Shades of Gray: A Jude Magdalyn Novel by L. M. Pruitt Page B

pressed hard, hooking my thumbs to make sure I’d sever the optic nerve, there was absolutely no way humanly possible I could have pushed them hard enough to do the job in under a second. I ignored the wet plop on my skin as his eyes fell out, drove my knee up with all the force I could, and twisted my body to make sure he wouldn’t fall on top of me.
    The horribly loud and keening screams he let loose were enough to make every hair on my body stand on end. My breath coming in shallow pants, I twisted, pulled and shoved myself off the mattress, hitting the hardwood floor with a thud I hoped would get someone’s attention, although I had a feeling the man’s screams would do a better job.
    Unfortunately, my thud tipped him off to my location. Even without his eyes - my stomach rolled involuntarily at the thought - he was still deadly as hell. I scrambled to my feet a split second before he leaped, growling, and landed right where I had been. The door, when I rattled the knob, was locked with a key I was betting Super-Assassin had in one of his pockets.
    Great. Just great.
    “You won’t make it out of this room alive, Prophecy. I’ve been paid well to ensure you don’t continue your rise to power, and I’ve yet to not complete an assignment.” We were circling each other, a deadly game of cat and mouse, and I had no doubt which one I was. “I might have let you die with some dignity, with a lack of pain, but now. Now, I’ll enjoy every scream.”
    I bumped into the bed, and began crawling backward over it , never taking my eyes from him. Whatever he’d done to my guards, it was pretty obvious they weren’t coming. Which meant I got to play with Super-Assassin all by myself. Oh, goodie.
    You can manifest fire. You can end him now. You know how.
    Gillian’s voice rang in my head, and with it a light switched on. She was right; I knew how to make one of those crazy fireballs. Like it had been waiting there all along for something to trigger it, suddenly, there it was.
    Concentrating, I took a deep centering breath. I felt the heat rise and focused, pushing it down my arm until the length of it burned, and my palm was an angry, fiery red. I began to think my hand was going to turn to ash, when the flames began to push through my skin, little licks of fire, the smell of pure heat filling the room. The faster I breathed, the higher the flames leapt, and my hopes soared.
    I was going to live.
    With a growl, he darted forward, and I instinctively thrust my hand into his face, gripping it tight. He began to struggle and smoke and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. The flames covered his face, ran down his body; yet, my hand and arm remained untouched, felt cooler. Giving a little push, I released him, watching him shriek and wallow on the floor.
    The door blasted open behind me, and I craned my neck to see the doorway filled with people, Gillian and Williams at the forefront. Turning back to watch Super-Dead-Assassin convulsing and ashing away on the floor, I remarked absently, “I think we have a few kinks in the guard program.”
     

Chapter Eight
     
    I spat into the toilet a final time, the taste in my mouth beyond description. I’d been throwing up for the better part of an hour. The heavy mass of my hair shielded my face, sweaty strands sticking to my cheeks and back. If I thought I had a headache before Super-Assassin, I’d been corrected after the two-second-behind arrival of the Cavalry. This was a headache - everything else before? Child’s play.
    I flushed the toilet, and shifted to lean against the wall. The small movement amplified the pounding in my head, and when my left hand accidentally brushed my thigh I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. Apparently, even though I could produce fire, I needed to work on my technique a little bit - the burn probably wouldn’t scar, but it would be painful for a little while. Throw in the lashes on my back, which were healing pretty darn fast but not enough