Fire snaked along Azrael’s body, destroying everything it touched, the smell of burning skin suffocating. A young girl’s screams echoed in the darkness and lifeless gray eyes stared at him accusingly. Laughter . . . maniacal laughter ripped through the shadows. Rivers of blood carved the desolate ground. A voice calling his name pulled him from a pit of death, and magic beckoned him like a beacon shining through the night—a safe haven, his salvation.
Azrael’s body rocked side to side with the steady rhythm of his horse, the movement accompanied by the gurgling of running water. He lifted his head, blinking against the bright sun, and tugged at the rough cords of ropes restraining his arms and hips. Silver cuffs gleamed on his blood-encrusted wrists.
The last thing he remembered was a silhouette surrounded by black fire, blood dripping from Kenz’s nose, her shield trapping him. He had used his magic and rage to break free of her shield, then the indigo light disappeared and was replaced with a blinding pain to the back of his skull.
Flynt. He ground his teeth. Drexus would be dead if it weren’t for him.
He turned his head and grimaced. His entire body ached and an emptiness he had never experienced threatened to overwhelm him. Kenz rode next to him, her brow furrowed and gauntlets glowing blue. She stiffened and turned to see him staring. Her eyes, smudged with shadows, scanned his face, and her mouth drew into a straight line.
He smelled the blood covering him. He must have looked like a monster.
Kenz faced forward. “I’ll remove the cuffs if you promise not to go back to the garrison or harm Flynt.”
He twisted in the saddle and bared his teeth. Flynt glared back, his coppery eyes hard, his body rigid.
“Why did you stop me?” Azrael asked, facing forward, his voice sounding like broken glass.
“Because you could’ve died and gotten Flynt and me killed in the process,” Kenz shot back.
“I have searched for that man for years, and you stole my revenge. If I had died, so be it, as long as I took him with me.”
“And what about Flynt and me? Would you sacrifice us for your vengeance?”
Azrael clenched his teeth and looked away. He’d been blinded by rage and hadn’t even thought of their safety. Disjointed thoughts and emotions ravaged his mind. He had relished the soldiers lying dead at his feet, the copper smell of blood overflowing his senses, the violence empowering him. But now, all he felt was broken. A chasm of defeat lay before him. He dropped his head and lost himself to the motion of the horse.
When they stopped by a stream, Kenz untied Azrael’s ropes while Flynt stood behind her, his sword drawn. Azrael was too tired to care; a part of him wanted Flynt to run him through just to end the nightmare. He slid off the horse and peered into Kenz’s eyes, which were brimming with wariness.
“Do I have your word?” she asked.
Azrael nodded. She held his gaze, then unlocked the cuffs. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as the hum of magic rushed through him. During the battle, his power had recoiled from the violence, draining with every vault, every slash of his sword. Now, it stormed through him and left him gasping for air. He rested his hands on his knees and drew in a long breath, his stomach convulsing at the smell and feel of dried blood.
“I have to get this off,” Azrael said, tugging at his armor covered in blood and gore. He stumbled into the river, the icy water rushing past his knees and sending a shiver up his spine. He swore, his hands shaking violently, unable to unclasp his chest plate.
“Let me help you,” Kenz said, stepping into the stream. He jerked his head to stare through a curtain of hair, frozen and helpless.
Her steady hands released each buckle. Azrael inhaled as the chest piece fell away. She continued removing each section of armor, rinsing them and placing them gently on the shore. Azrael counted the freckles across her nose, captivated by the pink in her cheeks. The panic subsided, replaced by desire. He wondered if she could hear his heart thumping, if she knew what she was doing to him. Her magic caressed his—a calming balm to his broken soul. She shivered slightly as she peeked up at him under her lashes.
“Do you have an extra one?” she asked, frowning at his filthy tunic. He nodded. Somewhere along the way, he had lost the ability to speak.
He sucked in a breath as she lifted the tunic over his head, her knuckles scraping his chest. Goosebumps flared across his body and heat exploded in his core. She rinsed the soiled shirt in the water and stood on her toes to wipe the blood off his face. He slowly lowered to his knees, sinking into the sandy riverbed as the cool water rushed over his waist. Azrael closed his eyes, leaning into the gentleness of her touch; the way her fingertips pushed back his hair, ran along his jaw, skimmed his lips. He grabbed Kenz’s arms, halting her torturous hands.
“Stop, please.” He kept his eyes closed, swallowing the yearning, wanting more yet fearing it. He slowly lifted his head and his breath hitched. Her irises darkened to a forest green color, and she bit her lip as she stared at his mouth. He imagined pulling her to him, crushing his mouth against hers, feeling every curve of her body. He wanted to run his tongue along her lip and drown in the taste of her.
Flynt cleared his throat, looking in the other direction. “We need to keep moving.”
Kenz’s face flushed as she seemed to remember they weren’t alone. Azrael had forgotten about Flynt too. He released her wrists and brushed a piece of escaped hair behind her ear, thankful for the frigid water extinguishing his need.
“Thank you.” He couldn’t hide the huskiness in his voice.
She nodded and took a shaky step toward the shore. He slowly followed, water dripping from his wet hair and down his naked chest. He gathered his clean armor and walked past Flynt, who grabbed his arm. Azrael glared at the hand and then met Flynt’s stare.
“I’m sorry,” he nodded to Azrael’s head. “But I had to. You understand that, right?”
Azrael looked back at the man’s hand and Flynt quickly let go. Azrael nodded and turned, stopping when he heard Flynt swear.
“Who did that to you?”
“The monster you kept me from killing,” Azrael said, striding toward his horse. He understood why Kenz and Flynt had interfered. If the situation were reversed, he would have done the same. But the justice he’d sought for so many years had slipped through his fingers, and that made him want to break his promise to Kenz and ride back to the Desert Garrison. His magic shuddered against the bloodlust bubbling to the surface. He relaxed his hands, concentrating on the ebb and flow of his power like gentle waves lapping the shore.
“We still have a day’s ride to meet up with the others,” Flynt said, climbing onto his horse. Azrael ran his fingers through his wet hair then swung himself into his saddle, Kenz following suit.
They arrived at the campsite as nighttime fell, and Azrael’s shoulders relaxed when he saw Kord, alive and unharmed. Kenz jumped off her horse and ran into her brother’s embrace as Azrael scanned the campsite. Delmira sat by the fire, her head in her hands.
“Where’s everyone else?” Azrael asked.
“We got separated.” Kord’s eyes darted to Flynt’s. “Slater didn’t make it. I’m sorry.” Flynt swore and pulled Delmira into his arms.
“And the prisoners?” Azrael asked.
“We rescued fifteen. Aura and Vale are leading them to Rochdale.”
“Only fifteen?” Even when the raids had slowed, Edgefield Prison held more prisoners than that. Azrael glanced at Kenz, who was leaning into her brother, his arm wrapped protectively around her. Flynt cradled Delmira, who cried quietly into his chest.
“What about the facility?” Kord asked.
“Destroyed,” Azrael said. “We retrieved a few samples of the serum, but Bronn had already undergone the transfusion.” He turned from Kord to stare at the fire. During their trek through the forest, Azrael had thought about the years he’d served Drexus. All that time, the man he had searched for had been within his reach. A nagging thought kept recurring, too, one he didn’t want to contemplate—had Amycus known Drexus was a Spectral? Azrael remembered Amycus’s expression when he first mentioned how his mother died.
And now another Hunter had the Amplifier magic, and despite the extra samples Kenz had retrieved, he knew Drexus would have more than one worksite. They couldn’t allow any more Hunters to receive the serum.
Kord rested his hand on Azrael’s arm. “We don’t need to dissect everything now.”
Azrael stepped out of his reach. “We need to keep moving. They can grieve later.”
“What happened?” Kord asked, looking from Azrael to his sister.
“The commander of the Watch Guard is a Spectral,” Kenz said.
“What? Drexus has magic?”
Kenz nodded. “And powerful. His fire protected him and the Hunter from Flynt’s bombs.”
Kord raised a brow, staring at Azrael. “What am I missing?”
Azrael lifted his chin. “He killed my mother and sister.” The words tasted like ash.
“Drexus is the one?” Kord’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry, Azrael.”
“Don’t call me that,” Azrael said through bared teeth. “He gave me that name.” He turned away from the pity on Kord’s face and trudged into the woods.
He meant it too. He would no longer go by Azrael, but his given name, the one his sister and mother had called him.
Jasce.
Amycus would be pleased. The thought made him bitter.
He stumbled, remembering how Drexus had encouraged him to search for the Fire Spectral, secretly mocking him.
He roared, punching a nearby tree with all his might, the split wood slicing through his knuckles. He hit the tree again, damaging his other hand. He wanted the pain, needed it. He may have excused Drexus for lying to him about the king or leaving him for dead because he understood the Hunters’ methods. Until last night, Jasce hadn’t even made up his mind about killing Drexus. But he would never forgive the man for murdering his family. The betrayal left him breathless. His only mission now was to destroy Drexus and take everything from him, as he had done to Jasce. And then he would make him beg for death.
A branch snapped. Jasce reached for his dagger, his fingers brushing the empty sheath. He closed his eyes and listened for movement. A bush rustled nearby.
“We need to work on your stealth,” Jasce said. Silence followed, then a loud sigh as Kord emerged from behind a tree and stood next to Jasce, both of them peering into the forest. An owl hooted in the distance, and the moon created twisted shadows among the tall trees. Jasce shoved his hands into his pockets, breathing in the fresh smell of pine with a hint of snow.
“What do you want?” he finally asked.
Kord remained still, an anchor of fortitude. “I’m here if you want to talk. Or not.”
Jasce didn’t talk about his problems or his feelings. It wasn’t how trained killers operated. The other Hunters couldn’t know what you cared about or one day they would use it against you, like the young Spectral girl in the village holding wildflowers or the recruit kneeling in the dirt, bleeding. The scars along his back proved that.
Jasce shivered, not wanting to discuss what happened outside the compound. He recalled the blood running down his face and tasting it as it dripped into his mouth, gore hanging from his sword, cries from wounded soldiers echoing through the clearing, his boots squishing into the blood-soaked ground.
Jasce’s stomach seized. He stumbled away from Kord and vomited, squeezing his eyes shut, purging his thoughts as he repeatedly retched until only dry heaves remained. All the while, Kord stayed vigilant by his side.
Finally, Jasce stood, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “So many,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I slaughtered all of them. Every soldier bore Drexus’s face. And I killed them all.” Jasce ran his hand down his face. He had killed before and often, but never had he felt so lost and out of control.
Jasce told Kord about how Drexus manipulated the fire, about when he’d seen its blackness slithering toward him. He recounted the day Drexus killed his mother, the same fire circling them as the knife slashed her throat; he had screamed while blood pooled around her, sightless eyes staring at him. He talked about the Spectral girl that reminded him of his sister, the decision to let her and her brother go. The whipping in the courtyard, taking the young recruit’s punishment. Jasce emptied himself and Kord remained a silent stronghold, never judging or recoiling at the horrors.
Jasce finally let out a sigh and looked up at the stars. The night seemed brighter, his shoulders less heavy.
“Thank you for telling me,” Kord said, laying his hand on Jasce’s shoulder. For the first time, Jasce didn’t flinch.
They returned to the campsite. Delmira and Flynt were asleep by the fire, and Kenz’s green eyes reflected the hypnotizing flames. Kord sat next to her and pulled her into a hug. Jasce didn’t move until she patted the ground and smiled. He had always wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of her smile. His magic quivered as he sat next to her and stretched out his legs. He leaned back on his hands to admire the stars.
Kenz reached out. “Hi, my name is Kenz Haring.”
The corner of Jasce’s lip hitched. He stared at her slender hand, remembering the way she’d touched him at the river. His hand engulfed hers and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Jasce Farone.”