Page 90 of Dark Night of the Soul

His eyes widened. “You felt it. And you stopped it.”

I nodded, rubbing my temple. “I did. And it hurt. But I did it.”

But I wasn’t ready for a victory lap yet.

“Let’s go again,” I said.

This time he didn’t hesitate. Moving fast. He reached for me, but I grabbed his arm, twisted it, and shoved him down in one fluid motion. Like he weighed nothing. The movements clicked before my mind said go. I landed on top of him, pinning his arms against the ground.

There we were. Me staring down at him. Fire in his eyes. My palms on his wrists. He could get up anytime he wanted, but he didn’t.

His pulse spiked beneath my hand. Heat shot through me.

And then I was kissing him.

His mouth opened under mine, like he’d been waiting for this. Wanting this. He tasted dark and dangerous, wickedly male in a way that hit me hard and fast and begged for more.

His hands came up. Not to push me away, but to cup my face, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones, one of them skimming the edge of the bandage on my cheek. He kissed me back with a controlled intensity that made my head spin.

For a heartbeat, that cold place in my brain flared—bright, hot, trying to make me do something I didn’t want to do. Pain spiked sharp and immediate as I fought it. No. Not this time. Not now.

I shoved it back down. Shoved it away through sheer force of will, even as my head throbbed with the effort.

This was mine. This moment. This man.

The pain faded. Heat replaced the cold. Rushing through me like wildfire, pooling low in my belly. His hands slid into my hair, and I made a sound I didn’t recognize—half gasp, half moan—and pressed closer. His heart hammered against my chest. Every hard line of him against me. Solid muscle and unyielding heat and—

Reality crashed back in and I jerked away, sitting up straight. Right on top of—

OH.

I rolled to my feet and quickly turned away to hide the blush burning my face.

Get a grip. This wasn’t our first time.

But it hit me like it was.

I did my best to act casual as I started for the porch.

“That was a good start. We can try again tomorrow. Are you coming?”

“I wish,” he muttered.

And I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. When I glanced back, he was sitting upright, arm on knee, watching me with a wrecked expression.

And his eyes were molten gold.

By the end of the week, I could access the programming like flipping a switch.

Turn it on: Brotherhood warrior, efficient and deadly.

Turn it off: Anna Walker, choosing every move.

The pain was still there when I fought it. Sharp and vicious when my will clashed with their wiring. But I’d learned to push through it. To grit my teeth and shove past the pressure building in my skull until I found the control on the other side.

Each day, it got easier. The pain less. My will stronger.

We sparred every morning. I’d tap into that cold place, let the reflexes take over, then pull myself back before the programming could complete. Attack. Stop. Breathe through the pain. Reset.