Page 45

Amaia

N erves never suited anyone well. Yet here I was, surrounded by the people I trusted most, and I couldn’t stop pacing the length of the home we’d hunkered down in for the duration of simulations. Royal Oaks hummed with anticipation as battle prep loomed, but I only felt the pressure in my chest growing tighter.

A year. That’s all it had been since Jax died. A year of clawing my way forward, of fighting to keep the others from meeting the same fate. And now we were here, staring down another stretch of war games that weren’t just for show. We had three weeks to get our shit together—three weeks before Ronan could decide to march his ass back to Monterey. The Compound might hold him for a week at best before my units would have to return. And Riley, left to defend it again, wasn’t a thought that settled easy.

San Jose had been the first to arrive as a way to show their most sincere apologies for the chaos they’d caused. Others filtered in not too long after and now, most of the town was occupied or in the process of being prepared for what the next few weeks entailed.

“Fresno may take a moment to join us,” Hunter announced from his position in front of the window. The blinds snapped back closed as he turned around. “They’re, uh, workin’ through some things.”

“Well played,” I tipped my head toward him. He was proving himself useful in every way that he’d promised.

Unease settled over me once more. I needed some air. To move my muscles and feel anything other than the anxiety that was eating me alive. We had three weeks to get our shit together, and that was if Ronan didn’t march his ass back to Monterey. Monterey would be able to hold him for a week max before the rest of my units would have to return. Which served as a problem considering I needed them here to lead. Riley would send word if shit hit the fan but the idea of him being left there to defend once more did nothing to ease the tightening of my chest.

I crossed the room, stopping at the round kitchen table where Alexiares sat. He was forced into a travel sized game of mancala with Reina, who looked far too smug for someone losing.

Leaning down, I kissed the side of his head right above his temple. “Try not to find and kill Finley while I’m gone.”

“Gone?” He peered up at me, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m off for a run,” I said, grabbing my sneakers from beside the door.

He stood, his hand catching mine before I could escape. “Careful, Princess. A lot of wolves hiding among the sheep.”

I rolled my eyes, smirking. “Worry about yourself, Bloodhound . I can handle a little jog.”

His thumb brushed my knuckles, warm and grounding before he let go. “I’m not worried,” Alexiares said, opening the door and leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Try not to scare the locals while you’re at it.”

“Only if they deserve it,” I quipped, stepping into the cool night air.

The streets were lit with the fire magic of many, creating a dim glow on the cleared town of Royal Oaks. Cracked asphalt crisscrossed with stubborn weeds of the main roads—hard on the ankles but the sidewalks weren’t much better. At least the homes that remained standing were in relatively good condition.

It was weird, running through The Compound or down the coast was one thing, in the remnants of what was once a thriving suburban community was another. I couldn’t imagine myself here in The Before. We’d never lived in the suburbs per se, always on a base or an apartment complex not too far outside. Xavier and I had settled on being city-dwellers for life, kids or not.

Vegetation crept into the edges of everything—the skeletons of cars abandoned in driveways, the side of houses, up the posts of mailboxes stuffed with paper no one would ever come for. Shadows danced on the walls of soldiers posted outside bonfires in the back of their respective houses. Good . If I were lucky, they would wander, mingle a bit.

I picked up my pace as I neared the center of town. Housing became sparser, and thus, any hint of the vibrancy of human life disappeared. The quiet was peaceful … still—too still. My instinct prickled with unease, the hair on the back of my neck damn near giving me whiplash at the speed it raised. The aggressive thud of my heartbeat pounded in my ears and I rounded the corner in a full sprint. Whatever was triggering that tingle of fear, I had no interest in facing it.

A figure stepped out of the shadows the second I rounded the corner. There was no time to slow my steps as I ran into it, slamming against their dense body, knocking the air out of me and putting me on my ass. I rolled and sprang to my feet in a defensive position. There was no one else out here, just me and the general of Des Moines. And an ugly fucker he was.

“Out for a late-night jog, General?” He took a step toward me, hands in his pockets. I refused to cower. “Seems like a good time to discuss your games.”

It’d be a fool’s thought to underestimate what general disdain could do to someone who was otherwise rational in thinking. Anderson’s hatred for me went beyond the professional sense—it was personal. I could see it in the way his lip curled, the barely contained fury in his eyes. He had never believed I deserved my rank. Not when Matheson and Lane took me under their wing, not when I climbed the ladder faster than anyone had expected. To him, I was reckless, untested, and unworthy. And tonight, this wasn’t about the simulations. It was about proving me unfit to lead.

I tilted my head, sensing the threat he posed immediately. “Feeling a bit bold tonight, Anderson?”

Honestly, I welcomed the fight. It was about damn time. Putting him in his place would silence the others. He represented everything I was up against—doubt, condescension, and resistance from the older generation of leaders. Anderson was an even match, and I was thirsting for a fight.

“No more than the usual,” he said, a smirk tugging on his lips. “Only aim to show everyone you’re nothing but a liability.”

There it was—his barely concealed obsession with knocking me off my pedestal. “Funny,” I said coolly. “You’ve been trying to prove that for years. How’s that working out for you?”

The flick of his wrist was the only warning I got. A jagged rock flew toward my face. It grazed my cheekbone with a sharp sting as I reached for my blade. Anderson was fast. His fire magic crackled in his palms as he closed the distance.

Flames licked at my skin and I countered with a blast of air magic. It sent him back with a skid, granting me one sweet moment to regroup—but not long enough. He lunged again, this time the fire swirling in his fists threatened me with a burning kiss.

I slashed at him with my knife, feigning right before I drove my knee toward his stomach. He swatted me off, the brutal efficiency of his movements catching me by the wrist until my blade fell to the ground. I let out a cry of agony under the pressure of his brute strength. The smirk on his face deepened as flames sparked back to life in his free hand, the only protection I had at the moment were my own, battling to cover me in the safety of its warmth.

“You’ll need more than that, General.” He sneered, tightening his grip and dragging me around like a rag doll.

I kicked out, desperate to find some hold on the ground or an ounce of momentum. With more effort than I cared to admit, I wrenched my arm free, throwing another burst of wind his way. It sent him stumbling. He recovered quick, hurling a piece of debris at me—a fucking door hinge of all things.

The fight spilled onto the wrap-around front porch of a house. The spot where he’d begun his attack feet away thanks to the precious moments he’d stolen moving me where he pleased. I backed into the door, ducking as his foot slammed into it and falling to the ground. Anderson reached down, dragging me by my feet, attempting to pull me deeper into the house. No witnesses, were the only words echoing around my mind.

Like fucking hell .

I latched onto the door frame, teeth gritting as I took in the house, desperate to find anything to work in my advantage. I was panicking. Caught off guard. What had I told my soldiers? The second you panic in a life or death situation, you’re fucking dead.

The walls were crumbled around us and furniture scattered. We got the same idea at the same time, both scrambling toward whatever we could use and letting the magic of being an Umbra Mortis guide us. With the newly acquired gift of air magic, I had a momentary advantage. Shards of glass flew through the air and I worked to throw them with deadly precision. He hissed, cupping his stomach, but my victory was short-lived. I glanced down, one had clipped my thigh, slicing deep.

There was no time to focus on the blood seeping into my pants and dripping down my leg. Anderson didn’t let up. He refused to. Large hands gripped my shoulders and sent me careening into the wall with immense force. My head slammed hard enough into the exposed brick to blur my vision. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head to the side. I heard a crack before I felt the cold whisper down my spine.

No. No. You have to see them again.

Panic distracted me. I couldn’t let my family find me this way. What Anderson would do to me. If I died right here, right now, that was it for every territory and settlement. They would turn on each other and Covert would win. My family would never get to live a life of peace.

I wiggled my fingers. It was just the crack, the bursting of gas bubbles within my body, nothing was broken—and I wasn’t done fighting. He pulled me further back, arching me at an unnatural angle but enough to grab the knife strapped to my ankle. With a surge of adrenaline, I drove the blade into his side. Quick and vicious, I stabbed him again and again. And again.

Anderson snarled. Pure adrenaline kept him going, his fury controlled but lethal. He disarmed me with terrifying ease and sent the last knife I had clattering to the floor as he pinned me against the wall.

“Is that all you got, girl ?” he growled, eyes alight with fury.

I ignited, flames erupting across my body. The sudden heat and lack of his own protective layer of flames forced him back, granting me a moment to gasp for air. Like the trained veteran he was, he quickly matched me, his own fire roaring to life and neutralizing my advantage.

He was relentless. Anderson grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall once more. His grip tightened, and I struggled against him, clawing and kicking, but he only clenched harder, cutting off my air. Desperate, I remembered to draw on my air magic, siphoning the breath from his lungs. His grip faltered. We locked in a stalemate, both gasping for air.

You stupid bitch, you really should have tried to master the whole air magic thing . I closed my eyes, digging deep, sifting through my power and searching for the well that fed my air. Anderson stumbled back, coughing and disoriented. I dropped to my knees, vision swimming as I fought against the black tunneling in, struggling to stay conscious.

The motherfucker refused to fall. He surged one final time, hurling debris and shards of glass with ruthless precision. Something caught in my already leaking wound, slashing deeper and nicking an artery. Pain exploded through me as warmth soaked my leg. I staggered, gasping, the coppery tang of blood thick in the air.

He smirked, triumphant. “Still think you belong on top, General?”

Anderson advanced, slower now but no less calculated, still lethal. I met him halfway, drawing on every ounce of strength I had left.

The room blurred into motion as we collided, a flurry of strikes and counters. His fist connected with my ribs, sending a sickening crack through my chest. I barely held back a scream, instead grabbing the nearest weapon—a splintered chair leg. I swung low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard. Dropping onto his chest, I pinned him with every ounce of weight I had left. My knife was gone, but my hands found his throat, squeezing the life from him, letting my magic take every ounce of air from his body.

“Bleed for me,” I hissed through gritted teeth. My vision was red with fury.

His hands clawed at mine, but I squeezed tighter, his struggle weakening. With a savage cry, I slammed his head against the floorboards until blood poured from his scalp.

Anderson thrashed with a burst of defiance. I caught his wrist, twisting, finding sick joy in the snap of bone that echoed, followed by his howl of pain.

Using his own momentum against him, I drove his body into the jagged glass scattered across the floor. Blood spattered. It was warm. Thick. An oddly comforting coating of my hands as he gurgled, his strength ebbing.

His blood stained my lips as I whispered into his ear, “You were never strong enough to stop me. None of you pathetic little boys are.” I twisted his head sharply, ending it. Anderson crumpled beneath me, lifeless, a puddle of crimson spreading around in a dark halo.

I stumbled back, drenched in his blood, a sick satisfaction settling in my chest. My legs gave out, and I sprawled out next to his corpse. Time passed as I searched for the strength to get up. What seemed like hours later, I forced myself upright, the world spinning around me—blurred by the pounding in my skull and the searing pain in my thigh.

The streets of Royal Oaks blurred around me, dim firelight casting eerie shadows on the ruins. I leaned against a half-collapsed wall, gasping for air, before pushing off and forcing myself forward.

Home wasn’t far. One more turn. Or maybe two. My mind fogged over, and for a second, I wasn’t sure if I was heading in the right direction. But then I saw it—the old house where we were hunkered down in for the simulations.

Good. You made it.

I crumpled on the front porch with a dramatic thud. The door slammed open and Alexiares was there. He swooped me into his arms, cradling me as we passed under the threshold of the home and I made an ill-timed joke. He swelled, his expression shifting from alarm to fury as he took me in under the light of the living room.

“Amaia.” His voice was sharp, snapping me to attention and focusing on his beautifully pissed face. “What the hell happened?”

“Ran into a problem,” I managed, resting my head against his chest.

“A problem? Looks like a massacre,” I heard Tomoe closing in as Alexiares set me onto the couch.

I made an attempt at a sigh. “He was a gusher.”

Reina appeared behind him, her gaze darting from my face to the blood covering me. “Move,” she ordered, brushing Alexiares aside as she crouched in front of me. Her magic prickled against my skin faintly as her hands hovered over my thigh.

“Bossy,” I muttered, collapsing onto the couch with a heavy groan.

Alexiares crouched beside me, his expression sharp with worry. “You were attacked?”

“Anderson,” I nodded. “And that’s one way to put it.”

“Tell me you got him back.” His sharp jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

I huffed a tired laugh, gesturing vaguely at the blood staining my clothes. “Oh, I got him. He’s not coming after anyone again.”

His gaze dropped to my leg, where Reina hadn’t gotten to it yet. “You’re lucky you made it here.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, the corners of my lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “turns out I’m not easy to kill.”

Reina’s hands pressed against my thigh, warmth radiating as her magic worked its way through the torn muscle. “Hold still,” she muttered, her tone clipped. “You’ve already lost enough blood.”

“Feels like it,” I murmured, my head tipping back against the couch. My vision swam, exhaustion pulling at me, but not before I caught Alexiares resident glare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I mumbled. “If you’ve got a lecture, save it. I’m not up for it.”

“Good,” he snapped. “Because you wouldn’t listen, anyway.”

Reina shot him a glare without glancing up from my leg. “Enough yapping, dog. You’re not helping.”

I let their voices blur together. Their argument faded into the background as my body sagged further into the couch—the future that once seemed clear twisted into something darker, my dreams becoming a nightmare of what was to come.