15. Max
MAX
I returned to the barracks.
The place was mostly empty. The cadets had gone to the dining hall for their evening meal, and I’d had mine in Nikolai’s penthouse.
I’d washed the dishes and cleaned up before I left, even though the vampire prince had said to leave it. I wouldn’t abuse his kindness, even with strings attached.
Back at my cot, I set my boots neatly beside it and crawled under the covers. I could sleep for a week straight, but rigid schedules waited, and I knew I’d have to be up before dawn. For now, I’d take what rest I could get.
I was half asleep when the room flooded with life. Cadets returned in waves, boots thudding against the floor, voices tangling in overlapping chatter and laughter.
They noticed me. The newest recruit, sprawled on my conspicuous cot. Even with my eyes closed, I felt the weight of their stares .
I listened. Every overheard word was a brick I could use to build my understanding of this place, its hierarchies, its fault lines.
I caught “spy for the White Witch” more than once. I sighed inwardly. I shouldn’t have expected things to get easier after the holding cell. I’d bet Drakken’s men had spread the rumors. He didn’t even need to touch me himself. His academy would do his work for him.
The dynamic had been established before I ever set foot in here.
They didn’t trust me. Fine. I wasn’t the one who’d be slitting throats in the dark. That would be them, if I let my guard down.
Footsteps approached. Hostility pressed against my closed eyelids.
Young, untested soldiers ran on stupid, dangerous emotions. Like junkies chasing a high.
I should’ve asked Nikolai if they’d found my dagger and requested it back. The crude blade I’d forged in the mine, infused with iron, Stormglass, and Coldiron. It had been taken from me when they’d first brought me to the fortress. Without it, I was down to fists and feet.
“Fucking warlock.” “Enemy spy.” The words fired around me.
Should I defend my honor? Let the hate run its course? Maybe I should yell back that I was none of those things but worse—I had a demon in me.
Very funny, Max! The creature chuckled.
Well. I’d walked into that one.
At least it would watch my back while I slept, so I wouldn’t end up with a knife in my eye socket .
Incoming, the demon sang.
I shot upright just as a group of cadets marched right for me, their faces set with the righteous fury of men who’d convinced themselves they were doing the right thing.
One of them—two raised scars across his left cheek—carried a bucket. Dirty water sloshed inside it.
Shit.
I ducked as he heaved the contents at my face. They’d planned to drench me in my sleep. Hadn’t expected me awake, let alone fast. Still, cold water caught my left thigh, soaking through my pants. The rest hit my pillow with a wet slap.
“You don’t fucking belong here, warlock spy!”
Another stepped forward. Flat, blunt face. Small eyes set too close together. And he was thick through the shoulders and neck.
He had two stripes on his sleeve, stitched in steel blue. As a second-year cadet sergeant, he outranked every first-year in this barracks. No wonder he carried himself with the swagger of someone who’d claimed dominance here long before I arrived.
A dozen or so cadets flanked him, forming a half ring, glaring, backing me toward the wall.
They were all several inches shorter than me. I bet they hated that.
Despite my height, I was still bony. Underfed muscle stretched over a frame that hadn’t finished filling out. On the other hand, these cadets were trained. Months of drills had molded them closer to killers. And they had the numbers .
My heart slamming against my ribs, I dropped into a fighting stance, fists up, weight on the balls of my feet, ready to swing at whoever made the first move.
Scenarios raced through my head. Cut off the head of the snake.
Lunge at the ringleader and kick him in the groin.
But even if I could disable him, which I doubted, the rest wouldn’t fall in line.
They’d swarm me. With my Coldiron dagger, I might stand a chance.
Yet I had nothing but a soaked pillow and my fists.
My jaw clenched. My eyes went hard. I could not let them pin me down. If they did, it was over.
“Take him down!” the ringleader bellowed. “Rid us of the filth!”
Two of them charged. My leg lashed out, a miner’s kick, nothing fancy, all power, and my bare foot connected with the first one’s face. Bone cracked.
Fast, the demon approved. And I expect no less.
“The fucking bastard broke my nose!” The cadet staggered back, blood streaming between his fingers.
“Get him on the ground!” someone shouted. “Don’t let the rat set his feet!”
“Hold his arms! He hits like a fucking mule!”
I swung my fist into the jaw of the second one. He’d tried to grab instead of strike first. Mistake. His head rocked sideways. Another crack.
The ringleader corrected fast. He barked a command, and the pack tightened around me. Fists rained from three directions. I had my back to the wall, nothing behind me, but that only funneled them in closer.
A punch caught my cheekbone. Pain bloomed hot across my face. I retaliated with a straight right that connected somewhere solid—jaw, nose, I didn’t give a fuck—and heard another satisfying crunch.
“How is he so fucking fast?”
“He’s a trained warlock spy, you idiots!”
“All I’m hearing is warlock and spy.” I spat blood. “My ears are bleeding from boredom and your stupidity.”
The ridicule only enraged them.
“Put him down now! It can’t be that fucking hard!”
They attacked. I countered, but a few punches scored—my ribs, my kidney, and one landed on the left side of my head.
My vision flickered.
Shit.
I hit back as hard as I could with every opening, making each one count. Thanks to years of swinging heavy tools in confined spaces, my arms knew how to deliver force.
But it wasn’t enough. I was alone, and they were a pack.
Four of them seized my arms, two on each side, and more hands grabbed my legs. The mob wrenched me against the wall and pinned me like a spider under glass. I thrashed, but they held tight.
“Are we just going to teach him a lesson, sir?” one of them asked, breathing hard. “Black eyes, broken ribs, shove his head in a toilet?”
“We’ll kill him.” The leader’s voice went flat. “And be done with it.”
The rest of the barracks fell into tense silence. Hundreds of cadets gathered, watching the violence unfold. Not one of them moved .
“Are we all in agreement?” the ringleader shouted to the room.
“Stop!” A figure shoved through the crowd. I recognized him—the cadet with wheat-colored hair who’d barked at me to wash. Up close, he looked less like a bully and more like someone who understood where the lines were drawn. “This is murder, Cadet Sergeant Slade!”
Some cadets traded uncertain looks.
“It’s not murder.” Slade’s eyes stayed on me. “It’s an execution, Corporal Thane. We’re removing an enemy from our ranks so we can all sleep without a knife at our throats.”
“You don’t even sleep here, Cadet Sergeant.” Thane didn’t back down under Slade’s hard stare. “You’re a senior. You shouldn’t be here hunting for blood. Let the new cadet go before this goes to shit. The heirs placed him here. They vouched for him.”
“General Drakken didn’t vouch for him.” Slade’s voice carried the certainty of a man repeating what he’d been told. “The general condemned this warlock. That’s good enough for me.”
“You dare go against the majority vote of the heirs?” Thane demanded. “The Zodiac Covenant is ruled by the council, not by one man’s grudge.”
“The other heirs might want to give this warlock a chance, but he’s obviously deceived them.” Slade’s lip curled. “Bewitched them, even. We serve under Drakken. He understands warfare better than anyone. It’s our duty to deliver what he wants. ”
“You can’t do this!” Thane shouted, even as three of Slade’s men blocked him. “There are rules.”
“Watch me,” Slade said. “I’m making a field call. Shut your mouth and step aside.”
“There will be consequences!” Thane strained against the men holding him back. “It’s not too late to let him go.”
Slade swept his gaze across the room, taking in his followers. “This is justice. When it’s done, we say the warlock ran. Anyone who rats us out ends up in the river with him.”
Slade turned back to me and stalked forward, savoring this moment like a man savoring a promised lay. I’d make sure he didn’t get it.
“Pretty face won’t get you far now, freak.
” He stopped an arm’s length away, his small eyes like a snake’s.
This was personal for him. Maybe he’d lost someone to witches, or maybe he was just the kind of small man who needed someone to hate.
Plenty of those around. “I’m going to ruin that face.
Me and my men will take our sweet time doing it. ”
“Come closer then, sweetheart.”
He snarled and stepped into my space, tilting his chin up to meet my eyes. He hated that. Before he could spit, I dipped my head and slammed my forehead into the bridge of his nose. He stumbled back with a startled yelp, blood spraying from his nostrils.
“You’re dead, witch asshole!” he howled, and when his hand came back up, it held an army knife, sharp edge catching the light.
Now, the demon whispered .
Strength surged through me, and I wrenched free of the hands pinning me. Arms tore loose. Bodies stumbled back.
Slade slashed the blade toward my face. I sidestepped. The knife stabbed into the wall behind my head. He ripped it free and swung again, his gang lunging from the sides.
From their vicious, smug looks, they thought they had me.
I roared and threw my hands forward. A shockwave erupted from me, sending the attackers flying ten feet or more. They collided with bunk bed frames, piled on top of each other. Others kissed the ground hard.
Slade hit hardest as he was closest to me and my main target. I heard bone crack. His knife skittered across the floor.
I stared at my hands. Then at the fallen. Then at my hands again.
Shit. How did I do that?
About time you learned what you can do, the demon preened.
Did the demon pull that? I was half sure the strength came from it. Wonder and panic warred in me. Using its power guaranteed survival, but at what cost? Chained and dragged to Hell in the end.
Still calling me demon, I see. The creature laughed, taunting. I’ll leave you a riddle to chew on. Something of old legend. Something from below, or beyond. Answer to no one. Play by no rules of any world, or the gods.
The clamor of thuds died. Silence flooded the room. It didn’t last as Slade’s men scrambled up and closed in on me with blades and clubs, shouting obscenities.
They wanted a rematch.
The barracks door blasted open. A giant of a man, rippling with power, strode in.
“What the hell is going on?” His roar thundered across the room like a match kindling dry tinder.