Page 7 of The Demon's Fire
Kole exhaled, his lips warping into a contented smile.
There. Better.
Demons, especially animus demons, were aggressive, some would say feral. When they lost control of their powers, the rage took them. Kole would never visit that point-of-no-return. To maintain balance, he released his fire, a safety valve whenever he felt the need. He felt the need often.
After his headache dulled, he opened the door to bellow into the outer room. “Get Rein here now. He’s working with two recruits. Tell him if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll double-time it to my office faster than a Kalli coming out of his tunnel in mating season.”
For once, Bounty had no smartass comeback.
****
Reinleaned against the gym’s concrete wall with his brawny arms folded across his chest while two new Firebrands, bare from the waist up and sweating, sparred.
Kole liked to call him his second in command. The title, even though fake, made him bristle. And when Rein bristled, Aeternals quivered.
An incubusfreronrecently transferred to the Southern Stronghold because Commander Jarek was short a warrior. The vamp Bade, currently dodging an assault on the mat, replaced him.
Lobo, a wolf shifter and hell of a fighter, returned to North Shelters because of a family emergency. Sig, who was lobbing weak fireballs at Bade’s head, was an animus demon like Kole. He replaced the wolf.
Rein fingered the scar through his brow, a gift from his battle with a questing beast during his Awakening.
Was I this bad when I first reported for duty? Hell no!
A vampire-warlock-incubus, Rein was a powerhouse of gifts, skills, abilities. He shouldn’t be. Mixes tended to be weak versions of one of their breeds. Not him. He came out of his Awakening a triple threat. But he fought a constant battle against the bludfrenzy. Right now, these two inept recruits tested his limits.
Shaking his head, Rein barked an order. “I’m going to say this once again. If you forget, I’ll beat the shit out of you. You are here to use your fists, your feet, your heads.”
The demon newbie had been shooting streams of fire at his opponent. The vamp was a Jack-in-the-box, disappearing or reappearing at will, flitting around the flaming projectiles, popping up everywhere. Meanwhile, Rein was fighting a giant headache.
“Looks like you two are fresh from your Awakening, all wobbly-legged and lame-brained. I’m going to prove a point. You ladies will try very hard to stop me. Got it?” He pushed off from the wall.
The new Firebrands’ heads nodded in understanding.
Short on words but long on pain, Rein strode toward the demon first, the young warrior ramping up his gift, readying a fiery orb, balancing between spread legs in a fighting stance.
With a flick of his wrist and only a single digit raised, Rein cast a spell. The recruit flew across the room into a rock-solid wall, burning ball still in his palm.
Splat. One down.
Scraped and bruised, the demon shook his head as if to clear it before he staggered to his feet.
“Come on, suckhead.” Rein motioned with a hand, urging the other newbie to step forward.
Despite swallowing a gulp, the young vampire approached.
Kudos to his balls. Even if he is about to lose them.
“Now, be sure to get your vamp speed on. Are you ready?”
The recruit popped in front of Rein. Before he could blink, the mentor-trainer face-slammed him into the mat without touching him. Of course, the spell chilled the room.
Rein offered him a hand. “Bloody nose. Maybe a few cracked ribs. Suck it up, kid. What’s the lesson, recruits?”
“Don’t fuck with you?” said Bade.
“Truth. But there’s another. Someone always has a more badass gift than you. That’s why you learn to fightmano a mano. Weapons, footwork, fast hands might save your sorry dicks someday. You can perfect your sissy breed skills with the specialists. In this room, you use your head. Your muscles. Your fists. Your weapons.”
Only a select few became Scion Firebrands. And all were descendants of previous warriors. When called to join, the Phoenix tattoo appeared. Like a hot branding iron, it burned itself onto your arm. Unbearable agony and the stench of seared flesh lasted until a choice was made. Wannabe heroes joined, the mark becoming permanent. Dickheads rejected the offer, the brand disappearing.
