Her eyes narrowed further. “Maradorthian did not get all of your thoughts.”
“No, and that’s fine with me.”
She—Zola, I decided to call her—strode toward me, lifting her hand toward my face. Damas growled and stepped between us. She flicked her fingers, and a burst of power hurled him across the roof.
Snarling, I dropped into a fighting stance and whipped Nightshade up, but my hand froze before I got the blade fully pointed at her. Though I gritted my teeth and tried to use my weak half-elven power to break the hold, nothing happened. My entire body froze. I couldn’t even move my eyes.
“I will take your thoughts.” She lifted her hand, and this time, her slender fingers, cold and damp from the rain, reached my temple.
I seethed inside, tired of dragons doing this to me, but a part of me
