Instead of trying to control the power flooding out of her, she lets it flow freely, filling the air with pure magical energy. It flows into the walls of the small room, imbuing the stone and causing the ground to vibrate. A howling wind whips around me, sucking the air from my lungs and plastering long red strands of hair to my face and neck. And within that wind is a scream—a sound only for my ears—filled with so much rage and pain and despair, it causes that hollow space in my chest to twinge.

As the power consumes her, Dagny mindlessly rails against her restraints, pulling and yanking and clawing at the collar around her neck, ripping deep gouges into the thin flesh.

Part of me is horrified as I watch a river of red pour down to her chest, coating her hands in her precious life force as she continues fighting. But then there’s that other part. The one that’s utterly fascinated with her desire to survive—to be free. The part that wants to watch her struggle and see how far she’s willing to go. To bring her back from the edge just before she slips. To show her what she’s capable of. To show her that she’s mine, just as much as I am hers.

A smirk tugs at my mouth as I stare at her, the thunderous roar in my ears drowning out the sound of my lungs screaming for air.

You’ve never looked more magnificent, wildfire. If you kill me now, I’d be happy knowing this is the last thing I saw.

My voice enters her mind as a gentle caress, and though she doesn’t want it, her gaze softens as the bond between us thrums in ecstasy. Her concentration slips for the briefest moment, but it’s enough. Dagny’s power falters, and the wind whipping around me dies, as does the massive rush of magic pouring from her body. The adrenaline pumping through her veins ceases, and Dagny slumps back against the blood-coated stone as her quivering muscles give out.

I suck in a deep breath and propel myself across the room, landing directly in a pool of Dagny’s blood. I crouch so we’re at eye level and, giving zero thought to my safety, reach for her wounds with the healing magic thrumming in my palms.

Right before I make contact, Dagny’s eyes spring open, the warm brown of her iris brimming with hatred. I’m so shocked by the emotion, I don’t react in time to move my hand out of the way—something I sorely regret when Dagny’s teeth rip into the flesh of my palm.