Libera Me by Christine Fonseca Page A

attack continues. Her attack. There is no way to stop her, no way to end this.
    Except to fight.
    My markings sizzle, urging me to end the struggle. Stop Nessa. But I won’t. Can’t. I refuse to give into that urge, no matter how strong.
    Refuse to be anything like the UnHoly. The Beast.
    “Nessa! It’s me, Aydan. Stop.”
    She grunts as she throws another punch. I catch her hand this time, turn it on itself. She spins out of my grasp, growling at me. Wiping the sweat from her brow she paces, sizing me up like I’m nothing more than her prey. I stand, frozen, refusing to engage.
    “Well?” She snarls.
    I say nothing as I stare into her eyes, trying to lose myself in them. But there is no recognition now. She is lost in some distant place, some distant memory. She launches into me again. My footing gives way as she sweeps her leg under me and sends me crashing to the mat. I land with a loud thud. She is on me in moments, unleashing hell. Blow after blow, she continues the attack. I react on autopilot, blocking as many as I can. I feel the fatigue in her strikes. A few more minutes and I should be able to regain control.  
    More blows, more anguish—all directed toward me.
    Her arms tremble as the onslaught continues. Her breath comes in heavy pants. My moment is almost here. She slows her attack and I take advantage, catching her arms and spinning her onto her back. I straddle her body, pinning her. She squirms underneath me, her eyes still wild with a mixture of fear and anger.
    “Nessa, it’s me. You’re safe.”
    She writhes against my hold.
    “It’s me, Aydan,” I say again. “You’re safe, baby. Stop. You’re safe.”
    She slows her movements, her eyes clearing. Recognition replaces the hatred as she stops moving. Tears burst from her eyes.
    “Wh...wh...what happened? Why was I fighting you like that? H...how?”
    “I don’t know. But I don’t think we need to worry about your ability to fight anymore.” I release her arms, moving off of her. She sits up, her body trembling.
    I pull her to me as she begins to sob.
    “I’m so sorry,” she says between sobs. “I don't know—”
    “Shh. It’s okay. Shh.”
    She pours her sorrow into my chest. I want to hold her forever, make her feel safe. An impossible task, I fear. There is something so broken now, something I don’t fully understand and can’t reach.
    Something that will never allow her to feel safe again.
    She pulls away after a moment, wiping her tears along the back of her hand.
    “Can you tell me what happened?” I ask, trying to hold a smile in my voice. “What was in your mind while you were attacking me?”
    Fear clouds her features again. “Nothing, really. It was more like instinct. One minute I felt you behind me and the next all I could think about was hurting you. It scared me.” Nessa pulls her knees to her chest, looking more like a little girl than someone who just beat me up. “I don’t remember ever feeling like that before. It was as though someone else directed my movements. Made me hurt you. I kept hearing you ask me to stop, and I couldn’t.” She closes her eyes. “I sound crazy,” she whispers.
    “Not crazy. Just confused. Your memories are starting to come back.”
    She stiffens, inhaling a deep sob. “I refuse to believe that. I’m not a killer. These can’t be my thoughts.  They can’t be.” The tears come faster. “This isn’t me,” she says through strangled sobs.
    How do I tell her she is a trained assassin for Celestium, a Sentinal whose job it is to kill? How do I help her see that her memories are real?
     “It’s okay,” I say, wrapping her into another embrace. “You’re not a killer. You wouldn’t have killed me; I know you wouldn’t.”
    “So you say. But what if you’re wrong?”
    I rock with her, trying to soothe her fears. She trembles as the sobs begin to wrack her body.
    “I should go,” she finally says as she inhales her fears and stows her emotions behind a familiar