Page 22 of Wings of Darkness (Daughter of the Seven Circles #2)

I gave Oliver a small smile. “The king’s hallucinations were…” I swallowed. “They were difficult to experience.”

I continued to hold his hand, unwilling to let go, needing to feel the warmth of his skin and steady rhythm of his pulse.

The gentle pressure calmed my racing thoughts, grounding me back to reality.

I glanced back at my mattress, noticing the wrinkled bedding and faint impressions where Rune and Oliver had slept.

The reminders that they’d only been hallucinations eased some of my trembling.

“If you say so.”

I was grateful he didn’t press further.

“Where’s Rune?”

“The king kicked us out of the room. Told me I could stay in the sitting area but sent Rune back to the general.”

“Interesting,” I muttered. The king didn’t exactly seem to like Rune, but maybe it wasn’t Rune herself. Perhaps it was the fact that the general could snoop through his Soulhound.

The trumpet blared again. I didn’t want to leave yet, but I knew we needed to.

“We’d better get going, Oli. We’re already on everyone’s shit list as it is. ”

He groaned and stood, releasing my hand. I refrained from snatching it back.

“Fine. See you in five.”

After changing and taking a few more deep breaths, Oliver and I met up with Alexei outside my door, then headed to the training arena.

“Welcome back, recruits,” the general called out over the whispering sea of bodies below the dais.

Alexei and a red-haired female stood on either side of him, both wearing flat expressions and Hell Squadron uniforms with fewer accents of red.

Behind them, three more males stood at attention, their faces and uniforms matching—his Dreads.

“Most of you made it to your second day of the Infernal Sixty.”

Most?

That sobered everyone up, quieting the whispers coming from the non-uniformed recruits. Some even looked a little pale.

General Ronen lifted a brow, scanning the faces of his military.

“Did you think I was kidding yesterday? Half of you are here for penance. It’s demanded that you go through suffering.

You make it or recycle. The other half of you are here because of the deals you’ve made.

You make it or die.” He paused, letting his words sink in.

Nervous shifting and tapping feet filled the heavy silence.

“That being said, we still want you to succeed. We need more hardened warriors in our military, so I have an incentive for you.”

He stepped aside for Alexei, who pushed his shoulders back and shot out his hand.

The hairs along my arms rose in the thick atmosphere, and in the next second, a flash of silver cracked through the air, striking something over our heads.

We all jolted at the resounding crash and stumbled back when something fell—only to realize it was a large, rolled poster.

It unspooled to reveal the title of each squadron and four blank spaces beneath each. The two at the top were highlighted in red.

“Over the next two months, General Ronen, I, and a few other Dreads”—Alexei gestured to the four behind him—“will be watching you.”

I didn’t know if it was from his lightning trick or his playful personality, but I could almost hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

“As we watch you train and pass drills and challenges, we’ll rank you.

But there are only four slots per squad, and ranks will change.

If you manage to hold a spot before the last week of the sixty days, you’ll earn a favor regarding challenge week—within reason.

If you happen to place in the top two red slots, you gain our respect and a gift. ”

“Not sure I’d want a gift from Hell’s military,” Oliver muttered.

“Souls—if you’re placed at the top, you can mend your wounds for free, and you’ll gain favor from the king when it comes time for your next judgment.

Blood-banded, the king will expunge the foolish deal you made with him, allowing you to cut your time with our military in half and, when you’re able, leave Hell.

And if that doesn’t pique your interest, General Ronen will grant you a favor—again, within reason. ”

The energy inside me, already buzzing with the need to be stronger, surged. Oliver and I didn’t have a real deal to expunge or soul wounds to heal, but we needed the general’s respect and favor .

And so far, we hadn’t made any progress in that area. But if ranking could earn us the help we needed to save Aspen and Oliver’s sister, then we needed to rank.

I panned around the room, taking in the leather uniforms hugging the seasoned military members, then glanced down at Oliver and me, clad in layers and thick clothing for our inevitable run.

We were bulky while they were sleek and pristine.

We were staring around like the rest of the clueless recruits in the Bowels Squadron, while others stood with chins raised and confident gleams in their eyes.

They were honed warriors, ready to do whatever it took to gain the Dreads’ respect, the king’s favor, and their reward.

Oliver and I had the motivation—but not the muscle or skill.

We’d ended up in the healers’ wing after our first run.

Ranking in two months felt daunting. Nearly impossible.

It would require nonstop training, late nights in the library, and—honestly—a new damned game plan.

Because there was no way in this dimension, or the next, that the scraps of strength and skill we could scrape together in two months would be enough.

Our squad already itched to tear us apart and stomp on our weak, little pieces.

They could crush us, and they knew it. Hell, we knew it too.

The only advantage Oliver and I had was our powers.

But I needed more control. And technically, I couldn’t use mine unless I wanted to expose myself.

Oliver… I gave him a quick once-over, biting my lip.

Oliver would have to overcome his aversion to using his ability.

He side-eyed me, feeling my gaze. “I don’t like that expression on your face.”

“What expression?” I asked, my eyes wide and innocent .

Oliver scoffed. “Your bug-eyes can’t hide the smell of your stinky guilt. You’ve come up with some kind of scheme that somehow involves me, and you know I’m not going to like it.”

My fake smile turned sheepish.

“If you get us killed, I’m forcing the king to place us in the same circle so I can annoy you while they torture us—for the rest of time,” he said, running his hand through his moppy hair, his nerves blending the black and blond strands of his bangs.

I squeezed his free hand. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“That’s it for today. Find your leaders and follow their instructions,” General Ronen concluded, snapping my attention back to him and straight to his piercing golden gaze.

I held it for a second—one second—and that same magnetic feeling pulled at my chest, begging me to move closer.

He wore no smile. Gave no pretense that he liked me.

If anything, he only tolerated me, even after I opened up to him.

So what was this damned attraction I didn’t want? And how did I stop it?

I needed his respect, which meant I’d have to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds eventually. More than that, I’d have to break through whatever resentment he held against me.

So his pretty little face didn’t matter.

“Lucy.” Oliver tugged on my arm, pointing toward our squad. “The pack of hyenas is congregating.”

“If they’re hyenas, what are we?” I asked.

“Roadkill.”

Accurate.

We dragged our feet toward the Tormentors—not alone in our reluctance.

Many other recruits seemed unenthusiastic about starting their second day.

Half the Bowels Squadron looked petrified.

They must’ve witnessed a squadmate’s death or recycle.

The smug expression twisting Moira’s perfect face made me want to turn and leave, but I held my ground.

“Oh, look. My favorite two recruits,” she purred, her voice sweet and mocking as we joined the others.

Everyone circled us. Some smiled. Okay—most smiled. Except Ichi and Ni, who stood silent, lips tight in disapproval.

“So, what’s our punishment?” Oliver asked, cutting straight to the point.

“Target practice,” Moira replied, her tone dripping with superiority. “Come along, recruits. Theon and Cyrus will be helping me out today. The rest of you—spectators.”

The ginger and his wiry friend’s smiles deepened, and my stomach dropped.

“Wonderful,” Oliver muttered.

This wasn’t a coincidence. She must’ve known about our last interaction—or even instigated it. The urge to rake my nails across her golden skin overwhelmed me.

We followed behind our squad, walking next to the twins. The concerned creases in their lips never changed.

“What’s target practice, Ichi?” I asked.

She gave me a side glance, shaking her head with a heavy sigh. The weight of her exhale pressed on her drooping shoulders. Her sister wouldn’t even look at us, like she was ashamed.

“Target practice is quite literal,” Ichi said softly.

“You’re the target, and we are instructed to practice on you.

Sometimes with weapons, other times with powers.

Moira decides the conditions.” Her expression turned distant.

“She started it a few years ago, after a couple recruits disobeyed her. Ever since then, anyone who displeases her becomes an example, and we’re her tools. ”

My jaw tightened. Sounded like we’d be her example every day from here on out. “And the general allows this?”

Ni finally shifted, her face saying everything.

Ichi sighed. “She’s dating the general. And this is Hell?—”

“Suffer or die,” I finished, the bitter truth sliding off my tongue.

She nodded.

“Are we moving targets or…” I trailed off at the twins’ matching expressions. “So, no. We’re just supposed to stand?—”

“In a damned public bathroom and let carrot-top and his weasel friend show us how glued their lips are to Moira’s bleached ass,” Oliver finished for me, stopping at the threshold of the showers.

“Move, recruits. We have other things to do today.”

To hell with what she had to do.

“Move! Or I’ll let all of them punish you.”

Oliver, having other ideas, pulled me into the open area and stopped at the wall Moira pointed at.

Theon and Cyrus swaggered into place, their eyes glinting with smug satisfaction.

Moira gestured to us. “Have at it, Theon. And if they even flinch, you can restrain them, Cyrus.”

The beefy carrot-top—Theon, I assumed—whipped up his hands. Two powerful streams of water shot out, slamming into our chests and sending us back into the wall.

My head cracked against the tile. I bit my lip, holding back a cry of pain .

“Hit their faces,” Cyrus suggested.

It took everything I had in me—plus squeezing Oliver’s hand in a death grip—not to move an inch. After this morning, I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle another restraining without either having a panic attack or revealing my Infernus.

I weathered the blast of frigid water, clenching my teeth against the bruising pressure. The third and fourth blasts barreled into my stomach harder than the last two.

Our squad jeered and belittled us, enjoying our torment.

Each laugh, each curse, seared through my veins.

But that paled in comparison to the unholy rage pounding in my chest from Oliver’s broken, hollow expression.

I wanted to latch onto my Glory and burn the arena to the ground—to watch their sneering smiles blister and turn to specks of useless ash.

Even now, my Infernus begged to escape, enticing me with its music. It wanted to trail across the tile, slide up the ginger’s legs, and crawl down his throat. It wanted to watch Theon suffocate on his burning flesh. It wanted?—

I squeezed my eyes shut, ignoring the haunting melody. But the more I did, the louder it became. The taunting whispers turned to an addictive noise, forcing me to listen. Theon blasted us with a harder stream, and itches scattered across my skin.

No. Shut up. Shut up!

“That’s enough, Theon,” Moira called out, halting the water.

My Infernus quieted the moment Theon released us from his power, and the itches dissipated. I sagged against the wall.

“It’s time for our run.” Moira ushered the squad out of the bathroom. “Faster, recruits,” she said, pointing at us, grinning .

“We’re soaked,” I snapped.

Moira laughed with disbelief. “You think I care? We might not be allowed to kill you, but if the elements do it for us, it’s not our problem.”

I grabbed the side of my soaking pants to refrain from punching Moira—or tackling her to the bathroom tile. Oliver placed his hands on my shoulders, understanding that I might actually attack her and lose.

“Move,” she ordered, turning as the last of the squad left the showers. The smile in her voice needled at the melody I’d just put to rest.

We followed them out, then luscelered to our room to change.