

“Why can I do this?” I ask, eyes still closed.

“Why can chameleons change the color of their skin? It’s a matter of survival. They blend into their surroundings to avoid predators. You,

ra, have a second skin for the same reason.”

“I wish I didn’t have to survive… and could just live.”

“You will. That’s why I’m here to help you reach your full potential, so you be the threat, not the threatened.”

b“/bNow you care about me?”

His gaze darkens, and for a moment I regret my words–though I quickly remember every time I felt misunderstood and alone, terrified of my futureb, /bignorant of everything around me and of what I was. He showed nopassion for me back then, so why should I care about his feelings now?

“I can’t undo the past, no matter how much I wish I could. I know I didn’t make the best choices, but at the time, they felt like the right ones. What I can do now is be here–to help you get the future you want.”

I stay quiet, unsure of what to say or even if I want to say anything. He must notice because he blinks a few times, as if trying to shake off his emotions, and squares his shoulders, removing any trace of v

f vulnerability.

“The urge to sever a soul is something you’ll carry for life,” he says. “That need will grow stronger in the presence of vulnerable beings–like that moth you were watching.”

“There’s no way to silence it? Control it?”

“I can only speak from the experience of a god. In my case, I’ve learned to control the impulses, to dull them a bit. But I constantly feel a tingling on my skin. I’d love to tell you it can disappear, but I’d be lying.”

“So how do I control it?”

All I can think about is hurting someone I love because I can’t control what I am. Fear freezes my veins–the idea that I could identally

harm Cassian.

“Cassian isn’t weak,” he says, as if reading my mind. “The threads of his soul are strong and know how to hide well from threats like us. If you wanted to sever his, you’d have to concentrate very hard and make a real effort.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“As I said, your nature will assert itself in the presence of the weak–we’re still predators, after all.” He circles me as if assessing me. “As for control, much of ites with experience. It gets easier, but sometimes visualizing your power–giving it form–helps.”

“Giving it form?”

“Yes. For example, visualizing it as a reservoir that’s overflowing and imagining a way to contain it. A jar to pour all your power into and seal it

with a lid. I know it might sound silly…”

“I want to try.”

He nods.

“Good. Approach the moth you were watching earlier.” I do as he says. “What do you feel?”

“A tingling in my fingertips.”

“Tolerable?b” /b

“I wouldn’t say it’s painful, but it’s not pleasant either. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.”

“Anxiety.”

“Something like that.”

“Now do what I told you visualize your power and give it shape.”

Though I know what he means, at first, behind my eyelids, I see only darkness, apanied by that anticipation that flirts with anxiety. bI /bthink for a few minutes about what shape my power should take, discarding all options until it chooses for me.

A sh of light materializes in the dark, and I imagine my hands warming against it. It’s a pleasant sensation at first–but just like in real life, if you stay too long near fire, it burns. I suppress a small whimper of pain, and when I try to pull away, my hands don’t move. Panic sets in.

“What do you see?” Atarothz asks.

“Fire,” I reply, my voice trembling.

He remains silent, and I consider opening my eyes to escape this. But the stubborn, brave voice in my head urges me to keep going. I bite my lip to muffle the pain, and more out of stubbornness than certainty, I embrace the heat and try to bring my palms together. The me reacts positively, bing almost malleable.

Fire–something I can control. Who would’ve thought?

Little by little, the distance between my palms shortens, and the mes shrink, their intensity fading. Along with themb, /bthe tingling in my body and the anxious sensation in my gut dissipate. Without realizing it, a small smile pulls at my lips.

Just a little more. As if aware of my intent, the me resists. I grit my teeth, feeling the wrinkles on my brow from the effort, and a small bead of sweat slips down my temple.

“Come onb, /be on…” I murmur to myself.

“You control your power–not the other way around.”

His words settle into my mind like a sacredmandment. There’s a small sh of light, like a newborn star, and then–surprising even myself–my palms touch, and the fire disappears entirely. The only sign that it ever existed is a faint trail of smoke.

When I open my eyes, none of it is real. Only Atarothz’s proud, astonished gaze remains.

“Incredible.”

In that moment, I feel like I am.