Page 96 of Ashes of Honor

I tilted my head, sensing the threat he posed immediately. “Feeling a bit bold tonight, Anderson?”

Honestly, I welcomed the fight. It was about damn time. Putting him in his place would silence the others. He represented everything I was up against—doubt, condescension, and resistance from the older generation of leaders. Anderson was an even match, and I was thirsting for a fight.

“No more than the usual,” he said, a smirk tugging on his lips. “Only aim to show everyone you’re nothing but a liability.”

There it was—his barely concealed obsession with knocking me off my pedestal. “Funny,” I said coolly. “You’ve been trying to prove that for years. How’s that working out for you?”

The flick of his wrist was the only warning I got. A jagged rock flew toward my face. It grazed my cheekbone with a sharp sting as I reached for my blade. Anderson was fast. His fire magic crackled in his palms as he closed the distance.

Flames licked at my skin and I countered with a blast of air magic. It sent him back with a skid, granting me one sweet moment to regroup—but not long enough. He lunged again, this time the fire swirling in his fists threatened me with a burning kiss.

I slashed at him with my knife, feigning right before I drove my knee toward his stomach. He swatted me off, the brutal efficiency of his movements catching me by the wrist until my blade fell to the ground. I let out a cry of agony under the pressure of his brute strength. The smirk on his face deepened as flames sparked back to life in his free hand, the only protection I had at the moment were my own, battling to cover me in the safety of its warmth.

“You’ll need more than that, General.” He sneered, tightening his grip and dragging me around like a rag doll.

I kicked out, desperate to find some hold on the ground or an ounce of momentum. With more effort than I cared to admit, I wrenched my arm free, throwing another burst of wind his way. It sent him stumbling. He recovered quick, hurling a piece of debris at me—a fucking door hinge of all things.

The fight spilled onto the wrap-around front porch of a house. The spot where he’d begun his attack feet away thanks to the precious moments he’d stolen moving me where he pleased. I backed into the door, ducking as his foot slammed into it and falling to the ground. Anderson reached down, dragging meby my feet, attempting to pull me deeper into the house.No witnesses,were the only words echoing around my mind.

Like fucking hell.

I latched onto the door frame, teeth gritting as I took in the house, desperate to find anything to work in my advantage. I was panicking. Caught off guard. What had I told my soldiers? The second you panic in a life or death situation, you’re fucking dead.

The walls were crumbled around us and furniture scattered. We got the same idea at the same time, both scrambling toward whatever we could use and letting the magic of being anUmbra Mortisguide us. With the newly acquired gift of air magic, I had a momentary advantage. Shards of glass flew through the air and I worked to throw them with deadly precision. He hissed, cupping his stomach, but my victory was short-lived. I glanced down, one had clipped my thigh, slicing deep.

There was no time to focus on the blood seeping into my pants and dripping down my leg. Anderson didn’t let up. He refused to. Large hands gripped my shoulders and sent me careening into the wall with immense force. My head slammed hard enough into the exposed brick to blur my vision. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head to the side. I heard a crack before I felt the cold whisper down my spine.

No. No. You have to see them again.

Panic distracted me. I couldn’t let my family find me this way. What Anderson would do to me. If I died right here, right now, that was it for every territory and settlement. They would turn on each other and Covert would win. My family would never get to live a life of peace.

I wiggled my fingers. It was just the crack, the bursting of gas bubbles within my body, nothing was broken—and I wasn’t done fighting. He pulled me further back, arching me at an unnatural angle but enough to grab the knife strapped to my ankle. Witha surge of adrenaline, I drove the blade into his side. Quick and vicious, I stabbed him again and again. And again.

Anderson snarled. Pure adrenaline kept him going, his fury controlled but lethal. He disarmed me with terrifying ease and sent the last knife I had clattering to the floor as he pinned me against the wall.

“Is that all you got,girl?” he growled, eyes alight with fury.

I ignited, flames erupting across my body. The sudden heat and lack of his own protective layer of flames forced him back, granting me a moment to gasp for air. Like the trained veteran he was, he quickly matched me, his own fire roaring to life and neutralizing my advantage.

He was relentless. Anderson grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall once more. His grip tightened, and I struggled against him, clawing and kicking, but he only clenched harder, cutting off my air. Desperate, I remembered to draw on my air magic, siphoning the breath from his lungs. His grip faltered. We locked in a stalemate, both gasping for air.

You stupid bitch, you really should have tried to master the whole air magic thing. I closed my eyes, digging deep, sifting through my power and searching for the well that fed my air. Anderson stumbled back, coughing and disoriented. I dropped to my knees, vision swimming as I fought against the black tunneling in, struggling to stay conscious.

The motherfucker refused to fall. He surged one final time, hurling debris and shards of glass with ruthless precision. Something caught in my already leaking wound, slashing deeper and nicking an artery. Pain exploded through me as warmth soaked my leg. I staggered, gasping, the coppery tang of blood thick in the air.

He smirked, triumphant. “Still think you belong on top, General?”

Anderson advanced, slower now but no less calculated, still lethal. I met him halfway, drawing on every ounce of strength I had left.

The room blurred into motion as we collided, a flurry of strikes and counters. His fist connected with my ribs, sending a sickening crack through my chest. I barely held back a scream, instead grabbing the nearest weapon—a splintered chair leg. I swung low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard. Dropping onto his chest, I pinned him with every ounce of weight I had left. My knife was gone, but my hands found his throat, squeezing the life from him, letting my magic take every ounce of air from his body.

“Bleed for me,” I hissed through gritted teeth. My vision was red with fury.

His hands clawed at mine, but I squeezed tighter, his struggle weakening. With a savage cry, I slammed his head against the floorboards until blood poured from his scalp.

Anderson thrashed with a burst of defiance. I caught his wrist, twisting, finding sick joy in the snap of bone that echoed, followed by his howl of pain.

Using his own momentum against him, I drove his body into the jagged glass scattered across the floor. Blood spattered. It was warm. Thick. An oddly comforting coating of my hands as he gurgled, his strength ebbing.

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