Daphne smiled diabolically as she caught sight of the brief look of fear on Alistair's face. To see him be afraid of little old her, his once-useless little sister, gave her a heady rush of adrenaline and power.
At that very moment, she felt like she could do anything. The world was hers. Atticus had lopped off his hand, and Daphne knew that she could do one better― she would take an arm, or perhaps a leg. It was not enough to kill him but she wanted to maim Alistair to ensure that he would live the rest of his life in disgrace, paying for his crimes.
She sent another wave of water in his direction, causing him to splutter. Unfortunately, the water only had the effect of stunning him, battering him with force. She wasn't drawing enough blood for her taste.
And Alistair, for all his fear, was refusing to give up. His pride wouldn't let him beg for mercy, and there was still a part of him that believed he could outlast Daphne.
