Page 81 of Dark Night of the Soul

“Why can’t I hear you in my head?”

She pivoted again so quickly it was like whiplash.

My spine went rigid. Because that had never been something she had to ask before.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, “I can’t hear you like I used to.”

Her gaze was still pinned on the mug. Like she was afraid to look up at me. Afraid to see the truth in my eyes.

The truth was I’d shut myself off from her. I’d pulled away. I didn’t want to go poking around in her head. Not after what they’d done. It felt like lighting a match to a powder keg.

I’d tried once before, in the fortress, but something was blocking us. The fortress itself. Her inability to reach me through her own power. Or something else.

She lifted her gaze then. “You turned it off, didn’t you?”

I had never intended to bond with her in the first place. But when the Fallen high lord captured me, I saw the determination in her eyes. She was always so transparent. Her emotions had never learned how to hide.

Now, since they’d altered her, she was more guarded. More in control of her emotions. It was harder for me to read her.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Her expression went flat. She looked away, absorbing that. Then, “We can do a controlled test.”

She wasn’t letting this go. She was nothing if not persistent. And everything in me resisted.

“I know why you don’t want to. But I don’t want to be the weapon that destroys you.” Her gaze flickered up back to me. Still guarded. “You’re the only one who can help me figure this out.”

The way she looked at me said everything. She was willing to accept the risk if I was.

Everything in me wanted to refuse. To tell her no and mean it. But she was stubborn, and I knew that look. If I didn’t agree, she’d find a way to do it without me. And that was unacceptable.

“Fine,” I said. “But we do it my way.”

She nodded. “I thought you’d say that. But I have another idea.”

“Anna—”

“I know what will trigger me. Work with me here.”

She stood, already dressed and ready, as if she anticipated my agreement.

“Ground rules, right?” she said. “And if I say stop, you stop?”

“Yes.”

I hated this.

She moved to the center of the small living area. I remained where I was, turned to face her.

“After the… procedure,” her voice hitched, “they put me in a room with the guard who smacked me.”

And that guard would be dead someday.

Her cheek still hadn’t healed and was held together with butterfly strips. But then, my wrists hadn’t healed either. I changed the bandages daily.

She flexed her fingers. “We can recreate that test.”