“You treated me like a criminal!” She roared at the elder who looked alive and well, though Myanin knew she was anything but. Perhaps the vision of Lyra was the dead djinn’s spirit, returned to haunt Myanin for the rest of her days. She sure as hell hoped not. “You had me cleaning your rugs like some slave. I’m a warrior.” Myanin slammed her fist against her chest. “And a damn good one at that, and you and the other elders carelessly tossed me aside, as if all the centuries I have guarded our realm meant nothing! Like I was nothing.” Her hand swiped through the air, slicing it like a sword through an invisible enemy.
Lyra shook her head. Her eyes were filled with sadness, rather than the anger Myanin thought she would see. Who looked at their murderer with sadness?
“Why?” Lyra asked yet again. “Why did you kill me?”
Myanin reached up her hands and gripped her hair at the roots, pulling it hard as she gritted her teeth. “Wake up!” she yelled as she squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t want to look at the sorrow-filled eyes of the elder for another second. She didn’t want to hear the question again and again. “WAKE UP, DAMN YOU!”
Myanin shot up straight in her bed. Sweat covered her skin, and her long hair stuck to her damp flesh. The sick feeling in her stomach, which had become ubiquitous since she’d escaped her own realm, was a typhoon in her gut. She felt as if she’d eaten a basket full of rancid fish, and her body was trying hard to expel it. Yet no amount of vomiting eased the feeling. It was simply one of the punishments for what she’d done. Another was the damn dream, or nightmare rather, that she got to experience every … freaking … night. They started the night the prisoners had escaped, and they’d not let up since. Every time she closed her eyes, without fail, Lyra was there, waiting with the same question.
Myanin glanced at the phone on the small table beside the bed. It was early, too early to be awake, but she had no desire to go back to sleep. She got up and grabbed her weapons from where they rested against a wall. The small room she’d been assigned by Alston only had one entry point, and there was no window. If she had an intruder, Myanin would easily be able to get to her weapons while also using the bed for cover if need be. She’d avoid using her power if she could.
Her emotions were so volatile as of late. The power she’d taken from Lyra, overwhelmed her at times, as if she’d taken one bite too many of her meal and it was threatening to come back up. Other times, Myanin could practically feel the power moving just under her skin, as if seeking a way out. She had no idea what would happen if she let her magic loose in an uncontrolled environment. In her own realm, warriors were allowed to practice using their magic, but only under the watchful eye of the elders who could intervene if necessary. They were told it was an absolute last resort if ever in a fight, not that there had been any fights between djinn and other supernatural races. The djinn were supposed to only be historians, and as her skin pulsed with power, she began to understand why.
Myanin didn’t have to change clothes. She’d managed to find a solid black uniform that she’d seen other Order warriors wearing, and she simply slept in it. Rolling her neck around after donning her blades, she headed for the door. The djinn was in need of a good fight, and there was always somebody sparring. She’d been told her presence was required at a meeting of the Order leaders, but it wasn’t until midday. That should give her plenty of time to put a few fae on their asses and help banish the nightmare from her mind.
She reached the training building and smiled. There were plenty of potential victims either sparring or standing around watching. She walked through the waiting crowd and didn’t miss the way they parted for her—some of them looking at her with distrust, a few with interest, but most with simple curiosity. Let them wonder. She didn’t care what they thought of her.
As soon as a sparring circle opened, Myanin moved to it and pulled out the two short swords she kept in sheaths on her back. She rotated her wrists, spinning the blades in alternating circles as she waited. She knew she wouldn’t need to wait long. There was always someone who wanted to show their strength against a powerful opponent. Fighting a djinn was something few would ever have the opportunity to do because the secretive race rarely left their own realm. It was definitely an opportunity to prove something. Whether what they proved was the fact that they were an idiot or extraordinarily brave was the question. Finally, a male fae stepped into the circle. He was tall and possessed more bulk than most of the fae she’d seen. Like the others, he had long hair, though the dark locks were pulled back into a braid, away from his face. His eyes were stone grey and cold as ice. Thin lips pulled tight across his face as he narrowed his icy gaze on her. She could feel his judgment, and the fact that he already found her lacking even before fighting her.
“Are you going to just stand there and stare or do you actually want to prove how stupid you are?” Myanin asked, her voice sounding bored even to herself. Inside, she was anything but bored. She was a boiling volcano close to erupting. She didn’t care if these people were near her when she did. In fact, she welcomed it. The power inside of her, the
