Rokath’s father stepped forward and shoved his son’s head back. “How could you be so foolish? I taught you better than that.”

Hate burned in his son’s burgundy eyes. “I was careless in my duty.”

“That’s right, you were. And now you’ve embarrassed the entire Vrak line,” his father hissed. He stomped away and rejoined his brother, the Kral. “The question is, how to punish you.”

Rokath clenched his teeth, nails biting into his palms as he tried to rein himself in. It had been years since his father dared to lay a hand on him, and he wouldn’t let him attempt to do it again.

“It was my fault,” the future Kral began, but Rokath elbowed him sharply. Rokath had been the Vezető in charge, and he wouldn’t let Xannirin suffer the wrath of their fathers. Rokath had always borne the brunt of their abuse for them all, and he wasn’t about to let that change.

The two’s heavy regard settled over them, until the Kral’s brother stalked to the soldier beside his son. “Lift your head,” he ordered.

Slowly, the male slid his attention to the imposing figure, revealing his bright cherry eyes. The Kral’s brother repeated it with the remaining two, revealing other lesser-powered eye colors. A wicked grin split his face as he returned to his son.

“You will kill one with your bare hands, then use his body to kill the others,” he growled, and Rokath nearly leaped to his feet and choked his own father for suggesting he kill his friends.

“You cannot force me to do that,” he replied instead, the muscles in his tattooed neck bulging from the strength of his self-restraint.

“If you do not, I will, and the Kral and I will choose which three we think deserve to die the most. And they will suffer for hours while you and the other three are tied and your eyes forced open to bear witness.” He paused, waiting for the weight of his threat to sink into his son. “Or, you can choose three to die, and you can give them a quick send off to the Reaper.”

Rokath’s chest tightened. What his father was asking him to do made his vow for vengeance twist into an ugly beast. The blood he thirsted for would not be spilled that day, but that day would arrive sooner rather than later.

“Sacrifice me,” Xannirin whispered to him.

The Kral clicked his tongue. “Xannirin is not an option. Neither are you, Rokath. In fact, we wouldn’t want to waste any of the burgundy-eyed powers here.”

Rokath squeezed his eyes shut. At least the Kral had taken the responsibility of choosing away from him, he thought. He didn’t see an alternative, not when they had an audience and shadows leaked from his father’s palms. His power was a cruel one, similar to that of a Demon who could create nightmares, but instead, his father forced you to feel like you were dying. Rokath had suffered the torture too many times to count.

He shoved to his feet, separating his emotions from himself as he braced for what he was about to do. Two of the lesser Demons scrambled away from him, but the cherry-eyed one beside him did not move. Thast jutted his chin and squared his shoulders. Flashes of their first meeting swept through Rokath’s mind before he sequestered the memories so far away that he’d never have to suffer through them again.

Rokath drew his dagger, and the male continued to kneel at his feet. “It’s okay, Rokath,” he murmured, tears filling his eyes. Rokath remained expressionless. “I don’t blame you for this at all. I’ll have a great time in my next life.”

A tremble shook Rokath’s hand as he raised the knife.

And then, he sliced.

Blood sprayed from the wound at Thast’s neck, coating Rokath’s skin and the leather armor that had previously been oiled to perfection. Yet Rokath did not care. Without waiting, he smashed his fist into the ground and forced his friend’s still-warm body to rise and race after the fleeing two.

Ice caged his heart as Thast shredded both of them to ribbons. The moment they were both dead, Rokath released his magic and faced his father and the Kral.

He hoped that the hate and the rage burning in his burgundy eyes would frighten them. He pinned them with that fiery glare as he stalked from the training arena and returned to his room, one single bed never to be warmed again.

Sinking onto it, he buried his face in his bloody hands.

And then, he wept for the last time.

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50

As dusk fell, Rokath and Rapp led me through the maze of tents and into a small clearing that hugged the rugged valley walls. Grem and Zeec trotted alongside me, only peeling off when they spotted a trickle of water splashing off the rough face.

“This should be private enough for a lesson,” Rapp stated, giving me a wink before settling on a boulder.

“Aye,” Rokath grumbled, glancing behind me at the males readying themselves for the evening’s rest. Spices and the scent of roasting meat drifted on a light breeze, making my stomach grumble. After nearly puking my dinner up the previous evening from how hard Rokath had pushed me, we’d opted to delay our meal.

The Halálhívó’s intense regard settled over me. Those thick brows dipped ever so slightly over his deep burgundy eyes, and his jaw was set in a hard line. I squared my shoulders and raised my fists. “I’m ready,” I said, determination threading through me.

He made a noise deep in his throat and then circled me, shadows swirling around his muscled arms. Dragging in a breath, I let my own expand out of me with my exhale.

Then, he lunged. I barely managed to slip beneath his strike and move out of the way before he pressed forward again, sending me dancing backward.

“Use your magic!” Rapp called out, and Grem released a sharp bark of encouragement.

With Rokath’s next punch, I used the shadows to knock his hand to the side and then followed up with a kick to his thigh. “Good,” Rokath praised, his gravelly voice rolling over the word. “Don’t hold back, Assyria. You will not be able to hurt me.”

As he circled out, I aimed a swift kick to his calf. “You sure about that?” I teased, offering him a saccharine smile.

His face remained impassive despite my own stinging shin from the harsh contact. “That smart mouth of yours will only land you in trouble,” he growled. My core clenched from a heady mix of the heat in his eyes and the undercurrent of threat in his tone.

“Or on your dick,” I muttered under my breath.

I’d spent far too much time among the males of this army; my mouth was running as crudely as theirs these days.

Rokath raised a brow. “Would you like that, little imposter?”

I swallowed and pointedly ignored his question. Channeling my energy elsewhere, I feinted movement to my left, just like he’d taught me the previous evening, only to deliver another kick to his thick thigh. He caught my foot and yanked me forward, hiking me higher on his hip. “This is where you need to place a kick like that,” he reminded me, pressing my shin into the soft spot below his ribcage.

Exertion and our close proximity sent my heart thudding in my chest. The bond too made its pleasure known, humming contentedly. We lingered there far longer than we should have before Rokath released his grip. Stepping away was harder than I anticipated.

Tension hung like a heavy fog around us, and I almost forgot Rapp and the hounds were with us until Rapp blew away the cloud with a joke. “Keep that up and I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” he chuckled.

Heat crept into my cheeks as Rokath pierced him with a lethal glare. “Again,” he grumbled to me.

I pulled on the strings of my memory and attempted one move after another, both from what I’d learned while pretending to be Vagach and what Rokath had demonstrated the previous evening. He had been displeased with my sloppy form and had groused endlessly about how his Vezető needed to be more mindful of how and what they taught the new recruits.