Page 79 of On Broken Bonds

He nods solemnly. “Understood.”

I barely have time to brace myself. Pain explodes across the side of my face. The world spins. I hit the ground hard enough to see stars. Blood instantly fills my mouth, warm and metallic.

Somewhere above me, Nyx gasps. “Thorian!”

When I look up, blinking through the bright, blinding pain, I see Thorian giving me, to his credit, a sheepish look, his dark eyebrows knit together as he stares down at me, Nyx peering over his shoulder.

Even looking at her like this, through blood and the searing pain in my face, she's gorgeous. Her dark hair has partially escaped its careful braid, loose strands sticking to her flushed cheeks from the heat. Sweat glistens along her skin, and her clothes are dusty from the desert, but somehow none of it diminishes her. If anything, it makes her seem more real. More human. More herself.

It's not just that she's beautiful. Plenty of women are beautiful. It's the stubborn set of her jaw. The worry in those hazel eyes as she looks down at me. The fact that she's exhausted, terrified, and standing on the edge of a death swamp, yet she's still here. Still fighting. Still willing to throw herself into danger for someone she loves.

Just looking at her seems to dull the ache in my face, and I'm immediately aware of how ridiculous that is. The last thing I need right now is a crush on this woman. Especially considering she and Thorian obviously have feelings for each other. I don't know exactly what they are to one another, but they look at each other too often. Trust each other too easily. And every time I catch it, jealousy twists in my chest.

Not that it matters. The demi-god barely tolerates my existence on a good day. And very soon, there's a decent chance I'm going to turn into a monster.

“I thought it would help if it was sudden,” Thorian says, drawing me out of my thoughts.

“Fuck,” I mutter, as the pain rushes back in. I straighten up slowly and touch a hand to my face, which is tender and throbbing. But I’m not angry, just frustrated and surprised, brain muddled by the pain. “Hold on a second… don’t hit me again. Until I say.”

“Okay,” Thorian says, adding something of a sorry in his tone. I wonder if the guy has ever apologized before, or if demi-gods are incapable of it.

I repeat myself, knowing how important this is. “When I’m like that, I can’t promise what I’ll do. What I do know is that if you’re the one to make me angry, I’ll follow you across the swamp. I meant it when I said you need to stay ahead of me.”

“Got it,” Thorian says, nodding and tucking his hand under Nyx’s thigh, hiking her up a little higher on his back. Her face flushes, and jealousy rolls through me again, hot and sticky. For good measure, Thorian adds, “I held back with that first hit, I will with the others, too. If I go as hard as I can, I could kill you. I’ll try to do just enough to piss you off.”

Right. Because he’s a demi-god, a single punch from him could send my nose through the back of my skull. If I wasn’t already well aware of his strength, I’m simmering now in the fact that he’s better than me. Faster and bigger, and the one with Nyx on his back.

I glance backward over my shoulder, see the knights on the platforms making their way steadily toward the other side of the swamp as the platforms sink behind them. They look slow, shaky, like they’ve catapulted from young to middle-aged or older. Like now they have bad knees.

There’s no guarantee that I’m going to make it through this. Over Nyx’s shoulder, I see the vampires begin their path across, jumping on the platforms lightning quick, each of them touching down before the next lands, almost like dancers. And then I look at the platforms before us. We can do this.

“You ready, man?” Thorian asks, and I swallow, turning back to him and nodding.

He punches me again, and this time, I don’t fall to the ground. I take it, glad that once I come out of my other form, I’ll be healed. The last thing I need is a swollen, broken face for the rest of the Trials.

Another hit. Another. Thorian swears under his breath, and Nyx says something with a concerned voice, but I can’t quite make it out through the pain. I keep waiting to get pissed off, to be mad, but it’s not working.

I try to think about my family.

Not the happy memories. Not my sister and brother laughing while they worked in the garden. Not my mother humming while she cooked supper. Not my father teaching me how to mend fences.

I need anger. Real anger. The kind that grabs ahold of you and makes it hard to breathe.

My thoughts drift back to the day I came home and found them gone. Even now, months later, I can remember every detail. The farm had been quiet.

At first, I hadn't thought much of it. I'd been carrying a sack of feed over one shoulder, already thinking about supper and whether my siblings had managed to finish repairing the chicken coop. Then I'd noticed the silence.

No voices.

No animals.

No movement.

The front door had been hanging open. I remember dropping the sack and running. I remember calling for them. Searching every room. Looking beneath beds as though my grown parents might somehow be hiding there. The house had been in ruins. Furniture was overturned. Dishes were shattered across the floor. There had been blood in places. Not much. Just enough.

It was enough to tell a story, but not enough to tell me where they were.

That was the worst part.