Page 40 of ColdIron
“Come closer then, sweetheart.”
He snarled and stepped into my space, tilting his chin up to meet my eyes. He hated that. Before he could spit, I dipped my head and slammed my forehead into the bridge of his nose. He stumbled back with a startled yelp, blood spraying from his nostrils.
“You’re dead, witch asshole!” he howled, and when his hand came back up, it held an army knife, sharp edge catching the light.
Now,the demon whispered.
Strength surged through me, and I wrenched free of the hands pinning me. Arms tore loose. Bodies stumbled back.
Slade slashed the blade toward my face. I sidestepped. The knife stabbed into the wall behind my head. He ripped it free and swung again, his gang lunging from the sides.
From their vicious, smug looks, they thought they had me.
I roared and threw my hands forward. A shockwave erupted from me, sending the attackers flying ten feet or more. They collided with bunk bed frames, piled on top of each other. Others kissed the ground hard.
Slade hit hardest as he was closest to me and my main target. I heard bone crack. His knife skittered across the floor.
I stared at my hands. Then at the fallen. Then at my hands again.
Shit. How did I do that?
About time you learned what you can do,the demon preened.
Did the demon pull that? I was half sure the strength came from it. Wonder and panic warred in me. Using its power guaranteed survival, but at what cost? Chained and dragged to Hell in the end.
Still calling me demon, I see.The creature laughed, taunting.I’ll leave you a riddle to chew on. Something of old legend. Something from below, or beyond. Answer to no one. Play by no rules of any world, or the gods.
The clamor of thuds died. Silence floodedthe room. It didn’t last as Slade’s men scrambled up and closed in on me with blades and clubs, shouting obscenities.
They wanted a rematch.
The barracks door blasted open. A giant of a man, rippling with power, strode in.
“What the hell is going on?” His roar thundered across the room like a match kindling dry tinder.
16
MAX
Everyone froze.
The front line of cadets who’d been about to rush me pulled back like a wave retreating from the shore. The gathered crowd scattered, pressing toward the walls, their bunks—anywhere but the center of the room. No one wanted their neck out when the general showed up.
Drakken stalked through the path the cadets cleared, his boots echoing off the concrete floor.
Every eye locked on his powerful frame. Everyone felt his menace.
He wasn’t in uniform, and his dark hair was tousled from sleep. Someone must’ve called him from his quarters in a hurry. He’d probably thrown on whatever was nearest: a dark henley that clung to his hard chest and shoulders. Sleeves pushed to his elbows, baring forearms thick with corded muscle and a tattoo of the House of Leo. Dark slacks sat low on his hips.
It was so unfair a man who hated me could look likethat. But shouldn’t he have stayed in bed? Let someone far below him, a cadet lieutenant or a cadet captain, handle a cadet brawl? If he thought it was serious, he could send a cadet major. I was still learning the rank system. Did a colonel outrank a major?
Of course. A colonel, O-6, significantly outranks a major,the demon chimed in.
How the fuck did it have all that knowledge?
One of the heirs always shows up whenever you’re involved, Max,the demon added in its conspiratorial tone.
The dragon prince’s unforgiving gaze locked onto me like a missile.
