Barrett’s chest heaved, and at first, I thought he might choose unconsciousness to submission.
“You’ve lost,” I said through gritted teeth, my arms quivering as he tried to pry himself free.
He let out a groan and finally tapped my arm.
I released him and stumbled back.
The recruits erupted in cheers around us, but I didn’t pay them any attention as I walked around to extend a hand to Barrett. “I like the way you fight. Reminds me of myself.”
His eyes lingered on my outstretched hand for a moment before he looked up at me and took it. I helped him to his feet.
I dusted off my pants and straightened my tunic. “Could use some shaping, but I think you might last longer than others here.”
His eyes flickered between mine again, something akin to confusion within them.
“Shit, I thought you were gonna pass out!” Micah said as he hurried toward us. “Stubborn bastard.”
Barrett blinked as Micah patted him on the shoulder. “You weren’t kidding. She packs a punch.”
“Maybe we’ll make a warrior out of you yet,” I said and turned to the recruits around us. “Aren’t you supposed to be sparring? Or have you found yourselves so bored by my instruction that I should give you something more entertaining?”
They all stiffened before quickly dispersing, and I snickered at how quickly they busied themselves.
“I’ll let you get back to what you’re doing,” I said, turning to head toward my trainees, but I paused, glancing back. “Oh, and Barrett?”
His blond brows rose.
I gestured to my nose and mouth. “You’ve got a little something here. Might want to get it checked out.”
Micah stifled a laugh as Barrett ran the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood from his busted nose.
The beast nuzzled against my consciousness as I stalked out of the training yard, feeling something I couldn’t quite explain, couldn’t quite place. It left me no less irritated than I had been moments earlier.The steel-eyed warrior has potential. He is worthy.
I shook my head.His name is Barrett, and stop talking about him. He’s simply another recruit.
Keep telling yourself that, little one.
I growled.Stop calling me that.
Would you prefer I call you little beasty?
My steps halted. I hadn’t heard that name in what felt like ages, and it brought about a painful longing.
14
THE GIRL WITH STORMY EYES
60 YEARS PRIOR
“Stay quiet,” Rhyas muttered as we emerged from the edge of Silvash’s Forest, the warm, fresh air of the wood fading into something that reminded me of the attack, a familiar dread twisting my gut. His grip on my arm tightened as I looked over the short stretch of land dividing us from whatever The Fates had sentenced me to.
No matter how much I tried, my body quivered as I took in what could only be described as a stone fortress carved into the mountainside. Male and female fae garbed in leather armor paced along the top of the wall on either side of the enormous wooden gate, and my stomach twisted at the sight of the swords strapped to their hips. They almost reminded me of the warriors of The Order. Still, where the warriors had always been sweet and protective, there was something about the way the fae’s eyes passed over us as we approached in cold assessment—as if I wasn’t a person, but something else entirely.
With each step, new details came into focus. The grass seemed to die out the closer we got, as if the magic in the land couldn’t reach us in this place. I wasn’t sure what stained the stone walls, the dark marks and unrecognizable chunks of...something, hanging from ropes. It left a touch of ancient terror that needed no explanation, and the beast recoiled into a deeper part of me at the sight and the terrible smell.
“What is this place?” I whispered, my voice barely breaching my lips.
“The Pits,” Rhyas said, a hint of disgust slipping through his mask of indifference, as if he couldn’t stomach the words. “Your new home.”
