“You aren’t hurting me.” She batted him away from her forehead. “Hey, don’t do that. I’m not a child.” Drawing her hand from his, she pushed herself upright and folded her legs tailor-fashion. “He wasn’t entirely … wrong,” she said quietly. “I can do what he said.”
Isaac flinched at the reprimand and scooted backwards, pulling his hands away to curl up on his lap, eyeing her warily. “You mean what he said about you making me want you and everything? I don’t believe that.”
“Which bit?” she inquired. “The part where I’m capable of it, or the part where I do, have done it? I’m capable of it. It’s part of what being an empath is, and I’m pretty powerful. I can completely control someone’s emotions.” She sighed, and looked down at her hands. “I don’t. I only ever — in self-defense.”