I pull my second knife and let the magic rush to my fingers the way Xander showed me, and then I let it fly. It travels true until it loses momentum and drops somewhere into the sand.

My blood heats, not from the magic, but from my own human embarrassment.

“When am I ever going to have to make a throw like that?”

“What about a vampire running away from you? You could have wounded the one the other night before it got away.”

“Let’s not pretend I’m the one who let it go,” I say.

Willow gasps. “What vampire?”

Neither of us answer her.

“Stop complaining and do it again.”

I pull out my third knife and throw again. It eats sand even though I will it to eat wood.

“You’re not pulling the power to you. You’re letting the power come if it feels like it. Command it.”

“Maybe I should sing?”

Willow smiles. “You can try it.”

“Maybe a little Bon Jovi?”

Willow sings the first few lines from “Shot through the Heart” and then bursts into laughter, and I almost let myself join her, but Roman’s glare stops me.

“This isn’t a joke.”

Willow twists her lips in a grimace at me and looks away.

“Willow needs to sing. You do not. I doubt it would even work for you. Focus on the source of your power, call it out from there, order it if you have to, and then send it where you wish it.”

“Okay.” I walk to the target and free my knife before scanning the sand for the others. Damn. I’m about to get on my knees and start digging for them.

A hand settles on my shoulder. I almost shiver under his touch, despite the fact that he’s definitely not flirting. I shake my head like that will help me focus.

“Make them come to you,” he says.

“I can’t—” But then I stop myself. Why can’t I? I’ve had enough people in my life tell me I can’t do things. Roman’s telling me I can. I need to tell myself too.

I focus. Power pulses, hot and white. I believe in it. I ask it to come to me. Tentative at first, but then more demanding—soft, but with the understanding that I will accept only one answer.

“Yes,” Roman says. “Pull it to your fingers and call the knives.”

I listen, coaxing the magic down to the tips of my fingernails, wishing for the knives.

They shoot from the sand toward me faster than I can throw them. My hands find their handles through pure instinct. It’s a wonder they didn’t slice through flesh.

My mouth hangs open.

Roman removes his hand, and I try not to miss it.

Willow rushes over and swings her arms around my neck from behind. “You’re brilliant, Ava. I don’t stand a chance against you.”