He doesn’t answer other than to continue eyeing me with that weird gleam, which leaves me more uneasy than before. Like he knows something I don’t.

  “We’re done here.” I set the glass down and move to the edge of the booth.

  “Wait.” Uziah’s voice is sharp. I glare back at him.

  “If you thought I wouldn’t scent it, you’re mistaken. Poisons are my specialty, remember?”

  He shakes his head. “Someone came here. Looking for you. They claimed you acted on a second mark last night.”

  I slowly turn to face him, thinking through all the possibilities, but there aren’t many. “Em.”

  His brow furrows. “I didn’t say that.”

  “The only other person who knew there was a first mark was Em, so she’s the only one who would call the female a second mark.”

  Uziah doesn’t deny it. “She’s unhappy at the outcome of the mission.”

  “Why? I did the job she hired me for.”

  “Apparently, she knew the female personally.”

  My chest squeezes. An innocent. I killed an innocent. And she was someone important to the client. This was so fucked up. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “I don’t think you understand. Em is an important player for the organization.”

  My eyes widen.

  He’s talking about the Crimson Roses, a small but growing criminal organization intent on taking over the Crossroads. From what I’ve seen, they’re ruthless and unyielding. What they lack in numbers, they make up for in sheer determination. Once you’re in their sights, you’re dead.

  Uziah leads them, though that’s not exactly common knowledge in the Crossroads. To keep their members’ identities secret, they operate as several smaller units, each with a “leader” of their own. Not even the lower members of each unit know Uziah is at the top. I’ve been around the gang long enough to know that even Uziah’s friendship won’t save me from their wrath.

  “Fuck.”

  “Fuck is right. The second mark was a lieutenant sent to report on your effectiveness of the job. She’s taking the woman’s death personally.”

  “She thinks I did it on purpose?”

  He raises a brow. “Is there another way to poison someone?”

  I hesitate.

  My silence has Uziah leaning across the table toward me. “Look, kid. We go back a long time, me and you. Your dad once saved my life, and I never did get to repay that debt. Consider this my way of making it even.”

  Saving a life? Is that what this meeting is?

  I glance around, noting the details with fresh understanding. More guards than usual. A meeting after daybreak so others in his organization won’t know about it—namely Em or any other Crimson Rose not under his thumb.

  Uziah is risking himself to tell me The Crimson Roses are coming for me. And they’re not going to stop until I’m dead. Despite the danger I’m in, I can’t help but acknowledge my relief. The female was not innocent—not if she was a Crimson Rose. My promise to my mother is still intact. At least, I have that for as long as my short life lasts.

  I shake off that last thought, refusing to give in to fear. For Kendall’s sake, I have to keep fighting.

  “What were you really testing?” I ask quietly. “With that drink.”

  He sits back, studying me. “You tell me.”

  I look from him to the drink, my thoughts churning—but I can’t bring myself to say the words. “Do you know how this happened to me?”

  “No.”

  My eyes narrow. “You have a theory, though.”

  He nods. “The portal opening brought with it a magic this realm has never seen. Those who were exposed to that magic…changed.”

  I’ve heard the stories. The magic is dark, capable of twisting and changing one’s abilities into something else. “You think the portal magic infected me? I’ve never been near the thing.”

  “Maybe not the portal but one of its creatures.”

  My protest dies on my lips as I realize what he’s suggesting. The handsome male from the bar… the darkness I felt standing in his presence.

  “You think someone from Tartarus did this to me?” I ask, the words strangled as I try to decipher how Uziah could possibly know any of this. Unless Em had others watching. Of course she did. How else would she know what happened to her soldier?

  Uziah shrugs. “As you said, it’s a theory.”

  But it’s more than that. And now I want to know what he knows—desperately. So I press him.

  “You are pretty convinced my skin was the weapon, especially considering you weren’t even there.”

  “I have eyes everywhere, my dear.”

  I can’t help glancing at the guards stationed around the room. Oh yes, they are definitely watching, which means they know about the dangerous stranger. “And what did those eyes tell you?”

  “They said you touched her. They said that was all it took.”

  Uziah produces a vial and sets it on the table before me. The liquid is murky, and I wrinkle my nose at the bitter scent my senses pick up on even through the corked lid.

  “The antidote,” he says simply.

  A reassurance in case he’s wrong.

  And an encouragement to do a very stupid thing.

  I meet his eyes. “Who was the male who touched me?” I ask, needing him to give me something more first.

  “They call him the death dragon.”

  My limbs go limp as the blood drains from my cheeks. “The General of Caius’ army? That was him?”

  Uziah nods. “He is a shadow dragon capable of destruction beyond this realm’s comprehension. And he is more than powerful enough to curse you.”

  As his words sink in with a cold, brutal awareness, I stare at the drink, trying to talk myself out of such a terrible idea. But I have to know. Not just because of the Crimson Roses. Even if I survive them, what kind of life can I have if I can’t touch another creature without killing them instantly?

  I need answers. And that starts with understanding what I am now—and what I’m truly capable of. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the glass and drain the contents.

  Chapter 4

  Legion

  I’m woken by a small but insistent voice that grows steadily louder at my ear—and a headache that crescendos right along with it. My metabolism might be immune to alcohol and its after-effects, but the magic infusion still lingers in my bloodstream just enough to leave me with a miserable hangover.

  “Wake up.” Chaya’s voice is soft at first. Then, with more force behind it, “Legion!”

  I sit up quickly in the darkness, instantly alert at the sight of the fourteen-year-old girl standing in my bedchambers, wearing only her robe.

  “What’s wrong?” I demand quickly, already straining to hear whatever danger has brought her in here.

  Chaya never comes into my bedroom. Hell, it took earning her trust for two years before she’d eat a meal with me, thanks to the horrible life she’d endured before coming to live at Kolgrave Keep. For a creature powerful enough to command the heavens, she’s still awfully softspoken.

  “Nothing’s wrong here,” she says quickly, understanding my concern for her and the house. “But Klyn⁠—”

  I sit up straighter at the mention of my second-in-command. “What about him?”

  “He’s at the front gates. He said to get you immediately. I think it’s something at the castle.”

  “Tell him I’m coming.” I toss back the covers as Chaya nods and hurries out again. Her small frame makes for nearly silent footsteps as she slips out.

  I frown, wondering if she’s not yet eating enough. Then I shake away the worry. Chaya was frail and sick when she arrived, but in the two years since, her color and courage have both returned. The fact that she braved waking me just now is proof of that.

  Instead, my thoughts drift to Klyn and whatever’s brought him to my doorstep before dawn on my day off. Head still thudding with a hangover headache, I hurry to get dressed and curse myself for drowning my sorrows so deeply with Styx last night. A quick glance at my knuckles shows scrapes and bruises from the fight, but any other damage has thankfully healed. Something tells me I’m going to need my strength for whatever’s waiting out there.

  Klyn’s pacing in the entryway when I join him downstairs. When he sees me, his expression only darkens, his bearded face and dark eyes making him look wild and untamed—which isn’t wholly inaccurate.

  When I get close, he sniffs, and his gaze narrows. Fuck, having a lupin for a friend makes it hard to get away with shit. Before he can ask about the alcoholic magic still clinging to me, I cut to the point of his presence here.

  “What happened?” I ask in a low voice.

  “An explosion. Took out part of the castle wall.”

  I pause, stunned. “What?”

  “I know. It’s crazy.”

  Crazy is an understatement. I can’t remember the last time someone attacked the god-king’s residence. A thousand years? Two?

  “What part of the wall?” I ask, my thoughts racing ahead toward injuries, targets, and a million other things to be concerned about.

  “The southern rim.” Klyn pauses as if letting his words sink in. When he speaks again, his voice is heavy with what he hasn’t said yet. “That side of the wall gets a lot of traffic.”

  I tense, knowing he’s right. It’s the main thoroughfare connecting the towns on either side of the royal house. “How bad?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “How long since it happened?”

  “Twenty minutes ago. I came straight here.”

  I head for the door, forgoing my usual launch pad in the back of the estate for the open front yard.

  Klyn follows me out as I ask, “Suspects?”

  “One in custody so far. Caius granted you full authority with the interrogation.”

  That’s my cue.

  I stride onto the grass in the darkness that’s fast becoming dawn.

  “Casualties?”

  Klyn doesn’t answer, and I turn back to him when I reach the center of the clearing. The morning air is chilled, but it doesn’t bother me in this form or the other.

  “Six so far,” he says, his voice rough. “A couple of guards—and three women and a child. We’re digging out more now.”

  “Fuck.” My dragon rises to the surface, begging to be let loose on the fucks who decided to kill innocent women and children.

  “I’ll see you down there,” I tell Klyn, who’s already rippling with the change as he takes the form of a massive wolf.

  I’m barely done speaking the words before I’m in my dragon form.

  Klyn backs off to give me space, and I leap into the air, letting my massive black-scaled wings lift me airborne. Below me, Klyn’s wolf is already on the move, sprinting down the mountainside I call home.

  Following his lead, I soar toward the castle as fast as I can fly.

  It doesn’t take long for me to see the smoke. I swoop lower, noting the activity near the castle walls, but my destination doesn’t take me quite that far. I head for the ground a half mile south of the wall, landing hard on the small hilltop next to Command, the structure that houses the military’s headquarters.

  A soldier, Marques, is waiting for me when I touch down. Even from here, I can see he’s the only figure standing still while everyone else rushes past. The moment I shift back to my human form, he walks up and holds out a pair of wrinkled uniform pants. One of many I keep in a storage bin just outside my offices for commutes such as this.

  I take the pants and shove them on before heading toward the rear doors of the large building before us. The military’s headquarters serves as both a hub for the different companies that serve throughout Tartarus and a prison. And tucked into a lesser-known wing of the basement is my interrogation room.

  “Where’s the suspect now?” I ask.

  “In holding, General. We’ve got a medic looking at his wounds⁠—”

  “No.”

  He shoots me a look. “He’s lost a lot of blood. We need him to live long enough to talk.”

  I bite back my rage, saving it for the asshole who caused this nightmare. “Who’s on-site for the investigation?”

  Marques holds the door, and we pass inside, resuming our fast trek. “Caius went with a dozen troops to the portal. Clawford took a task force to look for anyone else involved⁠—”

  “Wait, did you say he went to the portal?” I stop and give him my full attention. “Why?”

  “That was the target, General.”

  “Not the wall itself?”

  “The wall was their way in,” he explains quietly. “They wanted to bypass the castle guards.”

  Understanding dawns in a haze of fury. The portal is inside an atrium that’s connected to the castle. If they went to all that trouble, their goal wasn’t as simple as bringing down a wall. “They were trying to break out.”

  “That’s our theory.”

  Of course. Tartarus started as nothing more than a prison world and even after several thousand years to cool us off, there are still monsters here who deserve to remain locked away.

  I think of the innocent lives taken and curl my hands into fists. We come to the conference room, which is full of various commanders waiting on my orders. But I don’t stop.

  The door opens behind us, and Klyn jogs in, out of breath and wearing a pair of wrinkled slacks he clearly pulled out of the bin.

  “Boss,” he calls, nodding to the conference room doorway.

  I ignore the gesture and start walking in the opposite direction. “Marques, meet me in the interrogation room with the prisoner,” I call over my shoulder.

  “General,” Klyn calls. “Department heads are waiting⁠—”

  “They can wait.”

  Ten minutes later, the door to the interrogation room opens, and a male I’ve never seen before is shoved through. His hand is loosely bandaged in a mountain of gauze, and his shirt is covered in blood and dust. No, not dust—debris. From the wall he blew to bits earlier.

  Fury rises at the sight of him, hellfire burning my throat in an attempt to strike him down where he stands, but I hold it in check.

  Behind him, two guards shove him toward me. The sound of his iron chains rattling where they’ve bound his wrists and ankles is interrupted by the sound of the door being pulled shut with a bang.

  The lock offers an ominous click designed to remind the prisoner he won’t leave this room alive. From this moment forward, everything I do and say is about getting answers. Even the chair they’ll strap him into is made of a magically infused material that is impervious to any of my … methods, including hellfire.

  It’s a system I’ve honed to perfection, and while I don’t enjoy it, exactly, there is a dark satisfaction my shadow beast takes from his work. I don’t bother feeling guilty about that. This asshole deserves so much worse than what I’m about to do to him.

  “Is this him?” I ask.

  Marques steps around the prisoner to address me. He managed to make it through my last interrogation without losing his shit, so I promoted him to the position permanently. Pretty sure he thinks it’s punishment.

  “Yes, General. We found him near the wall right after the explosion.”

  “And you have confirmation he was involved?”

  “The asshole admitted it,” he says with disgust.

  I give the prisoner a look that conveys everything I am capable of. “In that case, we can skip to the good part.”

  “He’s pretty banged up already,” Marques adds.

  “Yes, I see that. What’s the bandage for?” I ask.

  The second soldier finally rounds the prisoner, and I see that it’s not a soldier at all. Pol, Caius’ closest advisor and one of the most sarcastic males I’ve ever met, snorts. “Idiot made the detonator too short. Nearly blew off his own hand.”

  “If he’s that stupid, how can you be sure he’s the leader?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure of shit.” Pol gives me a pointed look. “That’s your job.”

  I grunt. “Put him in the chair.”

  The guy struggles, but Pol shoves him into the chair in the center of the room, and Marques straps him in.

  I walk over and lean down until I’m all up in his space. “What’s your name?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Okay then. It’s going to be like that.” I turn around and walk to the counter along the wall, knowing full well the guy’s watching me like a hawk. They always do.

  This is the part where they’re sizing me up, trying to gauge what sort of methods I intend to use.

  I let them think it’s the vanilla sort of torture. Five thousand years to hone my craft has taught me that, when it comes to breaking down one’s enemy, mind games work better than pain ever could.

  Behind me, Marques and Pol stand off to the side, chatting as if the prisoner isn’t even here anymore.

  “Twenty gold coins says he breaks him in thirty minutes or less,” Marques says.

  Pol scoffs. “No way. This dude just blew off his own hand. If that wasn’t enough to get him talking, it’ll take at least an hour.”

  We’ve done this routine enough times for me to know half of their banter is foreplay for what I’m about to put this asshole through. The rest is genuine—or it is for these sick fucks.

  The soldiers apparently like to bet on my record for breaking a prisoner. I pretend not to notice. That’s a mind game too.

  “Look,” Marques says, drawing attention to the saw I’ve just added to my pile of toys. “He chose the saw. He only chooses the saw when he’s feeling creative.”

  “Dammit,” Pol mutters.

  I glance over and see the prisoner watching me. I note a flicker of fear.

  Good.

  Time to let that build.

  I go back to gathering my tools, making sure to draw out the process of holding each one up and then placing it on the wheeled cart. When I’m ready, I roll the cart over to where the prisoner waits, watching.

  I grab the hammer and raise it high.

  “What’s your name?” I demand.