Page 24 of A Flame of the Phoenix

She tried to squint through the darkness of his hood, but his face was completely erased, lost to darkness, and she came to the conclusion that was his manipulation.

“It’s rare to find a colorless mind,” he said, pacing away. “More so, this aggression… Your own mind is rebelling against you. Torturing you. It’s almost a miracle you’re sane.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

He chuckled smoothly.

“Have you ever tried letting go of what it is you’re fighting against?”

If she knew what that was, perhaps she would consider it.

“What are you doing here?” she diverted.

“I was curious,” he said simply.

Zaiana found the sensation of him odd. Unlike Agalhor, he didn’t feel so daunting and vicious. She watched his hooded form with his back to her. He reached out a hand toward the strikes of lightning that slammed into the ground violently. Her chest ached to feel it coursing through her veins instead.

The next jagged purple line touched his fingertips. Zaiana drew breath sharply, as if it had been absorbed by her own body.The male tensed with it, but it didn’t hurt him like it should. Instead he seemed toplaywith the last of the snapping bolts across his hand.

“How did you do that?” she asked.

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s your mind. You could make it hurt me if you wanted.”

“I don’t know how,” she confessed.

The male twisted a fraction back to her, but his head was tipped down. “I can teach you how to use your Nightwalking.”

“I’m not a Nightwalker.”

“Are you in the habit of denying what is right in front of you?”

His hand moved elegantly, and her dark clouds answered him. She cupped a palm to her forehead, dizzy with the movements that weren’t in her control, but part of her thought they should be. That this male should not have this kind of power in her mind.

This is a dream.

It was all she could do to make sense of this twisted illusion.

“Are you…a Stormcaster?” she wondered.

Zaiana’s ability was beautiful, but this…it was the ugliest, most untamed side of it. Yet the male didn’t react with any disgust or pity—not like Agalhor had.

“I don’t think I am,” he said, reaching out a hand again, and it was as if the bolts were attracted to him.

“Then I can’t teach you anything in return.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“No one offers help without something for their own gain.”

His hood tilted, and Zaiana was growing irritable and uneasy that he could see her, fully exposed, while she couldn’t be sure where his eyes were at all.

“I can understand why you believe that.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I want to.”

“Why?”

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