Page 64 of Flameborne: Fury (Emberquell Academy #2)

“Start talking,” he muttered a moment later, ignoring the looks cutting between the men around us who’d heard the entire exchange.

“Certainly. What would you like me to talk about? The way the light scatters off the hair on your ass while you’re pumping? Or—”

“Enough, Fetch!” he bellowed so harshly, spit flicked to my face and I blinked.

He leaned back down, leveling a finger at my nose.

“One more barb at me and I will drop you where you stand, then desecrate your body until you are nothing but a bloody pulp. You do not open that mouth in my presence unless it is to inform me about my enemies, or receive my blessing. Do you understand?”

“Sire, she knows many things, but the Fetch have no scruples. I should have killed her the moment I saw her. Forgive me. Let me do so now, and—”

The King shot Melek a quelling look and that handsome jaw closed so quickly his teeth clicked.

“She is a tool, a gift provided by God to bless me as His son. She will remain until I choose to snap her neck. And since you were the one who caught her, you will be responsible for her. If she gets loose with the things she knows, I will hold you responsible, Melek. You understand?”

Every man in the room witnessing that cocksure threat went utterly still.

Melek was frozen. “But… Sire, she’s a Fetch—”

“Do not toy with me. Our progress has been slowed for weeks. These… creatures are holding us at bay. Do not think I haven’t noticed.”

I gaped at the King.

The legendary fighter and now General in Command for the Fallen King, Melek had single-handedly led the Nephilim’s troops from the eastern ranges of the Raven Peaks behind which the Nephilim had always hidden their society, sweeping unexpectedly across the continent, conquering every tribe and people in their path.

Months earlier, they had suddenly taken Meyrath—the human nation in which I gathered most of their female slaves were born—and were already crossing into Kyrion Vale and taking down the Centaurs before the rest of the world even knew they’d left their own lands.

The carnage was swift, and undeniable. And led by the male now bowing before the King.

And Melek truly led. Unlike his King, who we now knew remained hidden in his tents many miles from the front, the General didn’t shield his own life behind the bodies of his troops.

No, the man roared onto the battlefield, steering his brothers to victory.

And so far, they’d responded with fervor.

But now, three of their enemies had allied and joined forces and were holding the line together.

Yet, still, Melek and his troops didn’t lose ground.

Any other King would have been ecstatic to make it this far unhindered. But this man blamed his General for holding fast in a battle against five times his numbers?

If only I was free to speak telepathically to Melek. I would have told him to kill this man and take his throne. That the ranks knowingly—and willingly—followed their General, Melek, not this fool.

I could tell him that without lying. And as a fighter myself, I understood why.

Strength followed strength.

Intelligence followed cunning.

And character followed honor.

Melek possessed all three. This pissant King possessed none.

But I couldn’t tell either of them that. Not yet.

I would be honest with this stupid King about his enemies—in fact, I would help Melek defeat those assholes. Far better for the Nephilim to eradicate them for us, than having to fight them ourselves.

But I would not do it for the honor of this cunt. No. I would help Melek because it would give me the chance to sow the seed of dissent among our foes.

There was a reason my people were rumored to hold supernatural gifts that could control the minds of those around us. Because we were manipulative fuckers who understood something the Nephilim never could: Human nature.

The soulless would never understand the vulnerabilities—or strengths—of those with an immortal, impressionable soul.

But I did.

And it was the most valuable weapon in my armory.

These men had no clue what they were dealing with.

Which was exactly why I would win.

3. F*cking Fetch

~ MELEK ~

Gault, the King, was being foolish again. I ground my teeth as he reclined on his furs and instructed the Fetch to begin talking and not to stop until he told her to.

As she gathered herself and eyed him darkly, I knew she would comply.

But the truth you heard from a Fetch was rarely the truth you thought you heard.

I had fought alongside ancients that claimed to have entered the Fetch city, though I was never certain whether they could be trusted either.

They said these creatures were wisps on the wind.

They danced the shadows and killed like breathing.

If it was true she’d been watching Gault for three days already, then perhaps the ancients hadn’t been exaggerating.

I couldn’t know. I hadn’t been in camp. But we’d seen evidence of the Fetch near the battlefield, so I had come to request the hounds knowing Gault wouldn’t release them to anyone else—only to find that the signs were here, too.

And now… here we were.

She licked her lips, never taking her eyes off the King, though her expression was empty—no hint of what she felt or thought. And when she spoke, her voice was quiet, submissive.

“I will share what I know with the King, of course,” she said quietly.

“But much of what I know is… sensitive, even here. Your enemies learn of you, you understand? You may not wish me to speak these things with an audience?” She eyed the guards and servants on either side of her, and around the King, then waited.

Cunning bitch.

Gault opened his mouth, his expression dark and suspicious, but his eyes darting side to side, probably because she’d revealed that she already knew his secrets. I couldn’t let her manipulate him so that she escaped. I cleared my throat.

“It is worth remembering, Sire, that the Fetch are deceivers and thieves. Slippery with both words and body. Do not trust her.”

“I don’t,” Gault said bluntly. “But the point is valid. I also don’t trust the dull minds of those who do not carry the blood of the Light Bearer. Clear the tent—you stay, Melek. But everyone else, out.”

I gritted my teeth as everyone—including the guards—immediately turned for the door.

“Remain outside and form a perimeter around the entire tent,” I said quietly, catching the elbow of the Lieutenant as they all hurried for the door. “And send for the tentmaker—she’s cut the side in the corner over there. Get someone to repair it today.”

The man ducked his head once, then marched for the door, urging the others to hurry. None of them wishing to incite Gault’s ire.

I turned back to the Fetch, to find her and Gault staring at each other like two strange cats.

“Sire—”

“You’re here, Melek. If you have caution, use it.

But I would hear her speak.” Then he eyed her again.

“Do not tell yourself my threats are empty. The moment I discover you have deceived me, I will open your belly with my teeth and drag you through the tent-city by your intestines—and when you die, I will fuck your remains.” Then he smiled and licked his lips, leaning in close to her.

“Be careful what comes out of that mouth, you cunning little thing, or I will fill it with my truth. And if I must do it to your dead carcass, well… a wet hole is a wet hole.”

Despite my disgust, I was impressed that she didn’t even blink.

“What do you wish to know first?” she asked as if they were having casual conversation.

Gault smiled and sat back on his lounge, spreading his legs to display the threat of his bulge to her as he reclined.

“Tell me… why we have been sitting here for over a week already?” he said with a flap of his hand to indicate the war camp.

“What weapons have my enemies developed? What has arrested our progress?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly before she answered.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” she said quietly.

Gault grunted and waited for her to continue.

She sighed. “News of your advance reached my people months ago—which means that those pinned between your people and mine heard you were coming weeks before you arrived. They have wisely determined that banding together to defeat you is better than falling alone.”

It was exactly what I’d told him a week earlier, the first time we were turned back. We’d seen banners for both the Tuskarrians and the Zaryndar among the fighters. Had he not believed me? Or was he only checking her for honesty?

“Even banded together, they should not hold us so easily,” Gault growled with a dark look at me. “How do they manage it.”

She raised one brow. “You truly do not know?”

Gault’s expression didn’t change, but the air suddenly went thin with his disapproval.

She licked her lips and glanced at me before she spoke.

“The terrain at the western end of the continent does not give you the freedom to simply overwhelm them. Even you cannot just sweep through a battle waged among trees, swamps, and ravines. You must be much more strategic in your approach. Add to that… they have Aethereans among them. At least four, that we are aware of.”

I cursed. The Aethereans were wraithlike creatures with the ability to soul-bond—create links between themselves and others that would feed strength, energy, and power between parties and enhance any abilities that already existed. Some could communicate telepathically and even heal.

But a bonded Aetherean also took on some of whatever was within those they bonded.

Which was why they avoided the Nephilim as if we were poison.

Because to them, we were. After all, it was impossible to soulbond to something that lacked a soul.

An Aetherean attempting to bond a Nephilim was suicide.