Blood Moons
hungry and she was exhausted, and she wanted to just shut him out and sleep.
    He didn't care one bit.
    Tristan stopped playing with a balled-up piece of paper and lowered his knee to stretch both his legs out in front of him on the floor. His back was to the wall and his legs were so long that his feet hid under her bunk. He raised his head to look her in the eye.
    It infuriated him that she kept resisting his teaching methods. The woman had so much potential and refused to utilize it. With any other skill, Tristan wouldn't have given a 76

    Blood Moons
    by Alianne Donnelly
    shit. But this wasn't something she could afford to neglect.
    She was putting both of them at risk by leaving herself vulnerable.
    She continued to piss him off, not because she was incapable—the woman might actually be a stronger telepath than Tristan—but because she was in denial, deliberately making an idiot of herself, hoping it would all go away on its own.
    Tristan didn't suffer fools very well.
    He let himself into her mind to drive his point home.
    Dara tried to stop him, but her shields weren't strong enough to even slow him down and trying to do so only gave her a real headache. He did it on purpose, crawling around in her mind like a snake, coiling and shifting, making her feel as if he were rearranging her brain.
    Finally she stopped her feeble attempts to get him out and let him do as he pleased. He made sure it hurt. Tristan did not have to be felt at all if he didn't want to be. He could hide in someone's mind, crouched in a dark corner where the person didn't feel anything more than maybe a niggling memory of something he couldn't quite recall. It was a potent power to wield and he was trying to teach Dara how to develop her own skill to his level.
    Tristan tortured her a little longer before he withdrew, allowing her to take a breath. "I wasn't even half trying," he told her quietly. She had no idea how important it was for her to harness the power of her mind. Tristan knew better than most what a toll it took to be a telepath and not be able to control the things his mind did. Dara was going through the 77

    Blood Moons
    by Alianne Donnelly
    same thing and still she refused to try using that gift to her advantage. Her resistance was hurting her even more, and pissing him off in the process. He released a tense breath. "I'll say this again. Try to hear it this time. You need to strengthen your defenses."
    "I've been doing perfectly fine with the ones I have so far,"
    she snapped, massaging her temples. Her hair fell forward, hiding her face. It was like a glossy lure to wrap his hand in, tilt her head back, and kiss the resistance out of her. Tristan banished that thought instantly.
    "And why do you think that is?" he asked through clenched teeth. "Look around you, woman. Rapists. Killers.
    Psychopaths. One sick mind next to another in this place, crammed together like sardines. Have you heard a single sick thought since you got here?" He spoke in her mind, knowing full well the guards had plenty of eavesdropping devices in the cells. There were video and audio feeds—not a moment in this prison went by unobserved.
    Until now, their conversation might have seemed strange and random to the eavesdroppers, but they would find some way to rationalize it. It wasn't like the prison was filled with titillating discussions of classical literary works. Some craziness was expected. But if one word about telepathy escaped either him or Dara, it would all be over. They'd either spend the rest of their days as lab rats or sedated out of their heads until some judge somewhere decided to grant them a death sentence.
    78

    Blood Moons
    by Alianne Donnelly
    The first option was a lot more likely. So Tristan carefully selected his words before he spoke, because both of their brains would get fried if he didn't.
    Dara wouldn't look at him. He knew she hadn't even thought about it before; that she had simply assumed the thoughts she was hearing and

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