Rage entered the man’s eyes. The fae growled like an angry wolf and thrust his sword at her. It was not a smart move, but an emotional one. He should know better than to allow his emotions to enter a fight. Emotions caused mistakes, and mistakes made you dead.
Myanin simply turned just as the blade would have reached her, causing him to lunge past her. In the blink of the eye, she’d jumped on his back, thighs clamped to his waist and both her blades crossed in front of his throat. “You lose,” she crooned in his ear. She waited for him to magic his weapon away before finally dropping down. She kept her blades in her hands. She might be done with this one, but she wasn’t done fighting. She still had demons riding her back that needed to be excised. The magic that had been temporarily minimized by her own excitement for battle was back with a vengeance—pushing, taunting, reminding her it didn’t belong to her. She couldn’t use her blades on the invisible demons or the stolen magic, so she’d have to settle for sparring with the idiots filling the space around her.
When the defeated fae turned to look at her, Myanin stepped closer, until her nose nearly touched his own. “My reasons are my own. You’d do well to remember that.” She turned from him and called out, “Next.”
Myanin gazed at the group of men and women foolishly sitting around a table arguing about something they couldn’t change. Those present appeared to be some type of governing council for the Order. They were shouting over one another, pointing fingers, and cursing in their own respective languages. They looked like a bunch of overgrown children who’d not gotten their way. Myanin was embarrassed for them. And her embarrassment did not reach to herself because she didn’t see herself as part of them. This was simply a means to an end. Though she was beginning to rethink the choice, considering she was starting to feel like the only adult in the room. She knew for certain Ludcarab and Alston were older than her, and yet they had been reduced to bickering younglings. She leaned against the wall next to the door, always close to the exit, ready to make a swift getaway if necessary, which, considering the company she was keeping lately, seemed only a matter of time. After having spent time sparring with the warriors who were brave enough to step forward, she seemed to have regained a semblance of control. The magic was still there, just under her skin, but it somehow felt a little subdued, as if she’d fed the monster lurking inside of her. The thought made her shiver, and she immediately locked her muscles. You are in control, Myanin. Your power does not control you. That remark was quickly followed by a question in a voice that wasn’t her own, “But what about someone else’s power?” Myanin clenched her jaw as she ignored the nagging voice. As if she needed another reminder that what she carried inside of her was not rightfully hers?
“ENOUGH,” Alston roared, his voice magically amplified so much that it made Myanin’s insides vibrate. “Fighting over what has already happened is not going to accomplish anything.”
“Ya think?” Myanin muttered softly under her breath. She was careful to keep any of her less-than-complimentary comments to a volume that even supernatural ears would not detect.
“We cannot ignore the fact that a single Canis lupus female took out fifty vampires, including the former king,” Shehan said. The female warlock was apparently the highest ranking in the Order among that species, and, as such, afforded a place on this council. Shehan was tall, but not as tall as Myanin, and medium built, sporting an impressive amount of corded muscle on her bare arms. Her long black hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, causing her facial features to appear severe and tight. Her eyes were the signature yellow, catlike slits of the warlock race. She was pretty, in her own way, but her eyes were disconcerting in Myanin’s opinion.
Gar, the leader of the trolls who’d joined forces with the Order, growled and gurgled as he spoke. “How many vampires have been lost in total since these wolves began troubling us?”
This was a number that Myanin knew. When she’d stolen Lyra’s power, Myanin had realized she could see history just like Thad. But her betrayal had consequences. History was now jumbled for the djinn. Neither she nor Thad could accurately understand the pictures of history they received. Most of the time, the visions were fragmented and rarely in chronological order.
The day after the prisoners escaped the Order, Myanin had seen a battlefield littered with the bodies of dead supernatural warriors, both the Order’s and their enemies’. It had been hazy and brief, but she’d known it was a piece of recent history, and she’d seen how many vampires had been killed.
Myanin spoke up. “20,543” All eyes turned her way, but her even expression didn’t change. “Exactly.”
“How do you know that?” Ludcarab asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Myanin shrugged. “My abilities are my own. I’m sure you don’t reveal the full extent of your power to everyone here.” She didn’t add that he’d have to pry the information from her dying brain before she shared a damn thing about herself with him or anyone else in the room.
The elf king’s lip lifted in a silent snarl. He looked as if he was about to make a snide comment but apparently thought better of it. Instead, he turned to Cain, “Did you know he had sired so many?”
“I’m actually surprised it wasn’t more,” Cain replied.
“How many have you sired?” Alston asked the newly crowned vampire king.
Cain clucked his tongue at the high fae. “That’s a very personal question. Would you like me to ask you how many women you’ve bedded?”
Ludcarab rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”
“The question you should be asking,” said Cain,
