Chapter 6 Watch, Learn, and Set Something on Fire
(Preferably the Enemy)
Arabella
Blood ran hot down my arm as I yanked my shadow dagger from the soldier’s throat.
The construct dissolved into wisps of darkness between my fingers, leaving nothing but the metallic tang of death on the air and a body at my feet.
My chest heaved as I gulped for breath. The leather armor Kazimir had insisted I wear—clearly designed for someone with fewer curves and more height—pinched uncomfortably under my arms.
Dawn barely touched the sky, painting it a sickly gray pink above the chaos of battle. Screams and the clash of steel echoed across the outpost’s courtyard, punctuated by the occasional crack of magic. The air shimmered with sorcery thick enough to taste.
I’d never killed so many people in a single morning. Or so many people at all.
I flexed my fingers, calling another dagger into existence. The shadows coalesced eagerly, responding to my will with a hunger that still surprised me. Dark magic was supposed to be difficult, draining. For me, it felt like breathing, each exhale manifesting as deadly shadow constructs.
“Lady Blackrose!” Thorne’s voice cut through the din. “On your left!”
I whirled, throwing up a shield of light on instinct. An arrow shattered against it. Two archers had taken position on the ramparts, bows trained on me.
I reached for my magic again, but this time called on my bloodline—the power of the First Hero that flowed through my veins.
Golden light bloomed between my palms, warm and alive.
I shaped it with my thoughts, my will, my rage.
Three birds of prey formed from the light, their wings beating with silent fury as they launched toward the archers.
The men barely had time to nock another arrow before my constructs tore into them. One screamed as talons of pure energy ripped across his face before bursting into flames. The other toppled backward off the wall, his bow clattering uselessly to the stones below.
Watch and learn, indeed.
I could feel Kazimir’s approval through our bond, a warm pulse of satisfaction that mingled with my own sense of accomplishment.
I could also feel the vast reservoir of his power.
He was somewhere on the other side of the outpost, surrounded by a whirlwind of shadow and blood.
I could feed my power into his if needed, amplifying his already formidable strength.
But so far, he hadn’t drawn on our connection.
He hadn’t needed to. The Dark Lord was in his element, and his magic flowed freely.
My body still hummed with the memory of Kazimir’s hands on me last night, the way he’d pressed me into the pillow and made me come so forcefully that even now, in the middle of battle, I felt the heat of his body inside mine and wanted nothing more than to have it again.
A grunt of pain nearby snapped me back to my immediate surroundings. One of Kaz’s mercenaries was down, clutching a bloody leg. I darted over and pressed my hand over his wound. “Hold still.”
Life magic flowed from me, warm and golden, knitting tissues and sealing veins.
The bleeding stopped. The soldier looked at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of gratitude and pure, unadulterated fear.
Most of the army still viewed me as a terrifying, unpredictable sorceress. They weren’t entirely wrong.
“Get back to the line,” I ordered.
I pushed myself up just as a new wave of Solandrian soldiers charged through a shattered gate, their faces grim, their swords raised. Five of them, all converging on me.
“The Dark Lady!” one of them spat when he saw me. “Traitor to Solandris!”
At least they’d stopped trying to save me.
I threw up a shield, a shimmering dome of force that cracked under the first blow. I was powerful, yes. But I wasn’t yet a seasoned warrior. My magic was raw and mostly untrained, fueled more by instinct than technique. And my inexperience was beginning to show.
The lead soldier circled left, barking orders. “Flank her! She can’t hold that shield forever!”
A cold tingle pricked behind my eyes. A lie. He was trying to draw my attention while the real attack came from—
I spun right just as another soldier lunged from my blind spot.
My truth-sense had caught his deception before my eyes could.
I let him think his feint had worked, then at the last second dropped my shield entirely and rolled beneath his strike.
As I came up, I drove a shadow dagger into his exposed side.
I hastily re-formed my shield and swung around.
A third soldier circled, looking for an opening. The others hung back now, eyes narrowed, assessing. These weren’t the panicked, confused men who’d fallen to Kaz’s illusions. These were trained fighters who’d regrouped and adapted.
I gritted my teeth and pushed more power into my shield, feeling it wrap completely around my body.
With my free hand, I began to form another shadow dagger, but the strain of maintaining both light and dark magic simultaneously made my vision swim.
Kazimir made it look so easy, juggling multiple spells as effortlessly as breathing.
Another sword crashed against my shield. I staggered back a step. The shield flickered, threatening to collapse.
Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at me. I was trying to hold the shield with one hand while desperately trying to form a new set of shadow daggers with the other. My magic felt sluggish, my focus splintering.
One of the soldiers, a burly man with a snarling, piggish face, grinned as he saw my shield waver. He raised his sword for a final, shattering blow.
This was it. This was how I was going to die. Well, at least I’d go down fighting.
Then a shadow fell over us.
Kazimir didn’t even seem rushed. He was simply there, a dark storm of controlled violence. His face was spattered with blood, his eyes glowing with silver light. He looked like a god of war—beautiful and terrible and utterly merciless.
His eyes locked onto the soldier whose sword was poised to break through my shield. He didn’t raise a hand. He didn’t draw a weapon. He just spoke a single, guttural word in a language I didn’t recognize.
The effect was instantaneous and horrifying.
The pig-faced soldier gasped, his eyes bulging.
He dropped his sword and clawed at his own throat, his face turning a mottled purple.
He made choking, gurgling sounds as smelly black water began to pour from his mouth, nose, and ears.
His companions stared in horror as he collapsed, his body spasming on the dry, dusty ground.
Kazimir’s gaze swept over the remaining soldiers. Another muttered syllable sent them choking too. They fell one by one, thrashing uselessly until they were still. Drowned on dry land.
He hadn’t raised a finger.
He turned to me, his face a thunderous mask.
The air around him crackled with residual magic, the runes on his neck glowing with a faint, malevolent light beneath his grime-streaked skin.
There was no “I told you so” in his eyes, though.
No chiding for my recklessness. There was only a cold, possessive fury that anyone had dared to get that close to me.
That anyone had even thought about harming what was his.
To everyone else, he was the Scourge of Azroth, a terrifying warlord executing his enemies with casual, brutal efficiency.
To me, standing there covered in sweat, grime, and blood, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his eyes burning with protective rage, he was the most breathtakingly attractive thing I had ever seen.
The adrenaline of the fight, the proximity to death, my own surging power all coalesced into a single, undeniable thought.
Invading a kingdom was excellent foreplay.
The ghost of a smirk played on my lips. He noticed it, of course. He noticed everything. His own expression softened almost imperceptibly, the raging storm in his eyes calming to a low, possessive simmer.
“Well?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me in places completely inappropriate for a battlefield. He gestured dismissively at the dead men at our feet. “Did you learn anything?”
He was still pissed. Royally pissed that I’d nearly been skewered.
“I learned that drowning people with magic is remarkably efficient.” I tried for snark, but my voice was still a little shaky. The battle raged around us, but everyone was giving the villains a wide berth. “And that you have a flair for the dramatic, but that’s not really new.”
“Your shield failed. We’re increasing your training.” It wasn’t a suggestion.
I rolled my eyes, affecting a weary sigh.
“Kaz, you already have me fighting animated wooden constructs two nights a week, we spar with actual swords every other day, and I practice my own magic until I see spots. What’s next?
Sleep deprivation? Blindfolds? Fighting with one hand tied behind my back? ”
A dangerous, wicked glint entered his eyes. He stepped closer, crowding me against a barricade, his body a solid wall of heat and power. His lips brushed my ear as he leaned in.
“Now that you mention it…” His voice dropped to a sinful whisper. “I’ve been thinking about blindfolds. And restraints. Though not for combat training.”
A shiver of pure, unadulterated lust crawled straight down my spine and settled between my thighs. Gods, we were both terrible people—flirting in the middle of a massacre we’d orchestrated.
“I had it under control,” I lied.
“Of course you did.” His lips moved to my neck, teeth grazing just below my ear. “But I was getting bored over there.”
The heat of his breath against my skin made my knees weak. The inappropriateness of it all—standing amidst death and destruction while wanting nothing more than to tear his clothes off—was its own kind of intoxication.
Before I could reply, he straightened, his public mask of the cold, aloof Dark Lord snapping back into place. He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful.
“Come on.” He began scanning the battlefield. “Let’s go find someone else to kill.”
He started dragging me along with him, deeper into the beautiful, bloody chaos he’d created.
The battlefield thinned as we advanced. Kazimir slipped between shadows, his magic reaching out to crush throats and snap bones. I followed in his wake, my own power flickering between golden light and consuming darkness as I dispatched those who thought me the easier target.
We were unstoppable. Untouchable. A perfect union of destruction.
“That commander—the one with the silver pauldrons,” I called, pointing to a man barking orders atop another makeshift barricade.
Kazimir’s eyes narrowed. “Shall we divide his attention?”
I grinned, already understanding the strategy. We’d practiced this maneuver in the training room countless times, but never unleashed it in battle. I circled left while Kaz moved right.
The commander spotted me first—the smaller target, the presumed weaker link. His sword raised as he shouted commands to his remaining men. Three broke formation, charging toward me.
I let my shadow daggers dissolve, instead calling forth the inverted healing magic I’d been perfecting.
Gold light tinged with black swirled around my hands as I reached for the approaching soldiers.
The first man’s momentum carried him straight into my outstretched palm.
His skin withered on contact, aging decades in seconds as I siphoned his life force. He collapsed, a desiccated husk.
The others faltered, their faces masks of horror. That moment of hesitation was all Kazimir needed.
He materialized behind the commander in a swirl of darkness, one hand gripping the man’s throat. “Your men are dead,” he said simply. “Your outpost is fallen. Do you yield?”
The commander’s face contorted with hatred. “Death before surrender,” he spat.
Kazimir’s expression darkened. “As you wish.”
I felt the surge of power through our bond as Kaz ended the man’s life. One by one, the remaining soldiers dropped their weapons, finally breaking under the weight of inevitable defeat. Victory was ours—swift, brutal, complete.
An eerie quiet settled over the outpost, broken only by the groans of the dying and the crackle of a few lingering phantom fires Kazimir had yet to extinguish. His mercenaries moved through the courtyard dispatching the wounded soldiers.
Kazimir stood in the center of the carnage, a statue carved from shadow and fury.
The silver light had faded from his eyes, leaving them the color of a storm-tossed sea.
He turned his head, his gaze finding mine—possessive, hungry, and just a little bit proud.
I felt myself flush under his scrutiny, my body responding to the unspoken promise in his eyes.
Victory made him voracious, and I was more than ready to reap the rewards of our conquest.
Then the world tore apart.
It wasn’t a sound. It was the absence of sound, a pressure that sucked the air from my lungs and replaced it with something burning and foul. A dissonant chord shrieked through my body, a vibration that ran up through the soles of my boots and into the marrow of my bones.
The Heirloom seared my mind.
Dozens of voices screamed at once—not in my ears, but inside my skull.
A chorus of pure, undiluted terror, the sound of souls being ripped from their mortal tethers.
I saw it. A vision, stark and blinding. A flash of a golden field drenched in blood, of lives harvested like wheat, their essences siphoned into a gaping, black wound in the fabric of reality.
I staggered, my hand flying to my mouth as nausea crashed over me. The world spun, the courtyard dissolving into a smear of gray stone and crimson stains.
A scream ripped through the silence—raw, agonized, and terrifyingly close.
It was Kazimir.
I forced my eyes open, my vision swimming back into focus just in time to see him collapse.
He dropped to his knees. The runes carved into his skin blazed with blinding, white-hot light, searing through his clothing and armor.
His back arched, his body convulsing in agony so profound it stole his breath.
He clawed at the glowing runes, his jaw clenched so tight I heard his teeth grind. All his control, his impeccable, terrifying dominion, shattered into a million pieces.
No. Not again. I lurched toward him and fell beside him.
There we were. The conquering Dark Lord and his Lady, brought low in the heart of our first victory.
I could only do one thing. My hands were shaking so violently that instead of merely touching him, I draped my body over his and tried to help with his pain.